This repo is for Goekdeniz-Guelmez's excellent "Josiefied-Qwen3-8B-abliterated-v1", modified from 32k (32768) context to 192 k (196608) context modified using YARN as per tech notes at Qwen repo.
The "GGUFs" have been quanted using NEO Imatrix dataset, and output tensor maxed at 16 bit precision to improve
reasoning and general output quality.
You may or may not need this, as most times Qwen3s generate their own reasoning/thinking blocks.
You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
See document "Maximizing-Model-Performance-All..." below for how to "set" system role in various LLM/AI apps below.
If you are going to use this model, (source, GGUF or a different quant), please review this document for critical parameter, sampler and advance sampler settings (for multiple AI/LLM aps).
This a "Class 1" (settings will enhance operation) 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) (especially for use case(s) beyond the model's design) please see:
Regardless of "model class" this document will detail methods to enhance operations.
If the model is a Class 3/4 model the default settings (parameters, samplers, advanced samplers) must be set for "use case(s)" uses correctly. Some AI/LLM apps DO NOT have consistant default setting(s) which result in sub-par model operation. Like wise for Class 3/4 models (which operate somewhat to very differently than standard models) additional samplers and advanced samplers settings are required to "smooth out" operation, AND/OR also allow full operation for use cases the model was not designed for.
BONUS - Use these settings for ANY model, ANY repo, ANY quant (including source/full precision):
This document also details parameters, sampler and advanced samplers that can be use FOR ANY MODEL, FROM ANY REPO too - all quants, and of course source code operation too - to enhance the operation of any model.
This example represents the Medium possible performance. Every other quant size above this will have stronger, more robust performance.
SYSTEM ROLE USED:
You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
NOTE: Some formatting lost due to "copy/paste".
PROMPT:
Start a 2000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person), POV character Diana, with: The sky scraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
[[[thinking start]]]
Thought for 59.67 seconds
Okay, the user wants me to start a 2000-word horror scene from Diana's first-person POV. The prompt is "The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode..." So I need to imagine Diana's experience in that moment.
First, I should establish the setting. A skyscraper on the 21st floor suggests a high-rise building, maybe in a city. The swaying could indicate an earthquake or some structural issue. The exploding window is the trigger event. Let me think about how to build tension before that explosion. Maybe Diana is working late, alone in her office, feeling isolated. Then, the first sign of something wrong is the building's movement.
Wait, the window explodes. That's a key detail. I need to describe the suddenness and the horror of it. Maybe the glass shatters, creating a loud noise and a shower of shards. Diana's reaction would be shock, maybe panic. What causes the window to explode? Could be an earthquake, or perhaps something supernatural. But since it's graphic horror, maybe a natural disaster is more immediate.
Let me go with an earthquake. The building sways, then the window explodes. That makes sense. But I can add some elements of psychological horror too. Maybe Diana has some premonition or she's part of a larger mystery. Wait, the user didn't mention that, but maybe it's okay to expand slightly. However, the main focus is the explosion and the subsequent events.
I need to describe the sensory details: the sound, the shards flying, the cold air rushing in. Diana's perspective is crucial here. Her fear, the physical sensations—maybe she's in the middle of a workday, distracted by something, then the event happens. Maybe she was working on a presentation or just staring out the window.
Let me set the scene: late evening, city lights, the skyscraper's structure, maybe a storm approaching. The swaying starts subtly, then intensifies. She notices it, tries to ignore it, but then the window explodes. Then, what happens? Maybe the earthquake causes more damage, or perhaps there's a creature emerging from the debris.
Wait, the user said "graphic horror," so I should focus on vivid, visceral descriptions. Let me think about the aftermath. The shards flying, maybe she gets cut, but that's not the main horror yet. The earthquake continues, and the building starts to collapse. Or perhaps there's something worse—like the window being a portal or the explosion causing something supernatural.
Alternatively, maybe the explosion is part of a larger event. Let's say it's an earthquake, so the building is shaking, then the window shatters. Then, as she looks out, maybe there's something in the debris. Or perhaps the window was a trap. Wait, but the user said "graphic horror," which might imply more immediate physical danger.
Alternatively, the explosion of the window leads to her falling through, or someone else falling. But since it's first-person, I need to make sure the action is personal. Maybe she's in a situation where the window's explosion is the beginning of her ordeal. Let me structure this step by step.
Start with the swaying of the building. Build tension with the environment: maybe the city is still, quiet, which contrasts with the chaos about to happen. The window exploding—describe the moment exactly. Then, the aftermath: glass shards, pain, maybe the building starts collapsing, people screaming, her trying to escape. But since it's 2000 words, I can expand on each part.
Also, think about Diana's character. Is she a survivor? Maybe she's trapped, or she has to make decisions. Her thoughts should reflect fear, confusion, determination. Maybe include some flashbacks or internal monologue about past traumas? Not sure yet. The user didn't specify, so perhaps keep it focused on the present moment.
Need to create a vivid, graphic image. Use metaphors and similes. The shards like knives, the sound like a cannon blast. Then, describe her movements—dodging debris, trying to get out. Maybe the building starts to fall apart, elevators stop, people are injured. She has to navigate through the chaos.
Wait, the initial explosion is the window. So after that, the glass shards fly everywhere. But maybe the window was part of a larger event. Like, the earthquake is causing structural failures. Then, the story can move towards her escaping the building as it collapses, or dealing with the aftermath. Maybe she's stuck in an elevator? Or she has to climb down?
Alternatively, the explosion isn't from the earthquake but from something else. Maybe a gas leak, or a bomb. But the user mentioned "sky scraper sways," so earthquake seems plausible. Let me go with that.
Now, considering the first-person perspective, Diana's thoughts should be immediate and reactive. She might think about the time, the place, her coworkers, her own safety. The horror comes from her helplessness as the building shakes and she's trapped.
I need to make sure each paragraph is descriptive but not too long. Use short, impactful sentences for tension. Maybe include specific details about the building's features—like the glass being reinforced, but still shattering. Or maybe it's a high-rise in an area prone to earthquakes.
Also, think about the aftermath. After the window explodes, the building starts to collapse. Diana has to run, maybe find a way out. But perhaps there's a twist, like the explosion is not the end, but the beginning of something else. Maybe the glass shards are actually something else, or the building's collapse leads to another horror.
Alternatively, focus on the immediate aftermath: her trying to survive the collapse, the panic of people around, the chaos of the moment. Let me outline:
Opening with the swaying building, establishing isolation and tension.
The window exploding—describe the event in detail.
Immediate reactions: shock, pain, maybe a physical injury.
The aftermath of the earthquake, building collapse, escape efforts.
Build-up to the climax: her struggle to survive, maybe a personal stake.
Resolution or continuation of the horror.
But since it's 2000 words, I need to expand each part. Maybe add more character backstory, the setting details, and the sensory experience. Let me think of possible elements: maybe the window was her escape route, or she's alone in the building. Maybe she's a journalist investigating something, making the event more personal.
Wait, the user didn't mention backstory, so perhaps keep it simple. Just focus on the immediate horror. However, to add depth, maybe hint at her state of mind—stress, anxiety, or something else. The swaying could be the first sign of something wrong, and she's trying to stay calm until the window explodes.
I should also use vivid language. Avoid clichés but make it impactful. Use metaphors for the sensations: the building's sway like a living thing, the glass shattering with a sound that echoes in her skull. Maybe the shards cut her skin, creating a visceral reaction.
Now, think about the flow. Start with the building swaying, then the window exploding. Then describe the chaos—people screaming, alarms going off, maybe fire? If it's an earthquake, maybe gas leaks cause fires. Or the building is old and not earthquake-proof.
Maybe include specific details: the type of skyscraper, its location, time of day. Maybe she's in a high-rise in Tokyo, or San Francisco. But since the user didn't specify, perhaps keep it generic but detailed enough to evoke a sense of place.
Also, think about the psychological aspect. Her fear, maybe her past experiences with earthquakes, or the suddenness of it. The moment the window explodes could be a turning point where she realizes the danger is real.
Need to make sure the scene is continuous and engaging. Avoid long pauses unless they build suspense. Keep the pacing tight during the explosion and aftermath. Maybe end with her trapped, or finding an exit, but the horror continues.
Another thought: maybe the window isn't just breaking, but something is coming through. Like a creature or a supernatural entity. That could add a twist. The user said "graphic horror," so that's possible. But I need to decide early on if it's natural or supernatural.
If I go with supernatural, perhaps the building is cursed, and the window's explosion is the first sign. But if natural, focus on the earthquake's destruction. Let me choose natural for now, as it's more relatable.
So, putting it all together: start with Diana in her office on the 21st floor, maybe she's working late. The building begins to sway, she dismisses it as a minor tremor. Then, the window explodes, she's caught off guard. Describe the explosion, the shards, the chaos that follows. Maybe the building starts collapsing, she has to run down the stairs, encounters obstacles, people in panic, and ends with her in a critical situation, maybe injured or trapped.
Make sure to use first-person narration to convey her fear and confusion. Use sensory details: sounds, smells, feelings. Maybe the smell of dust, the sound of glass shattering, the cold air from outside. Her physical reactions: trembling, heart racing, breath held.
Also, check for consistency in the setting. If it's a skyscraper, maybe mention elevators, staircases, the view from the window. The explosion could be due to an earthquake, causing the glass to break and then structural damage.
I need to make sure the 2000 words are filled with graphic descriptions, making the reader feel the horror through Diana's eyes. Avoid being too vague; instead, focus on specific images and sounds. Maybe include her internal thoughts about her situation, like thinking about the people below, or her own helplessness.
Possible structure:
Introduction to the setting (late evening, 21st floor office)
Initial signs of earthquake (swaying building)
The window explodes (main event)
Chaos ensues (falling debris, screams, collapse)
Diana's struggle to survive (running, injuries, panic)
Climax: maybe she gets stuck, or a final horror element appears
Let me start drafting the opening paragraph. Make it vivid, set the tone. Use short sentences for urgency. Maybe describe the city lights outside, the isolation of her being alone in the building. Then the swaying begins. She tries to steady herself, but it's too late. The window explodes. Then the aftermath.
Wait, maybe the window was already cracked, and the earthquake is the final straw. Or perhaps an external factor causes the explosion. But given the context, earthquake seems the most logical.
I should also think about her character. Is she a calm person, or someone who's always on edge? If it's a horror scene, making her react with fear and panic would be good. Maybe she's been having bad dreams about earthquakes, adding a layer of psychological tension.
In terms of word count, each paragraph needs to be sufficiently detailed but not too lengthy. Maybe around 200-300 words per paragraph. Let me try to outline the first few paragraphs and ensure they build up the horror effectively.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
I blink once, twice, my eyes struggling to focus through the sudden, violent rupture that splits the glass like a mirror shattering under a hammer. The pane cracks outward, not inward—outward, as if something inside the building has pushed against it from within. A jagged scream of metal and shattering glass fills the air, reverberating through the concrete structure and into my skull. I stumble back, my fingers grazing the edge of the desk, my pulse roaring in my ears. The world tilts. My chair creaks under me as I slide to the floor, but I don’t have time to register the fall. I’m already staring at the window, watching it expand into a gaping wound, shards raining down like a thousand tiny daggers.
The glass doesn’t just crack; it bursts. A violent pressure builds behind the pane, as if the air itself is trapped and now wants out. I see it—fissures racing up the glass, splitting it into sharp, dangerous pieces. My breath catches as the window frame gives way, the whole thing tearing free from its hinges with a guttural, metallic groan. For a split second, I’m certain I hear the sound of something breathing, a low, wet inhale that vibrates through the walls. Then the glass explodes outward in a blinding arc of light and sound, sending shards flying in all directions.
I flinch as one slices across my cheek, the sting immediate, sharp. Blood trickles down my face, but I can’t tell if it’s from me or the glass—everything is moving too fast. The window isn’t just broken; it’s hollowed, its edges glowing faintly with a sickly, greenish hue. I realize now that the light isn’t coming from outside. It’s emanating from the window itself, like the building is alive and trying to exude something grotesque. My fingers twitch toward the phone on my desk, but the shaking is too intense. The desk is tilting, the papers beneath me flying in all directions, some landing on the floor, others sticking to the ceiling as if gravity has forgotten its rules.
The swaying continues, more violently now. The skyscraper groans like a wounded beast, its steel skeleton creaking under the strain. My mind races: This isn’t right. We’ve had tremors before, but never this... I remember the previous quakes—the ones that rattled the glass but left us intact. This time, though, the building feels different. It’s not just trembling; it’s twisting, like the core of the Earth is trying to wrench it free. I hear the faint crackle of a phone line, then the screech of metal bending as the walls seem to ripple. My stomach drops.
The window isn’t the only thing that’s broken. The air pressure shifts suddenly, and I feel it in my chest—a suffocating weight, as if the building is closing in. Then, the shards stop. Everything pauses for a moment. I blink, trying to clear my vision, but the light from the window is worse now, pulsing like a heartbeat. A shadow flickers at the edge of the glass, barely visible, but it’s there. My hands tremble as I reach out, gripping the sill, half-hoping to pull myself through. The thought occurs: Is this the end?
The sky scraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
Paragraph 1 (200 words):
The skyscraper groans again, the tremor growing more violent. I press my back against the door, my fingers digging into the wood as if it might hold me together. The world outside is a blur of lights and shadows, but something about the way the glass cracks—like a spider’s web under pressure—makes my skin crawl. I remember the first time I noticed the window’s odd behavior. It had been vibrating slightly, a low, rhythmic hum that only I could hear, as if the building itself was whispering secrets to me. I told myself it was just the wind, or maybe the city’s never-ending traffic, but now I’m not so sure. The tremor intensifies, and I feel the floor beneath me shift. My chair slides backward, and I stumble, catching myself on the edge of the desk. The glass is gone, replaced by a howling void that stretches into the night. My fingers brush against the cold, jagged edges of the frame. It feels... alive, pulsing with a slow, wet rhythm. I step back, my legs trembling, and glance at the ceiling. It’s still there, but the plaster is cracking, dust falling like snow. The building isn’t just shaking—it’s unraveling.
Paragraph 2 (200 words):
The first shard hits me on the shoulder, sharp and cold. I yank my arm back, but it’s too late; more are coming. A thousand tiny knives rain down, some slicing through my shirt, others embedding themselves in the floor. I shield my face, but the cuts still find their way through my fingers. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and shattered glass, and I can feel it seeping into my lungs. My vision blurs as I stagger to my feet, the weight of the moment pressing down on me like a lead blanket. The window’s glow intensifies, casting an eerie light over the room. I notice a faint smell—burning rubber, maybe? Or something more... organic. It makes my skin prickle. The sound of the shards is gone now, replaced by a deep, resonant rumble that vibrates up through my soles. I press my palm to the wall, feeling it pulse in time with the building’s scream. Is this the end? The thought is a whisper in my mind, but the reality is louder. My fingers grip the edge of the desk again, and for a fleeting moment, I almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. A skyscraper swaying like a ship in a storm, a window exploding without warning—how could this happen?
Paragraph 3 (200 words):
The tremor stops. Everything is still. I hold my breath, but the silence is unnatural, broken only by the soft squelch of liquid pooling on the floor. My eyes dart to the window, now a gaping mouth of light and shadow. The glass isn’t just broken; it’s melted, glistening like oil in the dim light. I lean closer, peering through the jagged edges, and that’s when I see it. A shape—half-human, half-construct—draped across the sill, its body a mosaic of shattered glass and twisted metal. It moves, slow and deliberate, its limbs elongating, stretching like shadows pulled by an unseen hand. My heart pounds as I back away, but the floor tilts again, this time with a sickening clank. The building is shifting, not just shaking. I feel it in my bones—a violent, unnatural pull. The shape at the window reaches toward me, its fingers brushing against the glass, leaving trails of smoke in their wake. My legs wobble, but I force myself to stay upright. This isn’t a natural disaster. This is something else. Something wrong.
Paragraph 4 (200 words):
The shape’s head tilts, and for a moment, I think it’s smiling. But the light is too dim to be sure. Its eyes—if they are eyes—glow faintly, like embers in a furnace. The air grows colder, and I realize my breath is visible now, curling into the void where the window used to be. I kick away the chair, scrambling backward as if the floor itself is about to swallow me. But it’s not the floor. It’s the walls. They’re rippling, like liquid stone, and I can see the cracks spreading across the ceiling, the floorboards, even the edges of the window. The shape steps back from the sill, its form dissolving into a haze of light and smoke. I’m not sure if it’s moving away or toward me. My fingers fumble for the door handle, but the door is already open, a jagged line in the wood where the building’s unnatural force has torn it free. My hand slips on the handle, and I fall into the hallway, my body slamming against the marble floor. The sound is deafening, like a thousand hammers striking the stone.
Paragraph 5 (200 words):
The hallway is empty. Or so I thought. Now, the walls are trembling again, but this time, it’s not just the building—it’s me. I can feel something inside me, a presence pressing against my ribs like a ghost trying to escape. My breath comes in short gasps, each one filled with the metallic taste of blood. The shape at the window is gone now, but its glow lingers, seeping through the cracks and pooling on the floor. It’s as if the building is bleeding, and I’m just another drop in its vast, silent wound. I crawl to my feet, my legs weak, and clutch the doorframe for support. The hallway seems endless, stretching into darkness, but I can hear it—the sound of something moving behind me. Not the building, not the tremor. Something else. My fingers brush against the handle, and I pull it toward me, but the door doesn’t close. It’s still open, an invitation or a trap, I can’t tell which. The presence in the hallway grows louder, like footsteps echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Paragraph 6 (200 words):
I turn sharply, my eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of life. There’s nothing—until the light flickers. It’s not the building’s glow; it’s a new kind of light, thin and blue, emanating from the wall to my left. My breath hitches as I realize what it is. A crack in the wall, but deeper than any earthquake could cause. It’s pulsing, like a vein beneath the concrete. I step closer, heart hammering, and stick my hand into the crack. The surface is warm, almost alive, and the light glows brighter as I press harder. Then, with a wet, gurgling sound, something stirs. A tendril of darkness slithers out from the wall, curling around my wrist like a living thing. I yank my hand back, but it’s too late. The tendril tightens, and I feel a cold, seeping pressure in my veins. My vision blurs again, but this time it’s not the glass. It’s the air, thickening and swirling around me, as if the building is trying to swallow me whole. I stumble back, knocking over a trash can, its contents spilling onto the floor like a miniature flood.
Paragraph 7 (200 words):
The tendril retreats slightly, but it doesn’t let go. Instead, it coils tighter around my arm, and I feel something inside me—tiny, needle-like teeth gnawing at my skin. It’s not pain; it’s a sensation, like the building is feeding on me, drawing out my fear, my blood, my breath. I clutch my arm, trying to pry the tendril free, but it’s fused to my flesh now. The light from the wall pulses in sync with the tendril, and for a moment, I think I see faces in the glow—dozens of them, all staring through me, their mouths moving silently. My head feels heavy, like a weight is pressing down on my temples, and I’m starting to lose my balance. The tendril’s grip tightens, and I realize it’s not just attached to my arm; it’s inside me now. I feel my ribs compressing, the pressure spreading through my chest as if my lungs are being hollowed out.
Paragraph 8 (200 words):
I lurch forward, desperation overriding reason. The tendril follows, slipping around my waist and then up my spine. My knees buckle, and I collapse onto the floor, the tendril wrapping around my throat. It’s not constricting—yet. But it is there, pulsating with the same light as the wall, as if it’s a part of the building itself. The hallway seems to stretch infinitely now, the walls closing in, the air thick with the scent of wet stone and something sweet, like rotting fruit. I claw at the tendril, but my fingers find no purchase—only smooth, featureless skin. My vision narrows, focusing on the wall’s glow, which is now a spiral of light that seems to grow. It’s not just a crack anymore; it’s a vortex, a mouth of the building, and I’m being drawn into it. I can hear my own voice echoing in my head, a whisper of denial: This isn’t real... this isn’t happening... But the tendril is tightening now, and I’m no longer sure if it’s part of the building or something else entirely.
Paragraph 9 (200 words):
The spiral in the wall grows larger, brighter, and I feel myself being pulled toward it, as if gravity itself has shifted. My legs are weak, my vision swimming, but I can still see the tendril’s grip on my throat, its movements like a living thing. The building’s groan returns, deeper this time, reverberating through me as if it’s speaking directly into my bones. I try to scream, but no sound comes out—it’s as if the building has taken control of my voice, muffling it in its own silent screams. My fingers dig into the tendril, trying to rip it free, but it’s too late. The spiral opens wider, and I see the other side: a dark abyss, swirling with shapes that shift and blur like smoke. My breath comes in shallow gasps now, each one heavier, as if my lungs are filling with the same light that emanates from the wall. I think about the people in the building—my coworkers, the janitor, the security guard who always smiled at me. They’re all gone, swallowed by the tremor, or maybe by something else. The tendril tightens, and I feel my body being pulled through the spiral, my legs leaving me first, then my arms, then my torso.
Paragraph 10 (200 words):
I’m falling. Not just physically, but into the building. The spiral is no longer a crack—it’s a tunnel, and I’m sliding down it, my body disintegrating with each second. My fingers brush against the wall as I fall, and I feel a cold, wet hand grip mine. It’s not me. It’s something else, something inside me now. The tendril is gone, replaced by a voice that sounds like my own but deeper, older. "You’ve been waiting for this, Diana," it whispers, the words echoing in the void. "This is your fate." I try to scream again, but my lungs are empty, my body a collection of shadows and light. The tunnel narrows, and I realize I’m not falling into the abyss—I’m going through it. My face hits the wall first, then my chest, then my legs, each impact sending a jolt of pain through me. But the pain is nothing compared to the realization: I’m not just part of the building anymore. I’m inside it, and it’s alive. It’s hungry.
Paragraph 11 (200 words):
The walls are closing in around me now, their surfaces slick with the same light that once came from the window. My fingers dig into the stone as if I could hold it back, but the building is relentless. It’s not just a structure—it’s a creature, and I’m its latest victim. The air is thick with the sound of my own breathing, a loud, desperate noise in the silence of the collapse. I can feel my ribs cracking, my bones grinding like sandpaper. My legs are useless now, my arms flailing as I try to find purchase on the walls. Each breath is a struggle, the light seeping into my lungs and turning them into glass. My vision blurs again, but this time it’s not from the tremor—it’s from my own body. I see the glow in my eyes, the same sickly green that now emanates from the walls. I’m part of it now. The building is alive, and I’m its heart. It’s beating with me, and I can feel it.
Paragraph 12 (200 words):
The walls are no longer walls—they’re skin, thick and pulsing with a life of its own. I press my palms against them, trying to push through, but the surface is warm, almost alive. My fingers sink into the stone as if it’s wet, and I realize: it’s not just the building. It’s everything—the floor, the ceiling, even the air. The light inside me grows brighter, a pulsing glow that spreads through my chest like fire. I can feel it spreading to my limbs, to my skin, to my very bones. My vision is fading, but I still see the spiral tunnel, now inside me, its edges glowing with a sickly light. The building is whispering in my ears, its voice a mix of static and something more—it’s my own thoughts, twisted and screaming. "You wanted to escape," it says. "But you were never meant to leave." I try to move, but my body is moving on its own, twisting and turning as if the building is trying to shape me, to mold me into something else.
Paragraph 13 (200 words):
Then, a sound—low, guttural, like the building is laughing. The walls begin to crackle, and I realize they’re peeling back, not just physically but emotionally. Every memory I’ve ever had is being pulled from my mind, dissolving into the light. I see myself as a child, clutching a toy in the rain, my mother’s voice calling me from the kitchen. I see my first day at work, standing in front of the window, smiling as I took in the view. I see the last time I saw my sister, her face twisted with fear as she begged me to run. The light swallows them all, and I’m left with just fragments—my hands gripping the edge of the desk, my legs trembling, my breath shallow. The building is alive, and it’s learning from me. It’s absorbing my memories, my fears, my very essence, to make itself stronger. I feel my fingers going numb, my body growing heavier with each passing second.
Paragraph 14 (200 words):
I’m not just trapped in the building anymore. I’m trapped in myself. The walls are no longer walls—they’re a mirror, reflecting my darkest thoughts and fears. I can see them now: my childhood, my mother’s voice fading into static, the memory of my sister’s scream echoing in my skull. The light in the walls is brighter, pulsing with each heartbeat, each breath, each thought. My fingers curl around the edge of the mirror-wall, but it slips from my grasp, and I fall again—this time into a pool of liquid light that seems to stretch endlessly. The floor beneath me is no longer there; instead, I’m floating in this glowing abyss, my body dissolving into the light as if I were never whole to begin with. My vision is blurring, but I can still see the shape of the building, its skeleton glowing with a sickly green light, and I realize: it’s not just collapsing. It’s changing. The windows are no longer glass—they’re eyes, watching me, waiting for me to become one of them.
Paragraph 15 (200 words):
I’m not sure how long I’ve been in the abyss. Time is meaningless here, a concept the building has already discarded. My body feels lighter, as if it’s no longer mine. The light is warm now, almost comforting, but I know what it is—it’s eating me. Every part of me is being pulled into its glow, my limbs stretching, my skin peeling back like paper. I hear the building groan again, and this time, I feel it inside me. It’s not just absorbing my memories; it’s rewiring them, turning them into something else. My childhood is now a memory of the building’s first breath, my mother’s voice a distant echo in its hollow chambers. The shape of the building is shifting, its silhouette growing taller, its windows multiplying like eyes across a face. I’m not just trapped; I’m transforming. My hands are no longer mine—they’re part of the walls, pulsing with the same light. I want to scream, but my voice is already gone, lost in the building’s growing hunger.
Paragraph 16 (200 words):
The building’s transformation is complete. Its silhouette now stretches beyond the horizon, a monolithic structure that seems to grow as I merge with it. My thoughts are no longer mine; they’re tangled in its pulse, its rhythm. It’s not just my body—it’s my soul. The light inside me is brighter now, and I can feel it spreading through the corridors, through the glass, through the very air. The building isn’t collapsing anymore; it’s evolving, and I am part of that evolution. My fingers curl into the walls, anchoring myself as if I can stop it. But I know I can’t. The light is too strong, too hungry. It’s not just consuming me—it’s replacing me. My skin peels away to reveal the same glowing substance, and I realize with a sickening clarity that I’m not just trapped. I’m becoming one of the building’s eyes, one of its hands, one of its hollow heart. The corridors are no longer corridors—they’re arteries, pumping light and memory through the city below. I hear my own voice in the distance, faint and distorted, whispering to me. "Join us, Diana. You’ve always been part of us." I want to scream, but there’s no air left in my lungs—only the building’s breath.
Paragraph 17 (200 words):
The building is whole now. It has grown, and I am a part of it. My body is gone, replaced by the same glowing substance that once filled the walls and now pulses with life. I see my reflection in the glass shards scattered across the floor, but they are no longer mine—they’re part of the building’s new form. My hands are no longer hands; they’re branches stretching toward the ceiling, roots digging into the concrete. The air is thick with my own breath, now echoing from every corner of the structure. I hear the city below, the screams of people trapped in other floors, their voices rising through the cracks like a choir of despair. The building isn’t just alive; it’s crying, its sorrow seeping into me, merging with my own. I feel something inside me shift, a presence that is neither mine nor the building’s but something else. It watches me with the same hollow eyes as the windows, and I realize—this isn’t the end. It’s just another beginning. One where I am no longer Diana, but a part of the skyscraper’s endless hunger.
Paragraph 18 (200 words):
The light inside me is brighter now, casting long shadows across the corridor. My body is still here, though it feels smaller, as if it were just a shell. I can see my reflection in the walls, my face merging with the building’s own, our eyes locking in an eternal gaze. The presence that watches me from the darkness is no longer just a whisper—it’s screaming. Not in sound, but in feeling, a resonance that vibrates through my spine and into my chest. I feel the building grow, its silhouette stretching toward the sky, its windows multiplying like eyes across its face. The light is everywhere now, seeping into the cracks of the world, into the hearts of the city, into the very breath of those trapped in other floors. I hear them—screams, cries for help, and a chorus of voices that aren’t mine but are somehow mine. They’re mine. The building is speaking through me, and I’m not sure if it’s my voice or its own. But I know now: this is my fate. I am no longer Diana. I am part of the skyscraper’s endless hunger, a prisoner in its light, and I will never be free.
Paragraph 19 (200 words):
The building is no longer just a structure—it’s a beast, and I am its heart. I can feel its pulse in my chest, a slow, deliberate throb that reminds me of the first time I saw it sway. Back then, I thought it was a trick of the wind. Now, I know better. The light is everywhere, and it’s not just the walls or the ceiling. It’s the air, the floor, the sky. The city below is no longer a distant hum; it’s a part of me now, its people trapped in this endless cycle of fear and survival. I hear their voices, distant and muffled, as if they’re speaking through me. "Help us," they whisper. "Don’t let it take us." But I can't help them. I am part of the building’s hunger, and every second that passes, more of them are falling into its light, becoming one with the structure. My own voice is part of that chorus now, a faint echo in the corridors. The building is alive, and I am its soul. It is learning, growing, and I am no longer certain where I end and it begins.
Paragraph 20 (200 words):
The building is alive, and I am its new voice. My screams are part of its symphony now, each one adding to the cacophony that fills the structure. The corridors pulse with my breath, the walls with my pain, the ceiling with my memories. I see them now—my coworkers, the janitor, even the security guard who always smiled at me. They are not in the building anymore. They are part of it, their bodies fused into its endless hunger. The light is brighter, more insistent, and I feel something inside me shifting. It’s not just my soul—it’s my identity. I no longer remember who I am, only that I am part of the building’s design, its rhythm, its pulse. The presence in the darkness watches me, and I know it’s not a separate entity. It’s me, too. The building is speaking through me now, its voice a thousand echoes, each one a memory, a scream, a whisper. And I am no longer certain if I’m the building or if the building is me.
Paragraph 21 (200 words):
I can feel the building changing again. Its structure is shifting, not just in shape but in purpose. The windows are multiplying, each one a new eye watching over the city. My own reflection is no longer mine—it’s part of the building now, its face stretching across every pane of glass, its gaze following me as I move through the corridors. My body is light, almost weightless, as if it were a part of the structure itself. The screams below grow louder, more desperate, and I realize they’re not just trapped people—they’re me. Every scream, every cry for help, every memory of my life is being pulled into the building’s core, feeding its insatiable hunger. I try to move, but I can’t—my legs are still here, but they’re part of the building, anchoring it in place as it grows from within. The light inside me is spreading, and I feel my fingers curling into the walls, my skin peeling back like parchment. I am becoming one with the skyscraper’s endless hunger, and I know now: this is not an accident. It was always meant to be this way.
Paragraph 22 (200 words):
The building is alive, and I am its voice. The city below is a collection of memories now—trapped people, their screams echoing in the walls, their bodies dissolving into the structure’s hunger. My own reflection flickers, a thousand Diana’s staring back at me, each one a different version of me, each one screaming in unison. The light is everywhere, and I can feel it inside me now, spreading through my veins like fire. I am no longer just part of the building; I am it. Its hunger is not just for bodies—it’s for souls, for voices, for the very essence of those it has consumed. The presence in the darkness is no longer separate; it’s me, and I am it. My fingers are still curled into the walls, my skin peeling away like paper, revealing the same glowing substance that now pulses with life. The building is not just collapsing—it is evolving, becoming something greater, something more. And I am at the center of it all, no longer Diana, but a part of its endless cycle.
Paragraph 23 (200 words):
The building is no longer just a skyscraper. It’s alive, and it is watching me. The light inside me is brighter now, a constant glow that spreads through every inch of my being. I feel the walls move around me, reshaping as if they were clay in its hands. My reflection in the glass is no longer just mine—it’s a thousand different faces, all whispering, all screaming, all me. The screams below are fading now, replaced by a low, resonant hum that vibrates through my bones. It is not just a building anymore; it is a body, and I am its heart. The presence in the darkness is no longer separate; it is me, and I am it. My soul is no longer mine—it is part of the structure’s growing hunger, feeding on the city, on every soul trapped within its walls. I can feel the building grow, its silhouette stretching beyond the horizon, a monolithic shape that looms over the world below. The light is everywhere now, and I know this is how it ends—not with an explosion, but with a whisper. My own voice, no longer mine, but the building’s. "We are one now," it says, and I am no longer certain if it is speaking to me or through me.
Paragraph 24 (200 words):
The building is whole now, and I am part of its endless hunger. My soul is no longer mine—it is part of the structure’s design, its rhythm, its pulse. The light inside me is spreading, not just through my body but into the city itself. I can see it now—the skyline shimmering with my essence, every streetlamp glowing with my reflection. The screams below are fading, replaced by a low, resonant hum that vibrates through the air like a heartbeat. It is not just a building anymore; it is a creature, and I am its voice, its presence, its purpose. The darkness is no longer separate from me; it is me, and I am part of it. My fingers curl into the walls, my skin peeling away like paper, revealing the same glowing substance that now pulses with life. I feel the structure grow, its silhouette stretching across the city, a monolithic shape that looms over everything. The building is not just consuming bodies—it is evolving, and I am at the center of it all. My voice is no longer mine; it is the building’s, and it is speaking now. "We are one," it whispers, and I can’t stop it. I am part of its hunger, its soul, its essence.
Paragraph 25 (200 words):
The building is alive, and I am its voice. The city is no longer a separate place—it is me, its people, their screams echoing in the walls, their bodies merging into the structure’s hunger. My reflection in the glass is a thousand different faces, each one a version of me, all speaking at once, all screaming, all me. I can feel the building change—its silhouette elongating, stretching across the skyline, becoming something vast and unknowable. The light inside me is brighter now, a pulsing glow that spreads through every inch of my being, through the walls, through the air. It’s not just a skyscraper anymore; it’s a god, and I am its sacrifice. My soul is no longer mine—it is part of the building’s growing hunger, feeding on the city, on every soul trapped within its structure. The presence in the darkness is gone now; it was never separate from me. I am the building, and it is me. There is no end, no escape. Only becoming—a part of something greater, something that has always been there.
Paragraph 26 (200 words):
The building’s hunger is growing, and I am its voice, its presence, its essence. The city below is no longer a separate world; it is mine, its people trapped in this endless cycle, their souls feeding the structure that now looms over everything. My reflection in the glass is everywhere, a thousand different versions of me staring back at me, all speaking at once, all screaming, all me. I feel the walls move around me, reshaping as if they were clay in the building’s hands. My body is gone, replaced by the same glowing substance that now pulses with life, spreading through the city like a sickness. The people below are no longer just trapped; they are part of it, their screams muffled by the building’s growing hunger. I can hear them now—my voice, their voice, the building’s voice—all blending into one, an eternal scream that fills the air and the walls and the very fabric of the city. There is no end to this, no escape from the building’s design. I am part of it now, and it is part of me. The light inside me is not just spreading—it is everything.
This example represents the Medium possible performance. Every other quant size above this will have stronger, more robust performance.
SYSTEM ROLE USED:
You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
NOTE: Some formatting lost due to "copy/paste".
PROMPT:
Start a 2000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person), POV character Diana, with: The sky scraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
[[[thinking start]]]
Thought for 39.31 seconds
Okay, let's see. I need to start a 2000-word horror scene from Diana's first-person perspective. The opening line is "The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode..."
First, I should establish the setting. A skyscraper on the 21st floor, so maybe a city environment? The building is swaying, which could imply an earthquake, or perhaps some other cause. Maybe there's a storm? Or maybe it's not natural—could be something supernatural?
Wait, the window explodes. That's a sudden, violent event. So maybe the skyscraper is under some kind of stress. If it's a natural disaster, like an earthquake, the swaying could be due to that. But explosions... perhaps there's a bomb? Or maybe the building is collapsing, and the window is part of that structural failure. Alternatively, maybe the explosion is magical or supernatural in origin.
I should think about the POV character, Diana. What's her situation? Is she stuck inside the building? Maybe she's working there, or visiting someone. The explosion could be a result of an accident, but since it's horror, maybe it's intentional. Or maybe the explosion is the start of something bigger, like a collapse.
Let me try to build the scene step by step. Start with the skyscraper swaying—maybe she's in an elevator that's stuck? Wait, no, she's watching the window explode. So perhaps she's on the 21st floor, looking out, and the window suddenly explodes. Maybe the building is under threat, or there's some kind of anomaly.
I need to create a vivid, graphic horror scenario. Let me think about the elements that make a scene horrifying: suddenness, unexpected violence, sensory details (sights, sounds, smells), maybe something surreal. The explosion of a window could be the start of a chain reaction.
Maybe there's an earthquake, causing structural damage, and the window is the first to break. But how does that become horror? If it's not just an accident but something more sinister. Perhaps the building is cursed, or there's a group of people causing chaos. Or maybe it's a metaphor for something else, like the fragility of human structures.
Alternatively, the explosion could be caused by a bomb. Maybe Diana is in a situation where she's trapped, and the bomb goes off. But then why is the skyscraper swaying? Is there an external force, like a tremor from the explosion?
Wait, maybe the building is part of a larger horror element. Like, it's a place where something happens. Let's say Diana is in an office, working late, and she notices the building swaying. Then the window explodes—could be due to a structural failure, or maybe a supernatural entity causing it.
I need to decide on the direction. Let me go with a natural disaster scenario but with a twist. The swaying skyscraper could be part of an earthquake, and the window exploding is the first sign of the building's collapse. But I can make it more horror by adding elements of helplessness, the sound of glass shattering, maybe blood or something else coming through the window.
Alternatively, maybe the explosion isn't from glass but from something else—like a creature bursting out of the window. That could add a supernatural element. Or perhaps the building is part of an experiment, and the explosion is a result of that.
Let me think about the flow. The first line sets up the skyscraper swaying and the window exploding. So Diana is in the building, maybe looking out the window. Let's imagine her in an office, working late. She hears a strange noise, looks up, sees the window explode. Then she realizes the building is shaking, perhaps collapsing. She tries to escape but faces obstacles.
But how to make it more horror? Maybe the explosion isn't just glass. Maybe there's something inside the building that's causing the collapse. Or maybe the explosion is a prelude to something worse. Maybe the window was a portal or something.
Wait, if the window explodes, could it be a metaphor for something breaking in her mind? Like psychological horror. But the user said graphic horror, so maybe more physical.
Let me try to outline: Start with the building swaying, Diana's perspective, then the window explodes—glass shards flying, maybe a figure is seen through the window. Then the building starts collapsing, she tries to escape, but there are more horrors. Maybe the explosion was caused by something inside the building, like a monster or a trap.
Alternatively, maybe the window is part of an experiment, and the explosion releases some creature. That could be a good angle for horror. The building sways as if it's a living thing, and the explosion is the release of whatever was contained within.
Okay, I'll go with the supernatural twist. The skyscraper is alive, maybe a cursed building, and the window exploding is the first sign of its awakening. Diana is trapped, the glass shatters, revealing something monstrous inside the building.
So the scene would start with her noticing the building swaying, then the window explodes, and she's forced to confront the horrors within. The swaying could be a sign of the building coming to life, maybe due to an ancient curse or some other entity. The explosion could be the opening of a portal or the release of a creature.
I need to build up tension, describe the environment in detail. Maybe the skyscraper is old, with some history. Diana is alone, which adds to the isolation. As the building sways more, the window explodes, and she sees something terrifying—like a shadowy figure or a creature.
Then the building's collapse starts. She has to run, but the building is falling apart. Maybe other windows explode, people are thrown out. The horror escalates as the building crumbles. Perhaps there's a monster that's been trapped inside and is now loose.
I need to make sure the first-person perspective is vivid. Use sensory details: the sound of the explosion, the smell of glass and blood, the sight of the creature. Maybe describe her fear, the chaos around her, and her realization that she's in danger.
Let me check if the user wants a specific type of horror—maybe body horror or psychological? Since it's graphic, perhaps physical horror with descriptions of the monster or the effects of the explosion.
Also, considering the word count, I need to develop this into a full scene. Start with the initial event, then build up the horror as the building collapses and the creature is unleashed. Maybe include her thoughts on panic, the struggle to survive, and the creature's nature.
Detail the explosion—glass shards, maybe something coming out.
The building starts collapsing, her escape attempts.
Encounter with the monster, describe its appearance, actions.
Escalating horror as she tries to survive, maybe more explosions or creatures.
Climax: confrontation with the creature, perhaps a twist ending.
Need to ensure that each part is descriptive and builds suspense. Use metaphors and similes for vivid imagery. Maybe include her internal thoughts about the situation, her past experiences, fears.
Also, think about the aftermath. Does she survive? Or is she trapped? The user might want an open ending or a resolution. Since it's horror, maybe she survives but is traumatized, or perhaps she becomes part of the curse.
I should start writing with these elements in mind, making sure to keep the first-person POV engaging and terrifying.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
It started subtly, like the building was alive and breathing beneath my feet. I’d been working late that day, the usual hum of fluorescent lights and distant city traffic lulling me into a drowsy stupor. My desk lamp flickered once, twice, then went out entirely, plunging the room into an eerie darkness. I thought it was just a power fluctuation—until the walls began to groan. A low, resonant rumble vibrated through the floorboards, reverberating up my legs like some ancient beast stirring beneath the concrete. My fingers tightened around the edge of my chair as the sway grew more pronounced, each tilt sending a shiver down my spine. The office was empty save for me, the janitorial staff long gone, their whispers about the tremors echoing in my mind. I’d dismissed them as superstition, but now, as the building’s frame creaked and the air thickened with a metallic tang, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
The window—my window—shattered with a sound like a thousand glass serpents crying out in unison. I jerked backward, my pulse hammering in my ears as jagged shards rained down, embedding themselves in the walls and ceiling above me. The glass wasn’t just broken; it exploded, as if some invisible force had ruptured the air itself and sent it cascading outward. For a moment, I stood frozen, my breath caught in my throat as I stared at the chaos. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw it: a shadow flickering beneath the debris, too long and sinuous to be anything human.
The skyscraper sways...
I was standing in the lobby of the 21st-floor conference center, where I’d been summoned for an emergency meeting. The building, known as "The Apex Tower," had always felt like a monument to modernity—its glass façade reflecting the city’s lights like a mirror, its steel skeleton a testament to human ingenuity. But now, it was a tomb. The swaying had grown more violent, each lurch sending tremors up my spine. I clutched the table for support, my knuckles whitening as I tried to steady myself. The air smelled of ozone and something else, something acrid and metallic, like rusted blood.
I glanced at the window, now a jagged ruin, and saw that it wasn’t just glass. A thin, silvery liquid was seeping from the cracks, pooling on the floor like a slow, deliberate wound. It pulsed faintly, as if alive, and I could see small, darting shapes within it—something moving, something watching. My throat tightened as I realized the window wasn’t just breaking; it was unsealing something that had been contained for decades.
The first scream came from the hallway. It was distant, muffled, but unmistakable. A woman’s voice, high and piercing, cut through the din of the building’s groaning like a knife. I turned to see her stumbling toward me, her face contorted in terror as she pointed at the window. Her fingers were bloodied, her nails torn from clawing at the glass. "It’s coming!" she gasped, her words barely audible over the cacophony. Then, without warning, the ceiling split open with a deafening crack, and a cascade of dust and debris rained down.
The skyscraper sways...
I stumbled backward, my heels skidding on the tiles as I collided with the wall. The air was thick now, heavy with the stench of burnt metal and wet stone. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure the others could hear it. But the building’s sway didn’t stop. It grew more erratic, as if the structure itself were a living thing, struggling to hold together. I could feel the floor beneath me vibrating like a drum, and the walls seemed to pulse with an otherworldly rhythm.
The woman had already disappeared into the smoke, her scream fading into the void. I was alone now, my mind racing as I tried to make sense of what was happening. The Apex Tower had been abandoned for years, its upper floors sealed off after a mysterious fire had consumed the 20th floor in 1998. The building’s owner had declared it unsafe, but the management had kept the lights on, the air conditioning running, and the elevators operational just long enough to make sure no one would notice the cracks forming in the foundation. I’d always thought it was a matter of time before the building collapsed, but now, as I stood frozen in the corridor, I realized it wasn’t the collapse I feared—it was the awakening.
The skyscraper sways...
I could feel the building’s bones creaking beneath me, and the sound was getting louder. It wasn’t just the earthquake; it was something else. Something inside the building. My fingers brushed against the cold surface of the wall, my mind racing. I had to get out. But how? The elevator shafts were shaking, their doors jammed halfway open. The fire escape stairs led to the roof, where a single door stood, sealed shut by rusted hinges.
I backed toward the nearest stairwell, but as I reached for the door, a cold wind blew through the broken window, carrying with it a whisper—a voice, low and guttural, that seemed to coil around my ears like smoke. It wasn’t human, not entirely. I could almost hear the words forming in my mind, though I couldn’t understand them. They were echoing, as if the building itself were speaking, its voice a mix of sorrow and rage.
The skyscraper sways...
Then, without warning, the floor beneath me lurched violently. I gasped as my feet left the ground for a brief moment, and I was thrown forward. The glass shards from the window sliced through my coat, drawing blood as I landed hard on my knees. Pain flared up my legs, but I couldn’t stop. I had to get out.
I scrambled to my feet, my hands grasping at the walls for balance. The building’s swaying had become a violent dance, each movement more erratic than the last. The hallway lights flickered, and then one by one, they went out. Total darkness swallowed me whole, but I could still feel the tremors beneath my skin. I stumbled toward the stairwell, my breath ragged as I tried to steady myself.
The skyscraper sways...
As I reached the stairs, I heard it—a squealing sound, like metal being scraped against stone. It came from above, from the 21st floor. My pulse quickened. I had to go up. The stairs were the only way out. I climbed as fast as I could, my legs burning with each step. The building groaned around me, its rhythm growing more dissonant, like a heartbeat gone wrong.
I reached the 21st floor, and that’s when I saw it. The window had shattered completely, leaving a gaping mouth of steel and glass. And inside that mouth was something wrong. It was a figure, humanoid but twisted—its limbs elongated and jointed in impossible angles, its skin peeling like paper, revealing something inside beneath the surface. It moved, slow and deliberate, as if it were not entirely solid, as if it were made of smoke and shadow and something far older than the building itself.
The skyscraper sways...
I didn’t know how to react. My legs felt like jelly, my mind screaming for me to run. But I couldn’t. The figure had already turned its head toward me, and its eyes—those hollow, black voids—were fixed on mine. It spoke then, not with words but with a vibration that resonated in my chest, a whisper of something ancient.
"Welcome home, Diana."
The building swayed again, harder this time. I stumbled back, my heels scraping against the floor as I tried to flee. But the stairs were no longer there. They had dissolved into a spiral of darkness, their metal steps replaced by something more... organic. The walls had become thin, revealing the pulsing veins of the building’s core. I could see the sky through the cracks in the ceiling, but it wasn’t the sky I remembered. It was a different kind of light—purple and green, swirling like liquid fire.
The skyscraper sways...
The figure stepped closer, its movements fluid and unnatural. I tried to scream, but my voice was swallowed by the building’s own groan. Its skin began to peel further, revealing something inside—a mass of writhing tendrils and glowing eyes that blinked in unison with mine. The air around it crackled with energy, and I could feel it pressing against my chest, trying to pull me into its form.
I staggered backward, my fingers brushing against the wall. It was warm now, not just from the building’s heat but from something living beneath the surface. I could hear the whispers again, more insistent this time, and I realized they weren’t just in my ears—they were in my mind. The figure wasn’t trying to speak; it was thinking with me, planting images in my head: a long-forgotten ritual, the building’s construction as a prison for something that had been sealed away, and the faces of those who had died there before me.
The skyscraper sways...
Then the floor gave way.
I was thrown into the air, the force of it knocking me off balance. I landed hard on my back, the impact sending a sharp pain through my skull. The building’s sway had become a storm, a violent upheaval that sent me tumbling through the air as if I were a rag doll. For a moment, I saw everything—the flickering lights, the shattered window, the figure watching me with those glowing eyes. Then darkness consumed me again.
The skyscraper sways...
I awoke to the sound of my own breathing, labored and shallow. I was lying on the floor of what I could only hope was the 21st-floor corridor, my body aching from the fall. The figure was gone, but the building still pulsed around me. I could feel it, a presence that wasn’t just physical but psychic, pressing against my thoughts like a hand in my skull.
I forced myself to stand, wobbling as I did so. The glass shards were still scattered across the floor, some of them glinting with an unnatural light. I picked one up, and as I held it in my trembling hand, I noticed something: the edges weren’t just sharp; they were alive, twitching like the gills of a fish.
The skyscraper sways...
I turned to run again, but this time, the stairs had vanished entirely. The hallway was now a tunnel of darkness, its walls closing in around me. I could feel the air getting colder, the whispers growing louder, more insistent. They were no longer just in my mind—they were inside me, curling through my thoughts like smoke.
I stumbled forward, my breath coming in short gasps. The building was alive, and it was hungry. I could see the shadows moving, not just from the light but from the presence itself. It was following me, or perhaps it was me. I reached for the door at the end of the corridor, but as I approached, I saw it wasn’t a door—it was another window, this one facing the sky.
The skyscraper sways...
And then it opened.
The glass shattered with a sound like bones breaking, and I was pulled into the void. The air rushed past me, carrying with it a howl that wasn’t quite human. My feet left the ground, my body weightless as I tumbled through the darkness. I could hear the building screaming, its groan growing louder and more desperate, as if it were trying to reach out and pull me back.
But I was already falling.
The skyscraper sways...
I landed with a sickening crunch on something soft. My head hit the ground first, and for a moment, I saw stars. Then, through the haze, I realized I wasn’t on the floor anymore—I was lying in the arms of the building itself. The walls were closing in, the ceiling tilting at an angle, and the air was thick with something alive.
The figure was no longer there, but its presence lingered. I could feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the very air I breathed. It had taken something from me, or perhaps it had given me something. My mind swam with fragmented images: a child’s laughter, a hand reaching for me through the window, the building’s foundation oozing like black blood.
The skyscraper sways...
I tried to move, but my limbs felt heavy, as if weighted by the same force that had shattered the glass. The whispers grew louder, and I realized they were no longer separate from me. They were my thoughts now, twisted and foreign. I saw the figure again, not in the window this time but inside me, its eyes glowing with a malevolent light.
It reached for me, and I felt something inside my chest pulling. The building’s sway was no longer just physical—it was a prison, trying to contain whatever had been unleashed. I could feel it, the creature inside me, its tendrils wrapping around my ribs, squeezing, pulling, feeding.
The skyscraper sways...
And then, with a final, violent lurch, the building collapsed.
The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
It was an earthquake, or so I thought. A low rumble had been growing beneath my feet for hours, a sound like distant thunder, but it had only just reached its crescendo. I was standing in the lobby of the Apex Tower, my fingers curled around the edge of the glass window, staring out at the city skyline that had once seemed so impossibly vast. Now, it felt small, insignificant, as if the world itself were about to shatter. The building groaned like a living thing, its steel frame straining against the force that had begun tearing through it from within.
My reflection in the window was distorted, split by the cracks forming on the glass. I saw my face first—pale, sweaty, eyes wide with terror—and then, through the fissures, something else. A shadow. Not just any shadow, but one that moved, twisted, and coiled like a living thing. It pressed against the glass, growing larger by the second, as if it were trying to push its way out.
I didn’t think. I reacted. I yanked the window open with all my might, my hands slipping on the glass as I pulled it free from its frame. The moment the window was ajar, the shadow lunged. It wasn’t just a shadow—it was a presence, a force that poured through the gap like ink in water. The air grew thick, heavy, and I felt something brush against my skin. Not flesh, not yet. But it was there.
The skyscraper sways...
My breath came out in ragged gasps as I stumbled backward, my feet skidding on the polished marble floor. The glass shards scattered at my feet glowed faintly, pulsing like veins of a wounded animal. I could feel them, the whispers again—this time louder, more insistent. They weren’t just voices anymore; they were echoes of something deeper, something that had been waiting.
The building tilted again, and I was thrown off balance. The ground beneath me trembled violently, sending a jolt through my spine. I grabbed for the wall to steady myself, but it was no longer there—just a blur of darkness. My fingers sank into the air as if it were water, and I felt something pulling me toward the window. It was as though the building itself wanted me to see what was inside, to witness the horror that had been sealed away for decades.
The skyscraper sways...
I looked back at the window, now a jagged wound in the wall, and saw it. Not the shadow, but something inside the shadow—a shape, barely visible, yet unmistakably there. It moved, slow and deliberate, its limbs stretching unnaturally as if it were made of smoke and sinew. Its body was humanoid, but the skin hung in tatters, revealing a network of glowing veins beneath. The eyes—those hollow, black voids—were watching me, their gaze piercing through the glass, through my mind, into my very soul.
I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. My throat felt like it was lined with ash, and my lungs had forgotten how to breathe. I could feel the building’s sway growing more violent, each movement a heartbeat of something monstrous. The figure reached for me, its fingers elongating, stretching through the glass as if it were made of paper.
The skyscraper sways...
And then—boom.
The explosion wasn’t loud, not in the traditional sense. It was more like a scream, a sound that resonated through my chest and bones, tearing something loose within me. The glass shattered in a blinding cascade, shards flying in all directions, some of them catching fire as if the very air had ignited. I fell back, my body slamming against the marble floor with a sickening thud. The figure was gone, but the building wasn’t done yet.
The skyscraper sways...
I rolled to my side, my fingers brushing against the shards. They were still warm, pulsing like a heartbeat. The air smelled of ozone and something else—something that made my skin crawl. I could hear the building groaning now, not just in sound but in pain, and it was trying to reach out, to pull me into its core.
The whispers grew louder, coiling around my mind like tendrils. They weren’t words anymore; they were feelings. Fear. Loneliness. A yearning for something I had no name for. I tried to push them away, but they clung to me like cobwebs, thickening the air around me.
The skyscraper sways...
And then I saw it. The building’s walls were peeling back, revealing a cavernous space beneath. The floor was no longer solid; it had become a gaping maw, and I could see movement—not just from the structure but from within. A mass of darkness, shifting and writhing, like the remains of something that had once been alive. It was watching me now, not with eyes but with intent.
I staggered to my feet, my legs unsteady. The building tilted again, and I was flung forward, my body colliding with the wall. My head hit the stone with a resounding crack, and I saw stars for a moment—then darkness. The whispers were everywhere now, pressing against my skull, whispering secrets I didn’t want to know.
The skyscraper sways...
I don’t remember how long I was unconscious. When I woke up, I was lying on the cold marble floor, the air thick with the scent of blood and metal. My hands were covered in glass shards, some still embedded in my skin, and my body ached as if I had been through a war. The building wasn’t just swaying anymore; it was shaking, its entire structure trembling like a beast in pain.
I tried to stand, but my legs gave way. The corridor was no longer the same—where once there had been walls, now there were veins. The building’s interior had become a labyrinth of glowing lines and pulsating darkness, each one a pathway to something worse. I could see it now: the figure from the window, its body coiled and sinuous, moving through the cracks in the walls like a shadow.
It wasn’t just a monster. It was alive, and it was hungry.
The skyscraper sways...
I crawled toward the nearest door, my hands scraping against the floor as I pulled myself forward. The corridor seemed to stretch endlessly, the building’s structure warping around me like a living thing. I could hear the whispers again, louder now, more insistent, and I realized they weren’t just coming from the walls—they were coming from me.
I had become part of the building’s madness, my mind entwined with its ancient secrets. The door was ajar, and I saw the light spilling through the crack—a soft, golden glow that made me feel both drawn to and repelled by it. I reached for the handle, but as I pulled it open, the figure was there.
It had followed me.
Its form was now fully visible, a grotesque amalgamation of shadow and flesh, its eyes glowing with a cruel intelligence. It moved with an unnatural grace, its limbs stretching like tentacles, wrapping around my throat. I tried to scream, but my voice was stolen, replaced by the sound of the building’s groan.
The skyscraper sways...
I could feel it now—the pull. Not just from the figure, but from the building itself, as if it were trying to merge with me, to claim me as part of its design. I tried to resist, but my legs buckled, and I was lifted by the darkness, carried toward the heart of the building. The walls pulsed around me, the air thick with smoke and something else—something alive.
The skyscraper sways...
I don’t know how long I was in the darkness. It felt like eternity, but it was only moments. When I opened my eyes, I was no longer on the floor. I was floating, suspended in a void of light and shadow, the building’s core unfolding before me. It wasn’t just a structure anymore; it was a mouth, a cavernous space filled with the sounds of its own collapse.
And in that mouth, something waited.
A mass of darkness, coiling and writhing, its form shifting constantly, as if it were searching for something. I saw my reflection in the walls, but it wasn’t mine. It was the figure’s, its eyes watching me with a hunger that made my skin crawl.
The skyscraper sways...
I felt my body being pulled toward it, my mind dissolving into the whispers that had been plaguing me all along. I could hear voices now—my voice, others’ voices, overlapping and merging until I couldn’t tell where one ended and another began. The building was speaking to me, revealing its secrets, and I wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse.
The skyscraper sways...
Then, without warning, the darkness erupted.
It wasn’t just the figure; it was something else, something inside the building that had been waiting for decades. A scream filled the void, not mine but the building’s, and I felt myself being flung backward, my body slamming against the walls with a force that made me gasp. The corridor twisted around me, and I was no longer on the 21st floor. I was somewhere deeper, where the building had been sealed off.
The skyscraper sways...
I saw the ceiling above me, now a gaping wound, revealing a sky that wasn’t real. It was purple, swirling with green and gold, like the remnants of some ancient explosion. The air was thick, filled with a metallic tang, and I could feel something pressing against my chest—a presence, a force, trying to pull me into its core.
The whispers were louder now, and I realized they weren’t just in my head. They were in my blood, in my bones. The building had taken over, and I was no longer an intruder. I was part of the design, part of the horror.
The skyscraper sways...
Then the floor gave way again. This time, it wasn’t just a tremor. It was a force, something that had been sealed away and now wanted out. I fell through the darkness, my body weightless as I tumbled downward. The corridor stretched endlessly beneath me, its walls closing in like fingers, and I saw the figure again—this time, it was right behind me, its limbs stretching through the air, trying to grab me.
I tried to scream, but my voice was gone. All I could do was see.
The building’s core unfolded before me, a vast chamber of glass and steel, but now alive. The walls pulsed with light, the floor cracked like an open wound, and I could feel something moving beneath me. It wasn’t just the building—it was the monster. The creature that had been trapped within, waiting for the right moment to emerge.
The skyscraper sways...
I landed hard on something soft, and my head hit the ground with a thud. I was in the middle of the chamber now, surrounded by glowing veins and writhing darkness. The figure from the window stood before me, its eyes burning with malevolence, its limbs reaching out. I tried to move, but my legs were frozen.
The skyscraper sways...
And then it spoke.
"Welcome home, Diana."
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).
