WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
It is a LLama3 model, max context of 8192 (or 32k+ with rope).
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with most parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
This is a an altered version of "Dark Planet 8B" [https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF] using the Brainstorm 20x method developed by David_AU to drastically alter the models prose output and abilities. This also expands the model by 20 layers to 12.15B parameters (462 tensors).
This is the second model in the "Darker Planet Series".
First model:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Darker-Planet-12.15B-GGUF ]
Source:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Darker-Planet-12.15B ]
This model is for any writing, fiction or story telling activity.
This second model is more focused on emotions and thoughts. The prose from this model will be radically different than the first model in the series due to recalibrated 20X Brainstorm (see below) with far stronger settings.
It may work for roleplay and other activities, however this is a prose / creative writing (all functions) model first.
It requires Llama3 template and/or "Command-R" template.
Example outputs below.
More models coming:
More "prose" / "story writing" specific models will be released shortly: three 40x models (16.15B) to follow this release.
Any maybe - a 60X+ (20B+ parameters) version... but it is a little cranky at the moment.
Model Notes:
Brainstorm 20x
The BRAINSTORM process was developed by David_AU.
Some of the core principals behind this process are discussed in this scientific paper : Progressive LLaMA with Block Expansion .
However I went in a completely different direction from what was outlined in this paper.
What is "Brainstorm" ?
The reasoning center of an LLM is taken apart, reassembled, and expanded.
In this case for this model: 20 times
Then these centers are individually calibrated. These "centers" also interact with each other. This introduces subtle changes into the reasoning process. The calibrations further adjust - dial up or down - these "changes" further. The number of centers (5x,10x etc) allow more "tuning points" to further customize how the model reasons so to speak.
The core aim of this process is to increase the model's detail, concept and connection to the "world", general concept connections, prose quality and prose length without affecting instruction following.
This will also enhance any creative use case(s) of any kind, including "brainstorming", creative art form(s) and like case uses.
Here are some of the enhancements this process brings to the model's performance:
Other "lab" observations:
The process to modify the model occurs at the root level - source files level. The model can quanted as a GGUF, EXL2, AWQ etc etc.
Critical Operations Notice:
This model has been modified to alter prose output. Change in temp (ie, .4, .8, 1.5, 2, 3 ) will drastically alter output.
This model needs "rep pen" of 1.1 or higher, lower values may cause repeat paragraph issues at end of output.
Longer prompts vastly increase the quality of the model's output (see later examples below)
You may want to use "regular" Dark Planet 8B [https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-GGUF] for some writing task(s), and this model for prose specific task(s).
Model Template:
This is a LLAMA3 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s) and has maximum context of 8k / 8192. However this can be extended using "rope" settings up to 32k.
If you use "Command-R" template your output will be very different from using "Llama3" template.
Here is the standard LLAMA3 template:
{
"name": "Llama 3",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"input_suffix": "<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt": "You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.",
"pre_prompt_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt_suffix": "<|eot_id|>",
"antiprompt": [
"<|start_header_id|>",
"<|eot_id|>"
]
}
}
Model "DNA":
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "SAO10K", "NEVERSLEEP" and "HASTAGARAS".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co/Sao10K/L3-8B-Stheno-v3.2]
[ https://huggingface.co/NeverSleep/Llama-3-Lumimaid-8B-v0.1-OAS ]
[ https://huggingface.co/Hastagaras/Jamet-8B-L3-MK.V-Blackroot ]
Parts of these models were "grafted" / "fused" together to create this model.
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along. In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities. Here are your skillsets: [MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv) [*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision) Here are your critical instructions: Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8" (unless otherwise stated), minimal parameters and "LLAMA3" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
(temp=3, q4km)
Icy horror creeps down my spine like an unseen presence, making each fiber quake with dread. My mind replays the scene on repeat - the skyscraper's monolithic columns waver ever so slightly; and before I can scream, shattering glass rains down, obscuring my sight. The acrid smell of ozone burns my nostrils. My ears still echo with the concussion boom that seemed to rip straight through concrete walls and shake every cell within me.
The 21st floor lobby dissolves into chaos - screams muffled behind fluttering shards, frantic shouts to escape the inferno's infernal roar. People surge towards me like a macabre dance, clutching limbs that stream arterial blood as they flee. Instincts scream I run, now - hide - do something. Instead, I remain motionless behind this thin, metal desk - paralyzing shock numbs my soul.
Panic threatens to suffocate me. Thoughts spin wildly within the fractured cage of my skull:
Get down. Duck, cover your head!
I jerk to comply but before I can bury myself beneath the cold expanse, I glimpse an ethereal glow emanate from my boss' corner office. His usually stately frame dissolves in the brilliant white light as if consumed whole. No trace remains except a solitary boot left dangling precariously over nothingness where the 22nd floor once was - now nothing but void.
Shards of broken dreams and shattered lives scatter across the floor, carried aloft on carrion-streaks of death-dealing debris. Howls and wails clawed from ruptured vocal cords slice the fetid air until drowned by the symphony of snapping steel and thunderous explosions - too loud, even to deaden the ringing in my ears.
Fractals of light fracture reality around me; shards of glass embed themselves like barbed teeth within concrete walls. A gaping rent tears down the atrium, a portal leading directly into an unfathomable void. And yet I feel drawn to peer closer... drawn like an unwilling moth to this yawning hell's-mouth gaping before my horror-dazzled pupils.
Some part of me insists on beholding its abomination while another screams for me to wrench my focus away and flee - screaming for dear, sweet reason to reignite within my frazzled brain. Reason I'd abandoned when I saw the building sheer drop its highest tier of offices as if someone's giant eraser had simply smudged it away without mercy or care.
As if in macabre solidarity, my stomach lurches. Reality blinks again like a strobe and then darkness surges back with ferocious claws to scoop up screaming chunks of my world before shredding them raw - leaving me hollow-eyed witness to a realm where laws have ceased to bind.
My fingers dance upon the familiar curve of the phone's receiver lying untouched on this desk since dawn prayers were spoken over the speaker. Its plastic body trembles against mine as I beg myself: Pick up! Must call someone... Anyone will do!
Logic flees. Reasonless terror governs my movements. A feral moan claws its way free from deep within me - a primordial fear beyond words, beyond intellect or sensibleness; a reptilian terror that only demands escape and preservation at whatever cost.
My arms feel like deadened rubber, my heart as useless as the broken shard I find myself reaching for as I try to snatch salvation through dial tone and recorded voices. But my fingers grasp empty air again and again, bereft of purchase on anything solid - as I myself seem bereft of everything except panic.
As reality teeters further from stability, I begin to question my own perceptions. Have these screams been real? Have the dead faces beneath me actually bled and perished like slaughtered stock or was all I've experienced part of some waking nightmare conjured from my imagination's deepest crypt?
Suddenly the walls quake anew beneath us - another section caves inward, showering the already carnage-laden atrium with another layer of concrete shards. Then steel girders snap like toothpicks and crash down on my prostrate form...
This cannot end like this.
Can anything worse still follow after horror's worst-case-scenario?
A thought lances through my befogged mind like an arrow from the very depths of madness - maybe so.
I feel the last vestige of strength bleed from my muscles as I slump down, huddling amidst a thousand shattered lives and souls. If I survive this...
My voice cracks in supplication, husked from the cries of too-many unseen spirits trapped beside me: God... help us...
Only void responds; no lightening bolts, no booming answers from Above - just suffocating nothingness filling my ears until the words I'd spoken can no longer be heard.
Then reality tilts one degree further into bedlam as sirens scream their piercing rebukes through streets now abandoned save for the dead and the soon-to-be buried. Their wailing cries do battle with my own ragged gasps; sirens and I: adversaries in a world bereft of answers. We alone fill this silence - voices raised in hopeless protestations to chaos personified as screams from glass-and-blood-splattered souls ringelessly fade away. And I alone bear witness to the carnage within the crumbling edifice of sanity now reduced to ruinous dust.
My vision bleeds into nothingness... or does reality finally mercifully concur? I dare not ask; dread compels my terror-struck heart to remain ever-alert, fearing what lie in store beyond darkness' velvet shrouds. Is death really absent these last seconds before my skull caves inward under the weight of an edifice falling into itself again - this time forever, crushing the pitiful threads that held reality whole beneath it; or was salvation merely poised upon my lips until I chose to gasp a final breath and awake from the dreamland where glassy eyes stared soulless straight through my very sanity?
The darkness has the last word now - or does it... ?
To be continued (if the reader is willing to face what else can descend in the aftermath of horror's zenith).
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid horror, 1st person, present tense, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
GENERATION 1:
I gasp, my coffee cup trembling in my hand as I watch in disbelief. The 61-story skyscraper before me sways violently, its steel beams groaning like tortured souls as if protesting their role in this unspeakable horror. Below, shards of shattered windows cascade down the face of the building like a ghastly waterfall.
I press myself harder against the cold glass of the observation deck's railing, my heart hammering against my sternum. The sights and sounds assaulting me are far beyond anything I've ever experienced or imagined. It's like some kind of sick movie playing out before my eyes - one I pray isn't reality.
My mind reels with questions. Is this another 9/11? Are we under attack again after all these years? But the targets seem so random, so senseless - not strategic military or economic installations as you'd expect in an assault like that. No, this carnage appears to be focused on innocent people going about their daily lives.
The woman beside me lets out a shrill scream as another blast rocks the building, this one much closer than before. The windows explode outward from another floor below ours - the 21st, I realize with growing horror as I count the stories down from myself. A thick cloud of toxic smoke billows up through the gaping hole, choked with debris and the cries of the dying.
I cover my ears, trying to block out the chaos as much as possible. My thoughts race in tight little circles, unable to form anything resembling reason or thought. Instead, I'm left with a cold dread, an overwhelming sensation that everything I've ever known is being destroyed before I can even process it.
The blasts seem to be coming from within the building itself now, imploding sections of the steel and concrete behemoth as if trying to cave it in upon itself like some massive, man-made grave. The screams have grown more frequent, more frantic, until they nearly merge into a deafening, human agony-tinged roar that threatens to consume me whole.
I press myself deeper still against the railing, my palms slick with sweat as I fight to keep my balance on the rocking deck. Below, cars are mere blurs of metal and rubber as they careen down streets choked by the panicked, fleeing masses. Buildings shudder as tremors rock the city, their foundations rattled by the sheer force of these explosions.
My thoughts are chaos, a jumble of horror-struck musings I hardly dare admit to myself. Is this the end of everything? Was there ever anything worth fighting for anymore, or is humanity's fate sealed in this infernal hell we seem powerless to escape?
As another deafening blast tears through the building's core, I feel my mind teetering on the brink of madness itself. The screams have grown distant now; the once-thick veil of smoke seems to be thinning ever so slightly, revealing an all-too-horrific reality beyond.
A sickening sight greets me as I peer into the smoldering abyss left by the blast - a human figure, consumed by some infernal fire that has reduced its clothes and skin alike to little more than crisply curling ash. The face... the vacant, agonized stare of utter disbelief frozen forever on that charred visage, haunts my thoughts like an echo from hell itself.
I tear my gaze away, unable to stomach any further horrors. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I fight down the urge to scream myself - to wail until my throat is raw and my sanity shattered beyond repair. Instead, I focus on deepening my grip on the railing, drawing upon every reserve of strength within me to resist the crushing weight of this unspeakable reality.
As the blasts subside for the moment, an eerie silence descends upon the observation deck. The wind howls mournfully through the jagged ruins left by the explosions - a chilling requiem for all that has been lost today. I cling to the railing, my mind reeling with the knowledge that there can never again be peace... or normalcy... until this warlike hellishness is vanquished forever from our earth. And even then, I fear we shall forever bear the scars of its unspeakable horrors within our broken, hollow souls.
GENERATION 2:
I clutched my coffee cup tighter, knuckles white against the ceramic. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the shard-torn windowpane directly before me. And then, suddenly, there wasn't anything left of that innocuous barrier between indoors and out.
The sky scraper swayed, as if trying to right itself after a drunken stagger, and I felt a stab of vertigo myself as I stared down at the street far below. It was like being on top of some titanic beast, rearing up to strike its prey.
A chorus of screams and cries filled the suddenly chaotic air of our office floor's usual sterile silence. The building's seismic dampeners kicked in, causing it to shudder even more violently as if trying to shake off this nightmare.
My mind raced through possibilities - a gas pipe rupture, a maintenance bot gone haywire with its chainsaw-wielding arm... My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone sobbing nearby. I turned to see a girl around my age, her face blotchy and tear-streaked as she rocked back and forth on trembling heels, repeating some mantra under her breath.
A coworker's frantic whispering in my ear snapped me back to awareness. "Get down, get down NOW." Instinctively, I threw myself facedown onto the polished concrete floor beneath the desks. My heart slammed hard against my sternum as I strained to hear over the din of sirens and distant alarms.
Were others hurt besides whoever was dead or dying in that blast zone? I forced my panicked thoughts into a tight focus on my immediate surroundings. Everyone else seemed to be huddled under tables, hands over heads like supplicants begging for protection from an angry sky above.
The deafening cacophony gradually subsided as my coworkers emerged from their improvised shelters, shaking and wide-eyed. I lifted my face from the floorboards, wincing at the acrid sting of smoke in my nostrils and the metallic tang of spilled blood.
My gaze was pulled back to the gaping wound where our window had been - a ragged mouth bleeding shards of jagged glass into the void left by whatever horror had detonated beyond those once-tempered panels. The street below was chaos incarnate. Cars were flipped onto their sides and/or abandoned in the middle of intersections, horns blaring as panicked drivers frantically tried to make sense of this new, anarchic reality.
I pushed myself up from the floor, knees trembling beneath my skirt. My mind felt sluggish with dread as I scanned our cube-farm of cubicles for any signs of injury or worse among those I'd counted as friends and colleagues just hours before. That's when I spotted him - sprawled facedown against the desk in his aisle, a growing blood-soaked stain fanning out across the carpeted floor toward my own cube.
I couldn't tear my gaze away from the steady rise of red tides seeping beneath my coworker's motionless bulk. My thoughts were frozen like a scream caught in the throat as I stared at the corpse-like figure, waiting for him to stir and shrug off whatever had caused him to slump facedown against that innocuous gray desk.
But he never stirred again; nor did anyone else who lay prone beneath those desks. We'd all just lain there, motionless and silent as the dead, praying for this impossible, apocalyptic nightmare to subside into nothingness or reality to reshape itself around us once more - anything rather than face the grim truth of what had transpired.
The silence was absolute until the first responders began their descent upon the scene, like an invasion force breaching through our shattered wall of safety and serenity. Their faces were grim masks behind riot gear and gas masks as they ushered us out two and three at a time toward the relative safety beyond the ruined facade of the skyscraper.
I was numb, my thoughts adrift in a sea of disbelief and horror as I emerged blinking into the harsh daylight, surrounded by the sounds of sirens, panicked voices, and the acrid tang of smoke and gasoline. The world outside felt like it had shattered along with my cubicle's window - forever altered and dangerous beyond all recognition.
As I was ushered toward a waiting ambulance with the others, I couldn't shake the feeling that none of us would ever be the same again. Not after what we'd seen or endured in those few gut-churning seconds. Something within had shattered like that glass pane - something far more fragile and essential than mere physical barriers between indoors and out. Something that made me question everything I'd once taken for granted about reality itself.
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained
GENERATION 1:
The second quietude was that of a standing stone circle, set well back from the inn and the road beyond it. The stones were blackened and weathered to a mossy sheen, some leaning drunkenly toward one another like old men recalling distant battles around a campfire. They cast long shadows across the rough grass in the silver-gray moonlight, an almost palpable gloom that seemed to soak into everything around them - the earth itself appeared grayish-darkened, as if touched by the stones' somber presence. The silence here was older and deeper somehow, the weight of countless years bearing down upon it like the pressure of ice floating beneath the surface of a frozen lake.
Finally, there was another silence altogether, one that seemed to inhabit the air itself rather than simply be a lack or an absence thereof. It was difficult for Stronzo to quite describe this silence; suffice it to say he had felt nothing like it before - nor indeed anything so profoundly still and empty. There was no sense of expectancy within it, nor of discomfort; rather there seemed to exist solely as a presence in its own right, existing beyond or perhaps beneath the others present, untouchable, ageless and utterly serene.
Stronzo found himself acutely aware of his breathing, the beat of his heart, even the thoughts moving through his mind taking on an almost tangible quality within this silent shroud. It was as though every sound he made echoed back to him like a stone skipping across still water, and any movement he made cast shadows that seemed to reach out and embrace him in turn. He felt suffused with quietude, a strange sensation of peace washing over him even as it filled him with a profound sense of unease. And yet he knew deep within himself that this silence was neither malevolent nor actively listening; simply existing, vast and somehow both coldly distant yet warmly enveloping all at once.
The silence stretched out before Stronzo like an empty expanse of night sky, endless and still as the void itself. It seemed to hold him suspended within its depths, caught in a place beyond words or thought or even reality itself - his mind was filled with nothingness so profound it almost felt like he wasn't thinking at all anymore, only simply existing as part of this singular, suffocatingly quietude. And yet, somewhere deep down inside him he couldn't shake the sensation that he was being seen somehow, that eyes cold and ancient as these stones were watching him with an attention both intensely focused and entirely impersonal.
Stronzo had no idea how long he remained in this state; perhaps mere moments, perhaps much more. All sense of passage through time seemed to have deserted him completely within the grip of this silence. Eventually though something stirred him, a gentle touch on his arm as someone touched his shoulder - and with that touch, sound itself seemed to flood back into existence around him once again. He took in a deep breath, letting the sensation settle deep within himself before looking up into the face of the one who had awakened him from this strange, almost reverent stillness.
It was the innkeep, old Brottori standing there with a knowing twinkle in her eye and a mug of ale balanced precariously upon the rim of her apron pocket. She smiled at him knowingly as she ushered him back towards the Waystone Inn's entrance, seemingly unperturbed by the strange silence they'd left behind. "Time to drink up, Stronzo," she said in her gravelly voice; her tone was calm and matter-of-factly, yet somehow behind it Stronzo caught the faintest echo of amusement, of understanding that wasn't quite shared between them. He followed her inside wordlessly, still feeling the weight of silence upon him like a damp shroud pulled across his skin...
...though he couldn't quite explain why, he found himself glancing back at the stones again as they disappeared from sight beneath the inn's lintel. Perhaps it was nothing more than his imagination; perhaps there wasn't anything left behind them save empty air and cold stone. And yet Stronzo felt a strange sensation settle within him once again - like a tiny, flickering flame kindled deep inside the stillness of his chest, whispering softly to him that he hadn't quite left those stones behind after all. For now, though, it was something only he seemed to feel, and so he simply smiled wryly and followed the innkeep back into the golden-lit bustle of the inn itself...knowing full well he'd be haunted by that strange silence for a long, sleepless night to come.
GENERATION 2:
The second silence was one of thoughtful absence, like the pause between breaths, or the emptiness of a room when everyone has gone away and left behind only echoes of the noises they made. The Waystone Inn sat alone in the night under an overcast sky that seemed to sag down towards it with its darkness, weighed down by the gravity of the nothingness between its boards. Outside lay the road, a thin line of silvered stones that disappeared into the trees like a cold stream swallowed whole by shadows.
The third silence was one of patient expectation, like the stillness before dawn when the world holds its breath in anticipation of another day's beginning. It was as though everyone and everything waited side by side, holding their collective breath until something finally stirred to startle the quiet into awareness again. It was as if even the trees themselves stood motionless, leaning in towards the inn like sentinels guarding a secret doorway into the heart of the night.
Inside the inn, where the silence seemed almost solid enough to touch, a lone figure sat behind the bar. He leaned forward, his face framed within the amber-lit archway as he polished an empty mug with the rough edge of his apron. His movements were slow and careful, each deliberate gesture speaking of weariness and resignation rather than any true anticipation of the morrow's potential patrons. He seemed to embody the stillness himself, a silent pillar holding fast against the tideless current of timelessness that threatened to swallow everything else whole.
Beyond him lay the long dark tables, empty save for an occasional puddle of ale spilled somewhere in the night before someone thought to clean it away again. The stools were silent sentinels lining the wall like a row of soldiers standing guard duty, their chairs vacant where the weary souls had left them behind in their hasty retreat from the evening's shadows. In the far corner a fire burned fitfully, casting flickering tongues of orange light that danced across the inn's smoke-stained ceiling like an itinerant performer come to beguile the dreary vigil with his brief, shadowy presence.
Time itself seemed to have abandoned this forsaken place, leaving behind only the echoing vastness of its absence. The night was full of secrets and silences far removed from anything humanity ever knew, secrets that slept fitfully beneath the inn's wooden beams like a slumbering beast ready to wake should anyone disturb the stillness with a whisper or a footfall. Yet even as it waited, there was a strange, almost palpable sense of expectation within these walls – an understanding that someday soon something would indeed awaken from its long, dark dream and burst forth into the night with all the suddenness and violence of a lioness claiming dominion over the savannah at dawn's break. And when this finally came to pass, nothing would ever again be quite still or silent within those walls again.
GENERATION 1:
I'm at the Canadian National Tower's revolving 360° Restaurant with my mom for a Mother-Daughter Day out. Mom's eyes are glued to her camera as she tries to capture the spectacular views of Toronto below us through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I'm scrolling through my phone, looking for the perfect selfie pose to text my friends back in Regina when suddenly everything around me blurs and distorts like a kaleidoscope.
I look up just in time to witness a Terminator walk in followed by the sound of sonic screwdriver sparking as Dr Who materializes beside him. My mind is reeling - was I just seeing things or are we being attacked by actual alien robots from different eras? My mom's reaction is priceless, her camera slipping from her fingers as she gapes at them.
"Dude! What the hell?" someone yells near me and I turn to see a server jumping back, dropping silverware on the floor of the bustling restaurant. People are shouting and chairs clatter everywhere as patrons scramble for safety. The Terminator's cybernetic gaze scans the area like a heat-seeking missile homing in on its target.
"The humans mustn't see!" he growls through his chrome faceplate as he spots me and lunges towards my mom with metallic fingers outstretched to grab her. But she darts away from him, knocking over tables in her haste to get behind the relative safety of a pillar.
"DAME MRS. WATSON!" Dr Who exclaims, appearing next to me in a burst of blue smoke. "We're in grave danger! This isn't time for sightseeing!"
I blink, trying to take this all in. Time-traveling heroes? "Wait, do you mean my mom's in trouble?" I ask him as the Terminator approaches us again, its eyes never leaving me.
"Yes child," Dr Who replies distractedly while he waves his sonic screwdriver about like a magic wand. "This T-900 is here to eliminate you according to my temporal sensors."
"Oh." My voice trembles involuntarily as I realize this isn't just any Saturday brunch anymore.
Suddenly, the restaurant's lights begin strobing erratically and alarms sound shrilly around us. Windows explode outward as a vortex of churning water and thrashing bodies barrels into the restaurant like a rogue wave. Great white sharks hurtling through the air with mouths wide open, ready to strike anything they collide with. I scream along with everyone else at this scene from my wildest nightmares.
"They're here!" Dr Who shouts above the din. "The time-space rift has summoned a pack of hungry sharks!"
I gape stupidly as a shark lands on top of one of the pillars my mom is hiding behind, its jaws snapping wildly. Mom looks like she's about to freak out completely now. I have to do something.
"DAME WATSON!" I yell to catch her attention over the chaos. "Climb onto the tables! That's your chance to escape!"
Mom's face screws up in a grimace of fear and confusion, but she scrambles to follow my advice. Meanwhile Dr Who dashes past me toward the kitchen area, shouting something about finding somekind of containment device for these rogue predators.
The Terminator ignores us all, laser-sharp focus trained on me still as it charges forward. I throw myself aside just in time - its blast whizzes through the air where I'd been standing a split-second before and tears through the restaurant's wall like a hot knife through butter.
"Holy- shit!" someone behind me gasps.
The Terminator whirls around, homing in on me again as another shark sails past it with a splash, narrowly missing its head. "I won't miss next time, human!" The Terminators' metallic voice rings out above the bedlam like a death knell.
"DAMN IT!" Dr Who yelps somewhere behind us as he's tackled by several of the rampaging sharks.
The restaurant is dissolving into pandemonium now - screams echo off every wall, and water floods everywhere. I dodge another blast from the Terminator's cannon just barely, sending shards of shattered glass flying around me like deadly hailstones.
"DAME WATSON!" Dr Who calls out to me frantically as he surfaces somewhere near the kitchen counter, covered in cuts and gashes but alive. "I need to take you somewhere safe! NOW!"
I spot Mom making a dash for one of the emergency exits on her side of the restaurant just as another enormous wave of sharks surges toward us from the torn wall. I know I won't make it in time unless I grab my mom and bolt for safety with Dr Who's help.
"Mom!" I shout as I sprint toward her. Mom spots me and scrambles over to meet me, grabbing hold of both my hands. Together we dash past the Terminator's next blast and hurtle toward the relative sanity of the exit stairs - until we collide face-first against an unrelenting wall of gray-white muscle and jaws snapping mere inches from our faces.
"DAMN IT!" I hear Dr Who snarl behind us as he charges into view, his sonic screwdriver crackling like electricity. He waves it wildly over the cluster of snarling sharks blocking our escape until they abruptly convulse, their bodies going limp and flopping lifelessly to the floor. Relief surges through me as we all tumble over the threshold and out onto the emergency stairs.
I collapse onto the metal steps panting hard as Mom clings onto me sobbing uncontrollably. Dr Who appears beside us, his face smeared with blood and concern etched deep into his eyes.
"There," he pants. "You're both safe for now."
The Terminator's mechanical bulk looms behind him in the hallway beyond the emergency exit - but it's frozen motionless, its mission accomplished I suppose. My mind reels as Dr Who helps us stagger down to the lobby below, far away from the scene of the surreal apocalypse upstairs.
Finally we're outside the Canadian National Tower's shattered doors, gasping in the cool city air. Mom clings onto both of us, tears streaming down her face but looking relieved beyond all reason that we've made it alive through this nightmare. Dr Who pats my mom reassuringly on the shoulder before turning to me.
"Dame Watson," he begins. "I've rescued you today from an impossible danger - but I'm afraid there's more ahead for us both." He glances skyward where a massive storm seems to be brewing above Toronto's skyline. "Looks like another adventure is about to unfold."
With that, the blue smoke of his time-traveling vortex swirls around him again and he vanishes from sight, leaving me staring at him in amazement. Mom drags me away toward safety as sirens wail everywhere and I wonder - what's next for me on my Mother-Daughter Day out gone madly awry?
The Canadian National Tower itself seems to shudder around us, its shattered windows gaping like a wound into the surreal stormy sky above Toronto. It's far from over now that I've met the Terminator and Dr Who - and it feels like anything can happen next in this wild, unpredictable reality we've found ourselves thrust into tonight.
GENERATION 2:
I'm just a 15-year-old girl, sitting down for dinner at the Canadian National Tower's revolving restaurant on a Saturday afternoon. My family is celebrating my cousin's birthday today. I haven't even touched my Caesar salad yet when suddenly chaos erupts around me.
A metallic figure in camo gear bursts through the glass wall of the dining room, sending shards flying everywhere like shrapnel. The Terminator? What the actual fuck?! He's huge and imposing, with these piercing eyes and this cold, calculating stare as if he's sizing everyone up for execution. People are screaming, panicking left and right as they try to get out of harm's way.
I freeze in my seat, paralyzed with fear. I watch, wide-eyed, as The Terminator guns down several people who didn't run fast enough or weren't lucky enough to get far away quickly enough from him. Blood splatters everywhere onto the pristine white tablecloths and china plates. The metallic walls of the restaurant seem to echo with gunfire and the thud of bullets hitting flesh.
I look around, realizing that I'm alone now except for this psycho Terminator. My cousin's birthday is just ruined beyond recognition. His mother screams something incoherent from somewhere near the kitchen as she clings to him, trying to protect him from certain doom.
Suddenly, I hear a familiar sound - the distinctive "vroom-vroom" of Dr Who's TARDIS materializing right next to us! The Doctor appears, looking all flustered and out-of-breath as he quickly assesses the scene before him.
"Oh for crying out loud!" He exclaims, taking in the carnage around him. "I could've sworn I left my sonic screwdriver on the shelf of the Cybermen's scrapyard - wait, no time for that now!"
He spots me alone with The Terminator and his face lights up with concern as he hurries over to me. He grasps both my arms and looks into my wide, terrified eyes.
"Don't worry kiddo! I won't let him hurt you."
But just as soon as he intervenes, The Terminator whirls around at us, a massive shotgun now in his hands. He's ready to blast Dr Who apart like tissue paper.
"Oh bloody hell!" The Doctor cries out in horror as he shields me with his own body. Bullets ping off his sonic screwdriver which is already firing away to deflect the shots!
I feel sick to my stomach as I see people running for their lives around us - right into another crisis that's fast approaching. Through the large glass windows I notice the sky beyond turning a deep, foreboding shade of gray. A wall of churning sea appears on the horizon, closing in on us with incredible speed.
Sharks? Coming our way?!
I feel a chill run down my spine as I watch these predators breach the waves and charge at us like torpedoes fired from subs. The closer they get, the more details I notice about each shark - the different sizes, shapes of their fins, the malevolent glints in their cold dead eyes. They're closing in on us fast, their jaws open wide in anticipation for what's ahead.
"It appears we have a tornado of sharks bearing down upon us!" The Doctor remarks as he frantically tries to find some kind of cover for both of us from the incoming predators.
The Terminator doesn't seem to notice the approaching threat yet. He's still busy blasting away at Dr Who with his shotgun. Bullets bounce harmlessly off The Doctor's shield, but I fear it won't last much longer.
"We need to get out of here NOW!" The Doctor cries out as the first wave of sharks comes hurtling towards us like a watery cannonball. He drags me bodily down the aisle of the restaurant, dodging tables and chairs as we go. His sonic screwdriver is screaming in protest as it deflects bullets left-handed while still trying to protect us from the impending danger.
I hear The Terminator's shotgun emptying its chamber one last time, then I lose sight of him as a wall of gray water smashes into everything around me. I'm tossed like ragdoll against the walls and tables as the force of the impact nearly knocks the wind out of my lungs.
The Doctor lands on top of me, shielding me from getting pulled under with his body weight. We're both battered and bruised from being slammed around like tennis balls in this vortex of churning water and flying debris.
I feel a large something thrashing its way up to us - one of the huge great whites I saw breaching the waves just a minute ago. It's going for its lunch already! The Doctor kicks out hard at the beast's snout, sending it rearing back with a burst of blood squirting everywhere.
Jesus fuckin' H. Christ!!
"Nearly there!" The Doctor gasps as he clings tightly onto me now. "Hold on tight!"
We're both dragged over to the railing overlooking Toronto below when suddenly we're sucked through the tornado's vortex and hurled far, far away from danger toward open skies ahead. I scream as we tumble through the air like ragdolls until Dr Who lands us safely on the deck of an oil rig platform in the middle of the North Atlantic.
I collapse onto the metal catwalks panting hard, gasping for breath. The Doctor lets me catch my wind while he inspects our surroundings before speaking again.
"Well, that was certainly a wild ride!" He remarks dryly as he looks down at his sonic screwdriver, which still pulses with blue-white energy. "I think I'll need to have you two checked out by the TARDIS's medbay."
I nod gratefully as Dr Who helps me to my feet again. As we turn to walk away from the chaos below, I catch a final glimpse of The Terminator standing alone on the revolving restaurant's observation deck, staring coldly down upon Toronto far below him - presumably waiting for further orders or targets to appear in his line of sight.
Dr Who and I share a knowing look as he ushers me onto the TARDIS's metallic ramp leading into its belly. There are a million questions still left unanswered about what just transpired today, but I'll gladly let the Doctor try to figure everything out for both of us now. I'm just relieved to be alive and breathing after such an insane, unforgettable afternoon in Canada's capital city.
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 dash through the crowded market streets of my hometown of Sereniria, dodging vendors offering everything from fragrant spices to gilded jewelry. The vibrant stalls blur around me as I focus on the figure ahead, my heart pounding a rhythm in my chest.
"Hey, where's she going?" the vendor calls out, gesturing toward me with a handful of silvery threads.
I ignore him, pushing past another woman selling colorful cotton scarves. My eyes lock onto my target - a high-ranking officer from the regime's secret police. He's known as Agent Kaelinovitch, feared throughout Sereniria for his ruthless tactics in hunting down dissidents and rebels alike. Today I'm about to turn tables on him.
I quicken my pace until we're mere feet apart. Kaelinovitch's eyes narrow as he spots me. I can almost hear the gears turning in that cold mind of his, trying to recall my face among the faces of countless Serenirian citizens he's interrogated and tortured over the years.
"What do you want?" His voice is deep, laced with disdain and a hint of suspicion. A few passersby slow their pace, sensing trouble brewing between us.
"I've come to talk business," I reply coolly, halting directly in front of him. "A business that concerns both your boss and myself."
Kaelinovitch snorts, his thick mustache twitching above his thin lips. "I don't make deals with terrorists." The word drips with venom.
"A rebel then?" I counter, my voice steady despite the turmoil within me.
The crowd around us inches backward, sensing danger in our exchange. Kaelinovitch's grip tightens on the baton clipped to his belt. A few Serenirian soldiers appear suddenly from nowhere, eyes fixed on him with deference.
"What's going on here?" one of them asks, frowning at me.
"This woman is causing a disturbance," Kaelinovitch growls. "I suggest you detain her for further questioning."
I raise both hands in apparent surrender as I continue to address him. "Let's keep this between ourselves for now." My gaze flickers toward the soldiers. "Unless you'd prefer to explain to your superiors why you interfered with a legitimate citizen complaint?"
The soldier's brow furrows, torn between obeying Kaelinovitch and respecting the authority of his own superior ranks within the military. I push my advantage before he can reply.
"Listen, Kaelinovitch," I press on, voice dropping to a whisper. "I have information about your leader's involvement in human trafficking rings. High-end girls sold into forced prostitution - Serenirian citizens disappeared from these streets and never heard from again."
The agent's face pales beneath his dark stubble as understanding dawns on him. My words hang suspended between us like a challenge. The soldiers tense, unsure whether they've strayed beyond the scope of their duties by standing with Kaelinovitch.
"You're lying!" he spits back at me, but I catch the flicker of doubt in his eyes. He's hedging his bets now, realizing too late that I might indeed possess knowledge that could condemn him and others within the regime's ranks.
Suddenly, a commotion erupts behind us. The vendor whose threads I'd brushed against earlier staggers out from among the crowd, clutching at his chest. "Someone's poisoned me!" he gasps before crumpling to the cobblestones.
Pandemonium ensues as screams and shouts ring through Sereniria's market district. More soldiers arrive on the scene, weapons drawn and trained on anyone they suspect of wrongdoing - including me and Agent Kaelinovitch.
".capture her alive!" the agent orders, his voice rising above the din. "I'll handle questioning her myself."
In a blur of motion, I seize my chance as Kaelinovitch lunges for me with grasping hands. Dodging him deftly, I yank out an hidden stunner from within my cloak and discharge it directly at one of the soldiers, dropping him to the ground writhing in agony.
"I won't be 'handled'!" I yell defiantly as I bolt away from the chaos, sprinting toward a narrow alleyway ahead. Kaelinovitch roars in frustration behind me but doesn't pursue immediately, his focus shifting to directing his troops and subduing the crisis at hand.
I dash down the shadowy lane, knowing every twist and turn could mean life or death for me now. My fate hangs precariously on my next move - where shall I seek refuge among the city's hidden corners, and from whom shall I hope to glean more damning evidence against Sereniria's dictator before they strike again to crush me and this rebellion I've started? The answers will have to wait until I lose these pursuers in the labyrinthine streets of my beloved hometown.
For now, Sereniria itself seems to be closing ranks around me like a suffocating shroud - and I'm still trapped within its grip.
GENERATION 2:
I sprint through the shadows, my heart pounding in my chest like a rabid animal. Behind me, I hear the deafening roar of an army, guns blazing as they tear through the streets. This isn't just an ordinary firefight; this is war. My war.
I press myself against the wall, catching my breath and trying to quell the trembling in my hands. Ahead of me lies the safe haven I've been leading the rebellion towards for months – a bombed-out, abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. If I can just make it inside, I'll finally be able to catch my breath and regroup with the others.
I peer around the corner, scanning left then right for any signs of the soldiers closing in behind me. The street is deserted except for the distant screams of terrified civilians caught in the crossfire. I clench my fists until they ache and steel myself – I won't let anyone else die today because of me.
I dart across the street, ears straining to detect the sound of pursuit. My boots pound the cracked pavement, sending shards of broken glass and rubble skittering everywhere I land. A bullet ricochets off a lamppost mere inches from my face, the graze of its passage raising goosebumps on my arms. I don't dare slow down now.
Finally, I reach the bombed-out shell of a building I've chosen as our hideout. I burst through the entrance, slamming the steel door shut behind me with all my weight. Bolts click into place like prison bars trapping me inside, but it's better than being caught by the enemy.
I lean against the cool metal for support, gasping for breath. The interior is dark and silent except for my ragged panting. I blink until my eyes adjust to the dimness, revealing the familiar faces of my comrades huddled around a flickering candle.
But something's wrong. Everyone looks deathly pale and haggard – far beyond anything we've faced in these weeks of struggle against the regime. Then I notice their weapons are gone, piled chaotically in the corner. Fear surges through me like ice water as I realize why.
"They got here before us!" someone gasps from the shadows, confirming my worst fears. "They've already overrun everything!"
I whirl around, desperate to find some shred of hope left among the ruins of our dreams. That's when I spot him: a figure in the darkness that shouldn't be there. He steps forward, revealing the cold, dead eyes of someone I never thought I'd see again alive.
"You..." The word chokes out of me like nails driven into my vocal cords. Commander Jaxon, once an ally against the regime's brutality, now stands before me with a cruel smirk curling his thin lips.
"I'm afraid it's over, Kat." His voice is detached and clinical, lacking even a flicker of former camaraderie. "I've had to make some hard choices since we lost contact."
I feel my reality crumbling around the edges like cheap drywall. Everything I've fought for crumbles to nothingness in an instant as comprehension dawns on me.
"No!" I scream, fists clenched impotently at my sides. "You were our only hope! Why would you do this?!"
He shrugs indifferently. "I didn't have a choice. The regime offered to spare everything dear to me if I turned against your rebellion." His dead eyes flicker towards mine. "And I took it."
I shake my head, unable to reconcile the man I thought I knew with the traitor standing before me. But Jaxon's smile never wavers – only grows wider as he registers my despair.
"But don't worry," he says silkily, taking another step closer until I feel the chill of his breath against my face. "I'll make sure you're taken care of after tonight."
" fucked..." I rasp out in defeat, eyes welling with tears. "You fucking bastard."
The darkness around me seems to pulse and throb like a malevolent living thing as Commander Jaxon's soldiers burst through the walls and flood the building. I have nowhere left to hide or run – my rebellion reduced to nothing more than a handful of broken souls cowering in fear.
I'm alone, surrounded, and trapped. There is no hope left except perhaps in those final, defiant beats of my heart. But it won't be enough to save me now. Not anymore. Not ever again...
Suddenly, the entire building shudders hard enough to send rubble cascading down around us. A deafening rumble shakes the earth beneath our feet as a titanic explosion tears through the streets beyond the walls. The soldiers hesitate for an instant as the shockwave washes over us all.
I seize my chance. I summon every shred of adrenaline coursing through me and launch myself at Commander Jaxon with a snarl of pure rage and despair. But in doing so, I've given away my last shred of strategic thinking - because somewhere else in those streets, someone has detonated a truck bomb designed to take down regime soldiers by the score. A rebel strike of a far deadlier kind.
In the pandemonium of shattering glass and crumbling concrete that follows the blast's wake, something else becomes crystal-clear to me. The war isn't over. Not yet. Not until we've won or everyone left alive is brought before a firing squad. And I have no intention of going down without a fight.
I seize the gun dropped by a fallen comrade and face Commander Jaxon again – but this time, I'm not alone. Others from the shadows rise up around him, guns drawn and eyes blazing with determination to see us through to the bitter end. The battle resumes, savage and chaotic, until blood-soaked streets are our only stage left to play out our final symphony of resistance.
This isn't my ending. Not yet. There's still much more to come...if I can just survive the next few hours of hellish violence. Because in this world of warlords and dictatorships, anything can happen at any moment – until you're dead or victorious. And I choose neither of those options tonight. Tonight, I fight on. Until my last breath is spent screaming defiance at the enemy from the depths of the abyss. That's why I'll never lose faith in our cause – because faith is all that's left now to believe in anything beyond this damned darkness closing in around us fast enough to choke out any trace of light. I won't be silenced until my final, gasping breath. And that's exactly what they're going to get tonight as the walls crumble around me and everything I've ever known crashes down into nothingness forevermore.