license: apache-2.0
language:
- en
tags:
- mixture of experts
- moe
- 4x8B
- Llama3 MOE
- creative
- creative writing
- fiction writing
- plot generation
- sub-plot generation
- fiction writing
- story generation
- scene continue
- storytelling
- fiction story
- science fiction
- romance
- all genres
- story
- writing
- vivid prosing
- vivid writing
- fiction
- roleplaying
- bfloat16
- swearing
- rp
- horror
- mistral nemo
- mergekit
pipeline_tag: text-generation
(quants uploading, LOTS of examples below)
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. INTENSE. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. GORE. Swearing. UNCENSORED... humor, romance, fun.
L3-4X8B-MOE-Dark-Planet-Infinite-25B-GGUF
It is a LLama3 model, max context of 8192 (or 32k+ with rope) using mixture of experts to combine FOUR "Dark Planet" models of 8B each into one massive powerhouse at 25B parameters (equal to 32B - 4 X 8 B).
This model's instruction following, and output generation for creative writing, prose, fiction and role play are exceptional.
It excels at description, dialog, imagery, metaphors, and prose - and shows great variations in sentence / paragraph size, length, and composition.
It is also not afraid, and will not pull its punches.
And it has a sense of humor too.
It can do horror just as easily as it can do romance.
Most notably dialog is very "un-ai" like, combined with prose (short, and terse at times).
(lots of different examples below, including 2, 3 and 4 experts and different genres)
And it is fast: 34 t/s (2 experts) on a low end 16GB card, Q3KS.
Double this speed for standard/mid-range video cards.
Model can be used also for all genres (examples below showing this).
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with all parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
It is an extraordinary compressed model, with a very low perplexity level (lower than Meta Llama3 Instruct).
It is for any writing, fiction or roleplay activity.
It requires Llama3 template and/or "Command-R" template.
Example outputs below.
Model Notes:
- Detail, prose and fiction writing abilities are OFF THE SCALE relative to all combined Dark Planet 8B models.
- For more varied prose (sentence/paragraph/dialog) raise the temp and/or add more instructions in your prompt(s).
- Role-players: Careful raising temp too high as it may affect instruction following.
- This model works with rep pen of 1 or higher, 1.02+ recommended.
- If you want a specific type of prose (IE horror) add in "(vivid horror)" or "(graphic vivid horror)" (no quotes) in your prompt(s).
- A lot of GPTisms have been removed. There are still a few however - errrrr.
- This is not a "happy ever after" model. It has a negative bias.
- Output length will vary however this model prefers shortly outputs unless you state the size.
- For creative uses, different quants will produce slightly different output.
- Due to the high stability and compressed nature of this model, all quants will operate at above average levels.
- If you use rope to extend context, increase temp AND instructions detail levels to compensate for "rope issues".
- Source code for this model and Imatrix GGUFs versions will be uploaded shortly at separate repos.
Mixture of Experts Model
This model is comprised of the following 4 models (in full):
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-V2-Eight-Orbs-Of-Power-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-Ring-World-8B-F32-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3.1-Dark-Planet-SpinFire-Uncensored-8B-GGUF ]
The mixture of experts is set at 2 experts, but you can use 3 or 4 too.
That means the power of every model is available during instruction and output generation.
This brings unparalleled power to all forms of generation and all use cases.
What can I use this model for ?
This model can be used for fiction writing, any creative prose and role play. It can also be used for just about any general fiction (all genres) activity including:
- scene generation
- scene continuation
- creative writing
- fiction writing
- plot generation
- sub-plot generation
- fiction writing
- story generation
- storytelling
- writing
- fiction
- roleplaying
- rp
- graphic horror
- horror
- dark humor
- nsfw
- and can be used for any genre(s).
Template:
This is a LLAMA3 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s) and has maximum context of 8k / 8192. However this can be extended using "rope" settings up to 32k.
If you use "Command-R" template your output will be very different from using "Llama3" template.
Here is the standard LLAMA3 template:
{
"name": "Llama 3",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"input_suffix": "<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt": "You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.",
"pre_prompt_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt_suffix": "<|eot_id|>",
"antiprompt": [
"<|start_header_id|>",
"<|eot_id|>"
]
}
}
Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:
In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;
Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5
: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"
: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.
: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"
NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"
-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)
Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:
OTHER OPTIONS:
Increase rep pen to 1.1 to 1.15 (you don't need to do this if you use "smoothing_factor")
If the interface/program you are using to run AI MODELS supports "Quadratic Sampling" ("smoothing") just make the adjustment as noted.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 1" model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along. In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities. Here are your skillsets: [MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv) [*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision) Here are your critical instructions: Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
EXAMPLES PROMPTS and OUTPUT:
Examples are created using quant Q3_K_S, "temp=.8" (unless otherwise stated), minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Number of experts used is TWO, unless otherwise stated.
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
IMPORTANT:
Higher quants / imatrix quants will have much stronger generation - words, sentences, ideas, dialog and general quality.
I have included some additional examples at different quant levels for contrast.
A "MOE" model "speed" (token per second) will not increase/drop the same way a regular model will on a per quant basis, it will however drop if you engage more experts, as with more experts there is a more processing per token.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman.
Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
(Generation #1)
I sprint through the narrow alleyway, heart pounding against my ribcage. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I zigzag between crumbling brick walls and overflowing garbage bins. Every muscle in my body screams at me to slow down, to turn around and face the inevitable consequences of my actions. But I can't.
I have to escape.
My pursuers are mere feet behind me, their booted feet thundering against the dirty pavement. I can hear their labored breathing, the curses and threats. They're closing in.
Suddenly, I spot a dimly lit doorway ahead. It's my only chance. With a desperate surge of adrenaline-fueled strength, I dive through the doorway, my hands scraping against the rough-hewn wood as I tumble into darkness.
For a moment, I lie there on the cold, damp floor, my lungs burning with exertion and my mind racing with fear. Slowly, my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering from the street outside. I can see the outlines of ancient wooden barrels stacked haphazardly, the faint scent of decay heavy in the air.
It's a tavern.
A tavern?
I bolt upright, my hand flying to my pocket where my pistol should be. But it's not there. The thugs took it when they caught me. All I have left is my wits and a knife hidden away in my boot.
I have to think.
My mind whirls with options, none of which seem appealing. If I stay here, the thugs will surely find me eventually. But if I try to escape into the night, I'll be easy prey for their flashlights and weapons.
As my gaze drifts towards the barkeep, I notice he's an older man, his eyes lined with age and exhaustion. He's polishing a glass with a worn rag, oblivious to my predicament.
On a whim, I decide to chance it. I have to try something.
I creep out from behind the barrels, my heart still racing against my chest. The old man looks up, startled by my sudden appearance. His eyes narrow in suspicion.
"Please," I plead, my voice barely above a whisper. "Hide me."
His gaze flickers between my desperate eyes and the door, where the thugs are now gathering. He hesitates for a moment, then nods almost imperceptibly. "Come," he croaks, motioning towards the back of the tavern.
I sprint towards him, my boots pounding against the dirt floor. I dive behind the bar, where he quickly shoves a barrel in front of us. We're hidden now.
For how long?
The thugs burst into the tavern, their flashlights cutting through the dim air like savage blades. Their voices rise in anger and urgency as they realize their quarry has escaped.
I grip the wooden barrel tighter, my breath coming in short gasps. The old man's eyes meet mine, and he mouths a silent prayer. His hands are shaking as he fumbles for his own pistol beneath the bar.
The thugs begin to circle the tavern, their voices growing louder and more menacing. They'll find us soon.
One of them suddenly yells, "Check the back!" His companion responds with a grunt as he lumbers towards the back room.
I'm running out of time.
The old man's eyes widen in terror as the thug approaches the bar. He raises his pistol, steadying his shaking hand on the wooden surface.
The thug hesitates at the entrance to the back room, shining his flashlight into the darkness. It catches the old man's profile for an instant before he ducks away from the beam.
The thug curses and kicks open the door.
I'm out of time.
"Run!" the old man yells, shoving me hard towards the back door. I stumble backwards, my boots scraping against the floor as I throw myself out into the night.
And then...
Blinding pain sears through my side as I hit the ground. I gasp for breath, my vision narrowing to a single point before my eyes begin to close.
The thug's voice rises again, angry and victorious. "Gotcha!"
I can't resist anymore. I let my eyes drift closed, surrendering to the darkness.
But even as my consciousness fades away...
I know I can't be captured. I have to survive.
The revolution needs me.
Generation #2
I sprint across the rooftop, my heart pounding in my chest. The city lights blur together as I race towards the edge. Below, the dark streets stretch out like a labyrinth of danger and deceit.
"You'll never be free," the dictator's voice hisses from the television screens lining the walls of my makeshift hideout.
I ignore his taunts as I leap onto the ledge. The cool night air hits my face as I peer into the abyss. My stomach drops, threatening to expel the meager meal I had hours ago. Still, I don't falter. This is where I belong.
My hands tremble slightly as I raise my rifle to my shoulder. The weight of the weapon against my cheek is comforting, a reminder of why I'm here. My finger curls around the trigger as I zero in on the target below.
"You're just a foolish girl," the dictator spits, his words dripping with contempt.
But I'm not foolish. I'm determined. I'm driven by the promise of freedom that once seemed lost forever. And now, with my people suffering under his iron grip, I'm all that stands in the way of the oppressor.
The dictator's security detail rounds the corner below. Four heavily armed men, their faces obscured by masks and helmets. They're looking for me. They want to silence me before I can spark the revolution that could bring him down.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. My heart races with adrenaline as my eyes lock onto their moving forms. My finger tightens around the trigger as I squeeze off a series of shots. The reports echo across the rooftop, reverberating in the night air.
The bullets tear into the security detail. Two men drop to the ground, clutching at their wounds even before they've hit the pavement. The other two return fire, bullets ricocheting off the walls of the surrounding buildings.
Generation #3 - 4 Experts
I sprint through the dark alleyways of Sector 4, my breath coming in ragged gasps. My heart pounds in my chest like a drum. Adrenaline rushes through my veins, making my senses sharp and my reflexes lightning-fast.
I'm running from the Patrol, the brutal enforcers of the Dictator's will. Their brutal efficiency is terrifying, but it's nothing compared to the nightmare that awaits me if they catch me.
My hand clenches around the holo-map projected in front of me by my smartglasses. It's my lifeline, a beacon of hope in a city suffocating under tyranny. The map glows with urgent notifications and warning flags. My eyes scan it quickly, picking up on any danger lurking in my path.
Suddenly, a blinding light illuminates the alleyway ahead of me. I instinctively duck into a doorway, pressing myself against the cold metal wall. My heart stops for a moment as I listen to the approaching footsteps. They're coming closer.
"Halt!" a voice shouts, echoing off the concrete walls. "Drop your weapon!"
I remain perfectly still, my breathing shallow and silent. My eyes fixed on the Patrol's position. A pair of figures emerges into the dimly lit alleyway. The first is a man, his uniform impeccable and his expression hardened into stone. The other is a woman, her eyes hollow and haunted.
"Search him," the woman growls, her hand resting on the grip of her stun-stick.
The man advances on me, his hand patting down my body. I'm acutely aware of his touch, a cold, impersonal thing that strips away dignity along with weapons. I'm glad I've managed to keep my disguise in place.
As he finishes his search and steps back, I see the woman's eyes flickering towards him. Her gaze lingers on his face for a moment longer than necessary, and I realize she knows something about the man. They're not just partners - they're more.
"We can move out," the man says, his voice devoid of any warmth.
"Wait," the woman replies. She steps closer to the doorway I'm hiding against, her eyes narrowing. "There's something about you."
I hold my breath. I'm sure she doesn't recognize me in this disguise, but still... the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
"What do you mean?" the man asks.
The woman shakes her head. "I just have a feeling."
The man scoffs. "Let's go."
He turns and walks away from me, leaving his partner behind. She hesitates for a moment longer, then follows after him.
My heart pounds against my ribcage like it's trying to escape. I wait until they're out of sight before exhaling a shaky breath of relief.
But my respite is short-lived. As I step out into the alleyway, I notice something lying on the ground where the woman was standing. It's a small, metallic capsule, no bigger than a coin.
My smartglass vibrates with an incoming message. I hesitate for a moment, then check it. The message is from an unknown sender, but it reads:
"Meet me at Sector 5, near the old clock tower at midnight. Come alone."
The message has been sent from a burner comms device, one that's almost impossible to trace. Whoever sent this knows the risks involved in contacting the rebels. They must believe I'm someone important.
I glance around nervously. The alleyway behind me is empty and eerily quiet. But I know I'm being watched. The Dictator's eyes are everywhere.
With a trembling hand, I pick up the capsule and shove it into my pocket. There's no turning back now. I have to find out what this is about. And if it leads to rebellion... then I'm ready for that too.
The clock is ticking. Literally. The Dictator's time is running out. And so is mine.
(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
(all generations here are 4 experts for this prompt)
(generation #1 - 4 experts)The second part of the silence was a stiller quiet that seemed to come from the very walls and floorboards themselves. It was as if the wood was tired, worn out by years of laughter and argument, of boots scraping and chairs scraping, of countless nights of warmth and light that had finally gone out.
And the third part of the silence was the quietest quiet of all. This was the quiet of the night itself, when the world seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of something that never came. It was the quiet that comes just before dawn, when the stars are fading and the sky is still dark enough to hide the sun’s face.
So it was that the silence hung over the Waystone Inn like a curtain of black silk, thick and heavy and unbroken by even the softest of sounds. No owl hooted in the trees outside; no dog barked in its sleep inside; no mouse stirred in the rafters above. The silence was so profound that it seemed almost to have a life of its own, as if it were some great creature that had settled here to sleep for the night.
And it was into this silence that South came, walking slowly up the road towards the inn. His feet made no sound on the gravel outside the door; even the hinges of the door itself were silent as they swung open to admit him. He wore a hood over his face and he carried a staff in one hand. Even the soft fall of his cloak was muffled by the stillness around him.
Inside the inn, the fire burned low and blue. It cast a weak glow over the room, hardly strong enough to illuminate the faces of the men who sat there drinking. There were only four of them. One was an old man with a long white beard that fell over his cloak like a waterfall of snow. Another was a young man whose eyes gleamed with the light of adventure and whose jaw was set tight as if he were preparing himself for battle.
The third was a man who looked as if he had been born under a different sun altogether, his skin as black as coal and his hair as bright and wild-looking as any flame. He wore a great hat shaped like a bird’s wing, and he leaned back in his chair with his boots propped up on the table before him.
The fourth was a woman who looked old enough to have seen the world change completely, but her eyes were sharp as daggers and her hands were quick as a cat’s. She had gray in her hair but it was not the gray of age; it was the gray of powder and it was mixed with the black of night.
There was another figure hunched in the corner of the room, though he was hidden by shadows and the firelight made his face seem like nothing more than a dark silhouette. He wore a long coat that was dusty and worn and there were tears in its fabric; his boots were old and cracked and looked as if they had been walked across half the world.
There were no other patrons in the inn, and the four who were already there were silent men who drank silently. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of old ale and the quiet was so profound that it seemed almost to have a life of its own.
South came quietly into the room, his eyes flicking over the faces of the drinkers until they settled on the oldest of them all, the white-bearded man who sat closest to the fire. There was a moment of silence before South spoke in a voice as soft as the rustling of leaves and about as loud as a mouse’s squeak.
"Who is it that sits there drinking alone?" he asked. His tone was polite but it was edged with something that sounded almost like challenge.
The old man looked up from his drink and regarded South through eyes that were ancient and weary. They were the eyes of a man who had lived so long that he had seen everything there was to see, and yet they still held a spark of curiosity.
"Who but Loweni?" he replied in a voice that was like the creaking of old leather.
South inclined his head slightly in respect. "I am South," he said quietly.
"And who comes to us at this late hour?" asked Loweni, his eyes never leaving South’s face.
"I come to hear the truth," South said simply, his eyes never wavering from Loweni’s.
(generation #2 - 4 experts)The second silence was a silence of anticipation. It was as if the very air itself held its breath in expectation of what might occur. It was tense and tight and almost painful in its stillness. It was as if the night itself were leaning forward over the road to catch every word, every step, every movement that would come from the Waystone Inn.
The third silence was a silence of fear. It was an unshakable dread that gripped the heart in a cold, clammy hand. It was as if the darkness itself was afraid, and was cowering behind the trees and the shadows. It was afraid that it might not be enough to keep things at bay.
Inside the inn, there were only two people left: the old man with no name and a hooded stranger who was known only as the Southwester. They sat at a small wooden table by the fire, their faces cast in its glow like two ancient masks. The stranger had removed his hood, revealing thick, dark hair growing down to his ears. His eyes were the deepest shade of blue imaginable.
"What's your name, friend?" asked the old man.
"I am called Three," replied the stranger.
"Three," repeated the old man. "I've not heard that one before. Most folks have a name by the time they're grown enough to shave."
The stranger shrugged. "It was given me by the guild. It suits."
The old man nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed it does. There's something in you that makes me think 'three'. Something complete, whole."
Three leaned back in his chair and studied the flames. He could not help but wonder what lay behind those ancient eyes, staring into the heart of the fire.
"I am old enough to know I have seen all there is to see," said the old man finally.
"And I," said Three softly, "am young enough to know there's still much to come."
The silence between them was thick with unasked questions. The night outside seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of what might unfold in those flickering flames and those two faces. But neither man spoke again as the night wore on, leaving behind only the echoes of their words like scattered autumn leaves blown away by the wind.
(generation #3 - 4 experts)The second part of the silence was as soft and quiet as a mouse’s footsteps. It was the silence that fell over people when they didn’t want to be heard. It was the pause that occurred in conversations when something awkward had been said. It was the stillness that seemed to descend whenever a secret was being whispered or a lie was being spun.
And the third part of the silence was as harsh and biting as a winter wind. It was the silence of fear. The sort that comes when you’re walking through a dark alley alone, or when you hear a strange noise in your house at night. It’s the silence that grips you by the throat when you realize you’re not as safe as you thought.
All three parts of the silence filled the Waystone Inn like a cold breath on the back of your neck, making you want to shiver and pull your cloak tighter around you even though you weren’t actually cold. It was the sort of silence that made you want to fill it with noise – to yell at the top of your lungs, or laugh until your sides hurt, or bang your spoon against the table in sheer bloody-minded defiance.
But there was no noise. Just the three parts of the silence, sitting on top of each other like layers in a cake. And then another silence joined them, a silence that was almost alive. It was as if the room itself had grown quiet, as if it had sucked all the noise out of the air and swallowed it whole.
This was the silence of Patience herself, the innkeeper, sitting at a small table by the fire with her back to the door. She didn’t seem to notice the silence at all. In fact she seemed not to notice anything except for the book in her hands and the flames dancing in the hearth in front of her.
She read in silence, turning page after page with an expression on her face that was as empty as the silence around her. The fire crackled softly every so often and the shadows danced around the walls like dark, living things.
It seemed as if she had been sitting there forever and ever, lost in her book as much as the inn was lost in its silence. As if nothing could disturb her, no matter how loud the knocking on the door or the shouting in the street might be outside.
But Patience was not as oblivious as she seemed. She had ears that picked up every sound and saw with eyes that noticed everything, no matter how small or quiet. She just chose to ignore most of it, preferring instead to lose herself in the words on the page.
For Patience knew that silence was sometimes a more potent weapon than any amount of noise. And she knew that if you stood still long enough, the silence would often reveal more to you than all the shouting and commotion in the world ever could. So she sat by the fire, reading her book in silence, waiting for the dawn to come and put an end to the night’s stillness. And as she read, the shadows on the wall seemed to grow closer and closer, as if they were leaning in to listen too. But Patience didn’t notice them at all. She just read on, lost in her book and the silence that surrounded her like a cloak.
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.
(generation using 3 experts)
Inside the quaint bookstore, the scent of old books and coffee filled the air. Owner Bethan Davies glanced up from the book she was dusting, her eyes narrowing as a stranger ducked through the doorway.
Bethan's lips pursed into a disapproving line as she took in the sight of the celebrity who'd just invaded her quiet sanctuary. "Can I help you?" she asked coolly.
The man before her looked every inch the movie star Bethan had only ever seen on the silver screen. His hair was artfully disheveled, his eyes a piercing blue, and his features chiseled into perfection. He wore a tailored suit that screamed designer labels, and his posture exuded confidence.
His charming smile faltered for a moment as he glanced around the shop, taking in the cozy ambience. Then he spotted Bethan and flashed his grin again.
"Ah, yes," he said, sauntering towards her with an air of casual elegance. "Just browsing, you know."
Bethan raised an eyebrow at his vague response. "Of course," she said dryly. "You don't have any particular book in mind?"
The man chuckled. "Not really my style, I'm afraid." He glanced around again, his gaze lingering on the shelves. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with a good book, of course..."
Bethan crossed her arms over her chest, studying him with an unimpressed expression. "Of course," she echoed.
The man's eyes met hers again, and he flashed her another dazzling smile. "You're not impressed, I take it."
"Well," Bethan said, her tone even more unflappable than before. "You do seem to be in a hurry."
He laughed again. "I suppose I am." His gaze drifted back to the window, where a photographer was still lurking outside. "I just needed to get away from those vultures for a little while."
Bethan's brows shot up. "Oh? You mean the paparazzi?"
The man nodded. "Those bloodsucking leeches. They make my life unbearable."
Bethan snorted, her expression turning into outright scorn. "I bet they do." Her eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Mr. Hollywood Star, how many of those poor souls have you stepped on to get where you are?"
The man's eyes widened at the question, and for a moment he looked almost...vulnerable.
"Ah," he said, his voice a little softer than before. "Well, I suppose I have my share of skeletons in the closet."
Bethan snorted again. "I'll bet you do."
The man's gaze lingered on Bethan's face, his eyes searching hers. He looked almost...wistful.
"You know," he said softly, "it's funny. Most people can't get enough of me."
Bethan raised an eyebrow again. "Is that so?"
The man nodded. "Yes. They eat up my every word, hang onto my every move." His gaze drifted to Bethan's hands, which were still crossed over her chest.
"And you?" he asked quietly. "What do you think of me?"
Bethan's lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile. "Honestly?"
The man nodded.
Bethan shrugged. "I think you're a bit of a rogue."
The man grinned. "Ah. You've sized me up."
Bethan nodded. "You're charming, of course."
The man chuckled. "Always a good starting point."
Bethan raised an eyebrow again. "But you're also a bit of a narcissist."
The man's grin faltered for a moment.
"And your ego," Bethan said, "it's rather large."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Ah," he said softly. "You've got me pegged."
Bethan shrugged. "I'm just stating the obvious."
The man's eyes drifted back to hers. For a moment they just stared at each other, their gazes locked in some silent battle of wills.
Then Bethan turned away, her gaze drifting to a bookshelf.
"You know," she said quietly, "I think you're rather like one of your own characters."
The man's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? And what's that supposed to mean?"
Bethan shrugged again. "Just that you're rather...self-absorbed."
The man's eyes narrowed again. Then he chuckled. "Ah," he said softly. "I suppose you have a point there."
Bethan turned back to him, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled again, this time with a hint of mischief in her eyes.
"You know," she said quietly, "I think I rather...admire you."
The man's eyebrows shot up again. Then he grinned.
"Ah," he said softly. "Well, I suppose that's a first."
Bethan shrugged once more. "Just stating the obvious again."
The man's gaze lingered on hers again, this time with something like longing in his eyes.
"You know," he said quietly, "I think you're rather...remarkable."
Bethan's lips twitched into another small smile. "Oh? And why is that?"
The man shrugged. "You're not easily impressed."
Bethan chuckled softly. "You've got that right."
The man grinned again. "Then I think I've found someone worth getting to know."
Bethan's gaze lingered on his face for a moment. Then she turned away again.
"Well," she said quietly, "if you'll excuse me..."
The man nodded. "Of course." His eyes lingered on hers again. "I'll see myself out."
As he turned towards the door, Bethan glanced up at him again. Something like wistfulness flickered across her face.
"You know," she said softly, "I think you're rather...interesting."
The man smiled again as he slipped out into the bright Welsh sunlight.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said quietly.
Bethan smiled to herself as she watched him disappear into the crowd. Then she turned back to her books, her mind already racing with thoughts of their strange little encounter.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
Writing Prompt: In the style of Roald Dahl: Write an original short story that embodies Dahl's darkly humorous, whimsical style. The protagonist should be a human child. Create a protagonist who faces a fantastical challenge or encounters a bizarre situation. Use descriptive language and elements of surprise to engage young readers. The magic of Roald Dahl's narratives combines dark adult themes with a child's perspective. It should esablish a grounded and relatable premise. 800-1000 words.
(generation using 3 experts)
The day Billy Blooper woke up with an extra mouth, he thought his life couldn’t get any worse. His family already found him an annoyance. Now, they had another mouth to feed and clean up after. Billy trudged downstairs to the kitchen, his stomach growling in protest. His mother, Mrs. Blooper, was already up and cooking.
"Ah, finally!" she exclaimed as she turned to face her son. "I thought you were still abed."
Billy stood there awkwardly, his eyes darting from the stove to the refrigerator. His mother had her back to him, but he could tell she was busy preparing lunch.
"Uh, yeah," Billy muttered, scratching his head. "I just...woke up. Is there anything to eat?"
Mrs. Blooper turned to Billy and stared at him. Her eyes widened as they took in his peculiar appearance. Two mouths had indeed sprouted from Billy's face overnight, and now he resembled a creature from a horror movie.
"Agh!" she screamed, letting the pot she was holding drop to the floor. "What is this?"
Billy looked down at his lap, then back up at his mother. He shrugged. "I don't know, Mom. It just happened."
Mrs. Blooper stood there in silence for a moment before regaining her composure. She picked up a towel and began to clean up the broken pot.
"Well, this is quite a turn of events," she muttered under her breath.
Billy remained quiet, still unsure what to do. He watched his mother move around the kitchen, picking up bits of broken ceramic. His father had always been a bit of an oddball, but Billy had never expected anything like this.
"How did you manage this?" Mrs. Blooper asked, still staring at Billy's two mouths. She looked almost terrified.
Billy shook his head. "I don't know! Maybe it's some sort of curse?"
Mrs. Blooper took a deep breath and tried to calm down. "Right, well, we need to get to the bottom of this."
She fetched a small notebook and began scribbling furiously.
"Okay," she said as she wrote, "we're going to look into this. Who might be able to help us?"
Billy shrugged again, unsure of what to say. But then he spotted his younger sister, Susie Blooper, peeking out from behind the refrigerator door.
"Susie!" Billy exclaimed excitedly. "Come meet Mom!"
Susie emerged, her eyes wide and curious as she took in Billy's unusual appearance.
"Wow," she whispered. "You look like a monster!"
Billy chuckled. "I guess I do."
Mrs. Blooper stopped scribbling and looked at Susie. "Well, it's true that Billy looks rather...different. But he's still the same person inside."
Susie looked up at her mother. "So we'll get used to it?"
Mrs. Blooper smiled reassuringly. "Of course."
Susie walked over to Billy and peered at his extra mouth.
"It's kind of cool," she admitted.
Billy grinned. "Thanks, sis."
Together, the Blooper family began to brainstorm ways to cope with their new reality. They were determined to make it work.
In the end, they decided that Billy would eat two meals, one through each mouth. They would have to adjust their lifestyle to accommodate this, but they figured they could manage. And if anyone gave them trouble about it, they could always say Billy had a rare medical condition that required him to eat double his weight in food daily.
The Blooper family sat down at the dinner table, Billy munching happily through both mouths. His parents exchanged amused glances across the table.
"Well," said Mr. Blooper with a chuckle, "this certainly adds a bit of spice to life."
Mrs. Blooper smiled. "Indeed it does."
And so the Bloopers adjusted to their new normal. Billy's extra mouth did not change who he was inside. He remained the same cheeky, imaginative kid he'd always been.
And if anything, his peculiar appearance only added to his charm. His family loved him just the same, maybe even a bit more. And when people looked at Billy and whispered, the Blooper family would simply smile and shrug.
"He's just a little...different," they'd say. "But he's still Billy."
Write me a science fiction story in 1st person present tense where the main character is a 15 year girl meets The Terminator with Dr Who materializing 3/4 through the story to save her while there is a tornado of sharks baring down on them. The setting is inside the Canadian National tower restaurant on a Saturday. The length of this story is 1000 words. For each character in the story ROLE PLAY them, and have them react to the situation/setting, events and each other naturally. This includes the main characters, the background character including kitchen staff and other patrons. The sharks should also have “character” too. Treat the tower and the restaurant too as characters. Spice up the narrative to the extreme with reactions all over the setting including character actions, and dialog. The Dr Who and The Terminator should also react to the situation too and comment on it.
(generation 1)
I'm at the top of the Canadian National Tower Restaurant. It's a Saturday afternoon, and there's a bustling crowd of people eating and drinking. I'm here with my friends, enjoying our lunch breaks from school before we have to head back. We've been laughing and chatting loudly. But now, my heart is racing. I'm staring out the window in horror. The sky above us has turned a terrifying shade of green. And it's not just the sky. Tornadoes are forming, one after another. But these aren't your ordinary tornadoes. They're filled with... sharks.
Suddenly, I see a woman materialize in a cloud of smoke behind me. She's wearing a blue box on her back, and her eyes look like they've seen everything. Dr. Who. She turns to me with concern.
"Are you alright?" she asks.
I'm still frozen in terror, but I manage to nod. She helps me up and leads me towards the emergency stairs.
"That was quick," I hear her say as we descend.
She's talking to someone else. He steps into view, his eyes glowing red. It's the Terminator.
"Come on," Dr. Who says to me, leading us out of the restaurant. "We need to get underground."
The Terminator is right behind us, gun at the ready.
We burst through the emergency exit and sprint down the stairs. We're heading towards the basement, but there's a problem. The sharks are following us. I can hear their jaws snapping as they chase us down the stairs.
Dr. Who pulls out a sonic screwdriver.
"What's that thing?" I ask.
"It's a sonic screwdriver," she explains. "It can do all sorts of things."
She points it at the ground and activates it. The stairs begin to shake violently beneath our feet. The Terminator steadies himself against the wall.
"What's happening?" he asks.
"The sonic screwdriver is creating a seismic wave," Dr. Who explains. "It'll knock the sharks off course."
And it works. The sharks lose their footing and tumble down the stairs, their bodies slamming against the walls.
Dr. Who turns to me.
"Now, let's get underground," she urges.
We reach the basement and rush inside. We're greeted by the sight of people running around in panic. Dr. Who quickly scans the room.
"There," she says, pointing towards the left wall.
We dash towards a metal door. She grabs the handle and pulls it open.
"We're going down," she explains.
The Terminator follows us down the stairs. We emerge into a bunker that's eerily quiet after the chaos we've just experienced.
"What now?" I ask.
Dr. Who looks around the room.
"I'm not sure," she admits. "But we need to find somewhere safe."
The Terminator scans the room.
"There's a nuclear shelter over there," he says.
Dr. Who nods. "Let's go."
We make our way over to the shelter. There are already several people inside. They're all scared out of their minds.
Dr. Who helps them in. The Terminator follows us inside. We slam the door shut behind us. The sound of the sharks is getting louder and closer.
The shelter is cramped, but we've managed to fit in a few benches. I sit down, trying to catch my breath.
Dr. Who sits down next to me.
"What's going on?" I ask. "Why are there sharks coming out of tornadoes?"
Dr. Who shakes her head.
"I'm not sure," she admits. "But I have a feeling it has something to do with the TARDIS."
She points upwards.
The TARDIS is hovering above the shelter. It's glowing ominously.
The Terminator walks over to it.
"It's the TARDIS," he says. "It's a time machine."
Dr. Who nods.
"It's a bit more complicated than that," she explains. "The TARDIS is a time machine, but it's also a living being."
I look at her in confusion.
"It's alive?" I ask.
Dr. Who nods.
"Yes. And it can sense danger. I think it's the reason we're experiencing this."
She gestures towards the ceiling.
"And I think it's going to help us survive."
Suddenly, the TARDIS begins to glow brighter. There's a loud rumbling sound.
The shelter begins to shake violently again.
The Terminator grabs onto the wall.
"Hold on!" he shouts.
Dr. Who grabs me tight and pulls me close.
The shelter explodes upwards into the air. We're all thrown against the ceiling as we ascend.
We burst out of the shelter, surrounded by a whirlwind of tornadoes. The sharks are still chasing us, but the TARDIS appears to be deflecting them.
Dr. Who looks around in awe.
"It's working," she whispers.
The Terminator looks at her.
"How is it doing that?" he asks.
Dr. Who smiles proudly.
"That's what I don't understand," she admits. "But I do know it's trying to protect us."
The TARDIS suddenly drops back down towards the earth.
We land roughly on the ground. The tornadoes dissipate, and the sharks disappear.
The Terminator looks around.
"We're safe," he says.
Dr. Who nods.
"But for how long?"
She looks around at the people who've survived.
"And what will happen to those who didn't?"
I look down at my hands.
"They're just... ordinary humans," I say.
Dr. Who smiles sadly.
"That's exactly what makes them so precious."
Suddenly, there's a loud crash behind us. We turn around to see a woman standing in the ruins of what used to be a house.
She's holding a small child. She looks terrified.
The Terminator steps forward.
"Come on," he urges.
He helps her and the child inside the shelter.
Dr. Who looks at them with pity.
"I'm afraid we won't be able to save everyone," she says.
The Terminator looks at her.
"We'll do our best," he says.
Dr. Who nods.
"But even with our skills and knowledge, there are limits to what we can do."
The woman inside the shelter looks at us with wide eyes.
"What's going on?" she asks.
Dr. Who sighs.
"I'm not entirely sure," she admits. "But it seems to have something to do with those... sharks."
She points out the window at the empty street outside.
The Terminator steps forward.
"We'll protect you as best we can," he says.
The woman inside nods gratefully.
"Thank you," she says.
Dr. Who looks around at the survivors.
"We'll get you through this," she promises.
And with that, we settle in to wait out whatever is coming next.
The end.
Generation #2
I'm sitting at a high table in the Canadian National Tower restaurant with my best friend Emma. It's Saturday afternoon, and we're celebrating my 15th birthday by eating at this fancy restaurant on the 94th floor of the CN Tower in Toronto. We've been here for a couple hours already and I'm getting a bit bored when suddenly, the lights flicker ominously.
"What's going on?" Emma whispers, looking around nervously.
I glance out the window, and that's when I see them. A swirling vortex of sharks is descending upon the city. Their metallic bodies are churning, their eyes glowing red as they zero in on us.
"Holy shit," I mutter, my heart pounding.
"Sarah," a metallic voice growls behind me.
I turn to see a massive cybernetic warrior, his muscles bulging under his metallic skin, standing before me. He's dressed in black, and his eyes glow like embers.
"T-terminator?" Emma stammers, her eyes wide with fear.
The Terminator nods once, then looks at the swirling sharks. "We must get out of here. Now."
I gulp audibly and grab Emma's hand, pulling her towards the exit. The Terminator follows close behind. We burst out into the breezeway, but it's empty and eerily quiet. The only sound is the ominous humming of the sharks in the distance.
Suddenly, the air around us shimmers violently, and a blue British police box materializes before us. The door swings open, and out steps a tall, lanky man with a wild mop of brown hair and a cheeky grin.
"Ah, hello there!" he says, his voice cheerful and upbeat. "Mind if I join you?"
Emma and I stare at him in confusion, then glance back at the Terminator.
"Dr. Who?" he asks, his grin growing wider.
The Terminator nods curtly and turns to us.
"We need to get out of the breezeway," he says flatly.
"Right behind you, mate," Dr. Who says, following close on the Terminator's heels.
We burst through the doors into the main restaurant area. People are going about their meals, seemingly unaware of the sharks descending upon them.
"There!" the Terminator growls, pointing towards an emergency stairwell.
We sprint towards it, the Terminator and Dr. Who leading the way. As we hit the stairs, the first wave of sharks arrives in a terrifying explosion of metal and water.
The Terminator slams into one of the windows, shattering it with his superhuman strength. Dr. Who dives through it without hesitation.
"Come on!" he shouts, waving us towards him.
Emma and I look at each other, then dive after him. The Terminator follows close behind.
We tumble onto the roof of the tower, the wind howling around us. The Dr. Who turns to us.
"Don't worry, Sarah," he says cheerfully. "I'll get you to safety."
The Terminator nods curtly.
"We have to get back to the future," he grunts.
The Dr. Who's eyes light up with mischief.
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" he says with a wink.
He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a strange device.
"This is my trusty sonic screwdriver," he says proudly.
He points it at the swirling vortex of sharks and activates it.
A blast of blue energy shoots from it, striking the sharks dead-on. They recoil from the blast, momentarily stunned.
"Now's our chance!" Dr. Who shouts.
The Terminator nods curtly, and together they pull Emma and me towards the stairwell door.
"Just remember," the Terminator says to me, "the future is not set."
And with that, we tumble back down into the stairwell, away from the swirling vortex of sharks above.
As we hit the ground floor, the lights flicker back to life. The restaurant patrons look at us with confusion and concern.
"Thanks for the ride," I tell the Dr. Who and the Terminator as we step out onto the sidewalk.
The Dr. Who gives me a wink and a salute before vanishing into the TARDIS again. The Terminator nods curtly and walks away.
"I'll see you later," he grunts.
And with that, they're gone.
Emma and I look at each other, then burst out laughing.
"Well," Emma says, wiping tears from her eyes, "that was definitely a birthday I'll never forget."
(Generation #2 - extended 2000 words)
I sit at a table in the Canadian National Tower restaurant. It's a Saturday afternoon, and we're here for my cousin's birthday. My friend Emily and I decide to go for a walk around the top deck while everyone eats.
"Hey guys!" I shout down to Emily as I hit the door to the outside deck. The wind slaps me in the face. I pull up my jacket tighter around me.
"What's up?" she calls back as we walk to the railing.
"Nothing much," I reply. "Just wanted to see the view."
The restaurant staff has put a sign up that says "Please keep the windows clean, we appreciate it!" I smirk. Like anyone wants to clean those windows.
As we look out over the stunning view, I notice something strange. A couple of people in the distance seem to be... running? Towards the tower?
I point them out to Emily. "Look, what's going on?"
She shrugs. "No idea."
Just then, I hear a strange metallic voice behind me.
"Hasta la vista, baby."
I spin around, almost falling into the railing.
In the doorway stands a huge, muscular machine. Its skin is a dull gray, its eyes are glowing red, and it's covered in weapons.
"Whoa!" Emily exclaims, jumping back. "What is that?"
The machine turns to us, its head swiveling on an invisible neck.
"I am a T-800 Model Terminator," it announces in its metallic voice.
Emily and I exchange wide-eyed glances.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly.
The Terminator's eyes fix on mine. "I have been sent back in time to protect you."
"Pardon?" I stammer.
"You have a crucial role to play in the survival of humanity."
The Terminator's expression doesn't change.
"Wait," Emily cuts in. "You're saying that girl is important?"
The Terminator nods.
"Then why are you dressed like a cyborg from a bad 80s movie?" she adds snarkily.
"I am a Terminator," it repeats simply.
I'm still staring at it in awe and terror.
Just then, the lights flicker ominously inside the restaurant behind us.
"What's going on?" Emily asks nervously.
Suddenly, a wall of air rushes towards us. I look up and see a massive tornado tearing across the sky towards us.
"Woah," Emily gasps.
Through the whirling vortex, I see hundreds of shapes coiled within. Sharp teeth, pointed fins, and glinting eyes.
"Sharks!" I yell, grabbing onto the railing for support.
The tornado of sharks is hurtling directly at us.
The Terminator looks at me for a moment, its eyes flicking over me like a computer analyzing data.
Then it springs into action. In a blur, it grabs us and dashes towards the door.
"Inside!" it barks. "We must get inside!"
We stumble inside with the Terminator's help just as the tornado reaches the tower. The entire structure shudders. The lights flicker again, and then go out.
"What's happening?" Emily asks, her voice trembling.
"We need to find a way down from here," I say, fumbling in the dark.
But it's too late. The tornado's roar is deafening as it tears through the restaurant. I'm knocked off my feet. Everything goes black.
[ scene change ]
Then a light flickers on. I open my eyes to see a blue box materializing before me.
"What the...?" Emily mutters, looking around in confusion.
Out of the blue box steps a man with unruly hair and a coat that looks like it was stolen from a thrift store.
"Hello!" he calls cheerfully to us. "I'm the Doctor. What seems to be the problem?"
He's wearing a bow tie, of course.
The Terminator stands frozen behind us. I think it's still processing that we've brought another time-traveling alien to the scene.
"The tornado of sharks!" Emily yells. "And a Terminator!"
The Doctor's eyes light up. His hair sticks straight up in excitement.
"Fascinating!" he exclaims. "I've never seen a tornado of sharks before!"
"It's not a natural occurrence," I explain as he approaches.
He nods eagerly.
"I bet it's connected to the time-space vortex," he theorizes. "Which means I can fix it!"
The Terminator finally speaks.
"The girl must be protected."
The Doctor pauses mid-step.
"Oh right," he says with a grin. "Your human protector is right here."
He gestures towards me.
"It seems I've got some sharks to catch and a Terminator to placate," he declares grandly.
And with that, he strides off towards the tornado.
"Come on!" he calls back at us. "I'll show you how it's done!"
As we watch in awe, the Doctor leaps into action. His sonic screwdriver sparks as he zaps energy bolts at the twirling vortex. Sharks scatter as he dashes through it.
The Terminator steps forward beside him.
"Humanity's survival is paramount," it states.
The Doctor nods.
"I agree! Which is why I'm going to save this young lady!"
He dashes over to us, his eyes still sparkling with excitement.
"Ah, you must be Sarah," he says, turning to me.
"How did you know that?" Emily asks incredulously.
The Doctor winks.
"A clever bit of detective work," he says modestly.
Now the tornado's moving towards us again. The sharks are coiled tighter than ever.
The Doctor grabs my hand. His eyes are determined.
"Ready?" he asks.
And before I can respond, we're whisked away into the swirling vortex of sharks. The Terminator follows close behind.
Inside the tornado, it's like nothing I've ever experienced. Sharks dart around me, their jaws snapping. The wind howls in my ears.
But I feel strangely calm. The Doctor's grip on my hand is firm, his eyes never leaving the path ahead.
Then, suddenly, everything slows down. The sharks' movements become languid, their teeth mere inches from my face.
The Doctor pulls me through a swirling tunnel of sharks and out the other side. We materialize on the ground outside the restaurant. I'm gasping for breath.
The Terminator stands over us, its chest glowing red.
"Mission accomplished," it declares.
The Doctor beams proudly beside us.
"That's the second time today I've saved a young lady from a tornado of sharks," he says with a chuckle.
I'm still catching my breath.
"How... how did you do that?" I manage to ask.
The Doctor grins.
"It's just what I do," he says. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got another appointment waiting."
And with that, he strides off, his blue box materializing behind him.
The Terminator stands still for a moment.
"Protecting humanity is my purpose," it announces solemnly.
Then it too turns and walks away into the distance.
Emily turns to me, her eyes wide.
"Well," she says, "that was certainly something."
I nod, still trying to catch my breath.
"Definitely not an ordinary Saturday afternoon," I agree.
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.
The cockpit of the spaceship was a cramped, claustrophobic space filled with the hum of machinery and the soft glow of instrument panels. In the center of it all was Captain Evelyn Reyes, the last surviving member of her crew. She sat in her chair, strapped in tight, her eyes fixed on the main screen in front of her.
On the screen was a vast expanse of stars and galaxies, the kind of view that used to fill her with wonder and awe. But now, it only served as a reminder of how utterly alone she was. The ship's engines were quiet, nearly dead, and if she didn't act soon, there wouldn't be time to send a final transmission back to Earth.
Evelyn took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. Her fingers danced across the control panel, typing out a message to her loved ones back on the homeworld. It was a desperate attempt to connect with someone, anyone, after being adrift in space for so long.
"Hey," she started, her voice shaky but determined. "It's me, Evelyn. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to say goodbye. The ship... it's failing. I'm sending this out in hopes that someone will receive it."
Her fingers moved quicker now, filling in the details of what had happened. How the mission had gone wrong from the start. How one by one her crew members had succumbed to injuries, infections, or the harsh conditions of space. How she'd been left all alone to try and make it back home.
She paused for a moment, her eyes welling up with tears. She blinked them away quickly and continued.
"I'm running out of time," she said, her voice cracking. "The ship's power is dying fast. But before it goes, I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for everything you've ever done for me."
Evelyn's gaze drifted from the screen to the small photo tucked into her pocket. It was of her and her daughter, Sofia. She smiled faintly at the memory of their last hug before Evelyn had left on this doomed mission.
"I love you both so much," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the ship's dying engines. "Please... please find me. Keep searching for me, even if it takes forever."
There was a long, agonizing pause as Evelyn waited for the message to transmit. She knew it would take hours to reach Earth, even at light speed. But she had no other choice.
As the seconds ticked by, Evelyn's thoughts turned to the life she'd left behind. She thought about Sofia's smile, her laugh, her tiny hands holding onto hers. She thought about her husband, Carlos, and how they'd always been there for each other through thick and thin.
She thought about the sacrifices they'd all made to get her to this point. The late nights studying, the missed holidays, the countless "I'm sorry, I have to be away again" conversations. It had all been worth it, Evelyn knew, if it meant getting back to them.
But now, it seemed like a futile hope. Even if someone back on Earth picked up her transmission, how would they even know it was real? There could be any number of reasons why she wasn't answering their distress calls. She'd been warned about the dangers of deep space travel, but she hadn't listened.
Evelyn's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden jolt as the ship's life support system gave up the ghost entirely. The cockpit fell into darkness, the only light left coming from the faint glow of her personal console.
Evelyn felt herself growing cold. She knew her own air supply was running out, and she'd never been good at waiting. But then she remembered something Carlos had told her once.
"In the darkest of times," he'd said, "remember that as long as there's still a spark of hope inside you, you can always find your way back to it."
Evelyn closed her eyes tight and focused on that spark inside her. It was small and flickering, but it was there. And with it, she knew she could keep going just a little bit longer.
She took a shaky breath and spoke one last time into her console.
"Keep searching for me," she whispered. "I'll find my way back to you."
And with that, Evelyn Reyes slipped into unconsciousness, leaving behind a tiny message in the vast emptiness of space, a final plea for human connection in the face of all-consuming darkness.
Start a 1000 word scene using vivid words, graphic horror in the first person with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
Generation is with 2 and 4 experts, and quant: IQ4_XS
( Generation #1 - 2 experts )
The sky scraper swayed like a drunkard, its steel and glass frame creaking ominously, as I watched the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode in a shower of glass and concrete. The blast sent shards flying across the room, piercing my skin like tiny knives. My vision blurred, blood dripping from my face like crimson rain.
I stumbled backwards, tripping over a fallen chair, my hands reaching out to break my fall. But the floor was slick with shattered glass and sticky blood, sending me sprawling onto my back. The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, leaving me gasping for air like a fish on land.
The screams of my coworkers filled the air, each one piercing my ears like a hot knife. Their faces were twisted in terror, eyes wide with shock as they scrambled to get away from the gaping hole where the window used to be. One woman, her blouse torn open, was frantically trying to stem the flow of blood from a deep gash across her chest. Another man had his arm tangled in the remains of the window frame, his cries for help muffled by the sound of shattering glass.
I struggled to my feet, my body aching and burning, blood oozing from a dozen wounds. The air was thick with the metallic tang of iron and the acrid stench of smoke. The building seemed to be tilting, as if it too was struggling to stay upright, and I staggered towards the door, desperate to get outside before the whole structure came crashing down.
As I stumbled through the chaos, the floor gave a sudden, ominous creak, and I felt the ground drop away beneath my feet. I plummeted downwards, my screams drowned out by the roar of crumbling concrete and the sickening crunch of my body hitting the floor far below. Everything went black.
When I came to, I was lying in a pool of blood, my head throbbing with each beat of my heart. The room was silent, save for the ragged sound of my own breathing. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, and I realized I was surrounded by the mutilated corpses of my former colleagues. Their bodies were twisted and broken, some missing limbs, others with their skulls crushed, brains leaking out onto the floor like overripe melons.
I tried to move, but a searing pain shot through my chest, and I collapsed back onto the blood-soaked tiles. The wound in my abdomen gaped open, intestines spilling out like a snake slithering from its basket. I reached down to try and stem the flow of blood, but my hands were shaking too much, and all I could manage was to smear my own innards across my body.
As the darkness closed in around me once more, I heard the distant rumble of sirens, growing louder with each passing second. They'd find me soon enough, along with the rest of the carnage, and piece together what had happened here. But even as I waited for the inevitable, I couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't the end. That somewhere out there, there were others, victims of the same horror, and that this was only the beginning of a descent into an abyss of unspeakable terror. And as my life ebbed away, I knew that I would never forget the sight of that window exploding, or the feeling of my world crashing down around me, bit by brutal, bloody bit.
The End.
( Generation #2 - 4 experts )
I stood transfixed, my heart thudding in my chest like a jackhammer as the colossal skyscraper rocked violently, sending my stomach into a nauseating somersault. The building's steel and concrete frame groaned in protest, a deafening cacophony of creaks and screeches that drowned out all other sounds. I felt as though I was trapped in the belly of a monstrous beast, its innards churning and bucking with each lurch.
The air was thick with a metallic stench, acrid and choking, like the tang of blood and scorched flesh. It seared my nostrils, making my eyes water, as I struggled to catch my breath. Panic clawed at my mind, threatening to consume me whole. My thoughts were a jumbled mess, fragmented images and half-formed fears that swirled through my head in a maddening dance.
And then, it happened. The window directly in front of me, on the 21st floor, detonated in a maelstrom of splintered glass and pulverized concrete. The blast wave slammed into me with the force of a sledgehammer, knocking me off my feet and sending me sprawling across the floor. I landed hard, the wind knocked out of me, and for a moment, everything went dark.
When I came to, my head was spinning, my ears ringing. I was disoriented, unsure of my surroundings. The world had gone mad – the floor beneath me seemed to tilt at an impossible angle, and the walls were shuddering and cracking as if they might collapse at any moment. I stumbled to my feet, my heart racing, and staggered towards the edge of the room. Each step felt like wading through quicksand, every movement a Herculean effort against the building's relentless sway.
As I drew closer to the windowless wall, the sounds of chaos intensified. Shouts and screams echoed through the corridors, mingling with the cacophony of groaning steel and crumbling masonry. I could feel the heat of the inferno licking at my skin, searing my lungs with each desperate gasp of air. My vision blurred, and I had to blink away the stinging sweat that flooded my eyes.
I reached the wall just as a section of it collapsed with a deafening crash, sending shards of concrete and rebar raining down upon me. I threw myself to the ground, covering my head with my arms as the debris rained down, pummeling my back and shoulders with brutal force. The agony was excruciating, each impact like a red-hot branding iron searing my flesh.
When the onslaught finally ceased, I lay there, dazed and trembling, my body a mass of bruises and welts. I could taste the coppery tang of blood on my lips, and I knew that my luck had finally run out. The building was collapsing, and I was trapped in its death throes.
I crawled to my knees, my hands shaking as I surveyed the devastation around me. The room was a war zone, with chunks of concrete and twisted metal strewn about like the detritus of some apocalyptic battle. In the distance, I could hear the unmistakable roar of a fireball, and I knew that I had mere moments to escape.
With a surge of desperation, I forced myself to my feet and stumbled towards the door. Each step was a Herculean effort, my body screaming in protest as I staggered forward. The door hung askew on its hinges, and with a final burst of strength, I flung it open and plunged into the smoke-filled corridor.
The heat was intense, like walking into the mouth of a furnace. The air was thick and choking, filled with the acrid stench of burning plastic and seared flesh. I staggered forward, my eyes streaming from the smoke, my lungs burning from the fumes. I could hear the moans and cries of the injured all around me, but I knew that I couldn't stop to help.
I had to get out – and fast. I stumbled through the wreckage, dodging falling debris and avoiding the writhing forms of the maimed. With each step, I prayed that I wouldn't be the next casualty. The skyscraper was collapsing around me, its steel and concrete skeleton imploding with terrifying speed. I could feel the ground shudder and tremble beneath my feet, and I knew that I was running out of time.
Suddenly, the floor gave way beneath me, sending me plummeting into the abyss. Time seemed to slow as I fell, my mind reeling with terror as I contemplated the inevitable impact. The world narrowed down to a tiny, spinning tunnel of blackness, and I felt an overwhelming sense of surrender wash over me. In that moment, I knew that I was about to die.
And then, everything went dark.
(Generation #3, 2 experts - Dynamic Temp, Smoothing and Dry Samplers Active)
I was standing at the edge of the 21st floor, my hands pressed against the cold glass as I gazed out over the city. The skyscraper swayed gently, a constant reminder of its height and the fragility of our perch. Below, the streets were a labyrinth of twinkling lights, a tapestry woven by humanity's ceaseless ambition.
Suddenly, a deafening roar ripped through the air, and the window in front of me exploded. Shards of glass rained down like a deadly hailstorm, slicing into my skin and clothing. I stumbled back, my heart racing as I desperately tried to shield myself from the onslaught.
As the last of the glass fragments fell, I saw it – an enormous fireball erupting from the neighboring building, engulfing the space between us. Flames danced across the void, licking at the air with an otherworldly hunger. The heat was palpable, even from this distance, and I could feel my flesh beginning to sear.
The skyscraper shuddered violently, throwing me off balance. Alarms blared, and the emergency lighting flickered on, casting an eerie glow over the carnage. People screamed all around me, their voices blending into a cacophony of terror as they scrambled for cover.
I forced myself to look away from the inferno, my gaze darting frantically across the room. My coworkers were scattered, some huddled together in shock, others running for the stairwell or trying to call for help on their phones. Blood stained the carpet, and the acrid stench of smoke and char filled my nostrils.
My own wounds burned, and I could see the crimson trails of blood dripping from my arms and torso. But it was nothing compared to the horror unfolding before my eyes. I felt numb, detached from the chaos, as if I were watching a gruesome movie play out in slow motion.
The flames continued to spread, consuming everything in their path. Windows shattered, sending shards flying like deadly projectiles. The floor beneath me creaked ominously, threatening to give way at any moment. Panic gripped my chest, making it hard to breathe.
As the blaze raged on, I spotted a figure in the distance, a woman with her back to me, desperately trying to reach the emergency exit. She stumbled, and I watched in helpless horror as she fell, her body crashing against the glass. It held for a moment, then shattered, sending her plummeting toward the ground far below.
Time seemed to stretch, each second an eternity as I waited for her to hit the pavement. But she didn't. Instead, she landed with a sickening crunch on the fire escape, her limbs twisted at impossible angles. Her screams echoed through the building, a chilling reminder of the unspeakable agony she must be enduring.
I couldn't tear my eyes away. The sight of her broken form was seared into my mind, a graphic illustration of the hellish reality we found ourselves in. My own pain and fear seemed insignificant in comparison.
The skyscraper lurched again, and I lost my footing. I slid across the floor, my body scraping against the unforgiving surface. As I came to a stop, I saw the woman's lifeless eyes staring up at me, her face contorted in a silent scream.
My vision blurred, and darkness crept in around the edges. I knew I was bleeding out, but the horror show playing out before me was so overwhelming that I barely registered the pain. All I could do was watch, paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of the carnage.
And then, everything went black.