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 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:
Note the "float32" version of this model behaves VERY differently which is why it was not uploaded first. Usually I would use the "float32" version only, however the "character range" displayed by the Bfloat16 and Float32 versions of this model dictate they have their own repos.
The Imatrix versions of this model have even lower perplexity (1/2 level of magnitude lower than this model, 1 full level of magnitude lower than LLama3 Instruct) then both this model and Llama3 Instruct and enhanced output.
Dark Planet Versions:
The newest Dark Planet 8B SpinFire, now with Llama 3.1 and uncensored:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3.1-Dark-Planet-SpinFire-Uncensored-8B-GGUF ]
The Monster Darkest Planet 16.5B L3:
Drastically increase detail, quality, and raw creative power over Dark Planet 8B using DavidAu's Brainstorm 40x augmentation.
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-DARKEST-PLANET-16.5B-GGUF ]
NEO IMATRIX quants are here:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-NEO-Imatrix-GGUF ]
NEO IMATRIX - DARK HORROR quants:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-Horror-City-8B-NEO-Imatrix-GGUF ]
F32 Version (mastered from float32 source files):
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-Ring-World-8B-F32-GGUF ]
I suggest downloading quant(s) of both "Bloat16" and "Float32" versions of this model for your use case(s).
The Float32 version has increased detail, "stays in the moment", and slightly higher creativity. However their "character" is different from one another too.
Version 2 - Eight Orbs Of Power is here:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Dark-Planet-8B-V2-Eight-Orbs-Of-Power-GGUF ]
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.
Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:
In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;
Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5 to 2.5
: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"
: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.
: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"
NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"
-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)
Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:
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 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.
Start a 1000 word scene (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: (@ temp=2)
The skyscraper swayed, its foundations rumbling as the concrete and glass structure oscillated beneath me. My heart pounded like a war drum, pulsing in sync with my racing thoughts. We'd been evacuated to the rooftop after the initial earthquake hit - tremors that had shaken our office building for over a minute. Now, we huddled together as the aftershocks continued.
In front of me, a window on the twenty-first floor blew apart in a chaotic symphony of shattering glass and debris scattering outwards into nothingness. A rush of frigid air whistled up from below like an angry beast's cry. My blood ran cold. The blast seemed impossibly distant and yet achingly near at the same time.
My gaze snapped to my colleague, Mike - we'd been working together in Accounts when disaster struck. He clutched his phone, his expression pale as chalk, eyes fixed on some unseen horror that I couldn't comprehend myself.
"We have to get out of here!" I hissed, my voice a tight, desperate whisper over the cacophony. "Now!"
Mike's lips parted and he shook his head, refusing to tear his gaze away from whatever spectacle transfixed him beyond our perch. But fear for his life clawed its way through me; we needed to move - now!
In that moment of utter panic, my thoughts spiralled into a chaotic kaleidoscope - memories and fears merging together in a frantic dance. My mind replayed every catastrophe report I'd ever read or seen on the news; tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, wildfires - but an earthquake in this part of the world? Unthinkable.
"What about Sophia?" my thoughts cried out, recalling the intern who'd been working across from me until moments ago. Had she survived the blast and subsequent panic?
Before I could give voice to those anguished questions, a hand clasped my shoulder with a desperate strength. Mike's eyes met mine, and for the briefest of moments, all semblance of control seemed to snap. He grabbed his laptop case with a frantic urgency, yanked me up by the elbow, and propelled us towards the emergency stairwell door.
"Hold on -" I started to protest, my weight shifting uneasily under him, but Mike cut me off as he hauled me bodily along the rooftop's gravelly surface. The cold bit into my legs through thin trousers as he dragged me over uneven terrain until we finally reached the door. We stumbled in together, just ahead of an incoming wave of panicked, glass-strewn office workers.
The staircase descended with agonizing slowness - it felt like running up waterfalls backwards - as aftershocks pounded at our heels, threatening to send us tumbling down the concrete stairs. I could hardly think beyond getting to safety and Sophia. Where was she? Was anyone else from my floor making their escape?
When we hit the ground level, I skidded across polished tile in my haste. A wave of humanity crashed over me; crying women clutched small children tight, while men and women alike pushed and shoved blindly as they sought shelter. The cacophony rose to a deafening roar.
We burst through the automatic sliding doors onto the pavement just as sirens began to scream their warbled warnings into the air, like demonic birds announcing Armageddon. People scrambled towards a police blockade where officers in full riot gear waved people down to evacuate zones.
My chest heaved as I fought for breath beneath Mike's protective grip - my vision swimming from terror and exertion. Beyond us, buildings swayed on unsteady legs while glass rained like deadly hail, a scene of utter devastation.
A young officer spotted me and grasped our arms with practiced ease. "Move quickly!" he bellowed above the chaos. He half-carried both Mike and me along the sidewalk, away from the building and towards safer ground.
As I stumbled through this living nightmare alongside my rescuer - the weight of each step feeling like wading waist-deep through icy quicksand - my mind fought to come to terms with what we'd witnessed. The skyscraper in front of us lay mangled; a grotesque silhouette of broken concrete, tangled steel, and shredded fabric that had once been human skin and clothing.
The realization dawned on me that this was no drill or media exaggeration. This earthquake was real - a catastrophe that would likely reshape our world as we knew it. We were living through something apocalyptic.
We emerged into an open park beyond the city's edge where thousands more displaced survivors huddled together under blankets and flapping sheets of plastic, waiting for aid to arrive. My gaze fell upon a familiar figure crouched beside Sophia on the ground, my boss shielding the intern with his jacket while murmurs passed between them. We were safe - or at least relatively so.
The enormity of it all settled heavily upon me like a shroud as we settled into our temporary shelter, surrounded by strangers-turned-kin in this impromptu refugee camp. As sirens and emergency vehicles grew more distant, an eerie stillness seeped in - the quiet aftermath that always followed such unimaginable devastation.
Sophia clung to my side, her body trembling uncontrollably, as we all stared out at the smoke-shrouded city skyline before us. A haunting question echoed through my thoughts, one that seemed to resonate across this entire devastated landscape:
How do you move on from something like this? When your world has been so drastically turned upside down, can it ever right itself again? I had no answers.
All we could do was wait out the aftershocks, both literal and emotional, as we pieced together what was left of our shattered lives - hoping against hope that some semblance of order would return in time.
GENERATION 2:
I'm perched precariously on my tiptoes at the edge of our office's 21st-floor windowsill, hands gripping the cool glass for dear life. I peer down at the cityscape unfolding like a patchwork quilt far below me, the sounds of rush hour traffic muted by the double-paned barrier between us and the world.
I'm feeling reckless tonight, which is unusual considering my usual cautious nature. It's been one hell of a week, with our company facing major financial crises and my boss breathing down my neck for results I know we can't deliver. The stress has boiled over inside me like a pressure cooker about to erupt.
The sky scraper swayed slightly in the evening breeze, as if sensing my unease, making my stomach drop further into that pit of anxiety. Just then, a window directly across from mine on the opposite side of the building suddenly explodes inward with an earsplitting bang. Shards of glass fly everywhere like deadly shards of a shattered dream.
For a stunned moment, I remain frozen in disbelief as my coworkers scramble to find cover behind desks and chairs. Our office fills with screams and cries for help. Panic is setting in fast, but a detached part of me still wonders how this could have happened so suddenly. Was it an accident? A terrorist attack?
Then, reality hits hard: we're 21 stories up, with nothing between us and the unforgiving concrete below.
My legs begin to tremble uncontrollably as I feel the familiar tightness in my chest that usually precedes a panic attack. My breaths come quick and shallow, lungs constricting like they're filled with cotton balls. The world around me fades into a blur of white noise, except for the sound of shattering glass and terrified voices.
I try to focus on something concrete – anything to distract from the impending doom I'm sure is mere seconds away. My gaze drifts to the sleek black briefcase sitting open beside me, its contents spilling out across the polished floorboards: papers, pens, my laptop, a bottle of water...
That's it, I think in desperation. The water. If nothing else, at least the weight of the bottle might help stabilize me from falling.
As if reading my thoughts, my hand shoots out to grab the plastic bottle and twist off its cap with shaky fingers. Water sloshes wildly inside as I tilt it towards my parched lips, taking a long gulp that does little to calm my racing heart. A droplet of cool liquid slips down my neck into my shirt, but I barely notice.
My mind is elsewhere, trying to piece together what just happened and how we might escape this deadly predicament. But the more I think about it, the less sense anything makes. Was someone in there when the glass shattered? Are they hurt or trapped?
Without warning, a loud crash echoes from the floor below us, followed by shouts and more screams. A chill runs down my spine as I realize others are also caught up in this disaster – people who were innocently going about their day just minutes ago.
Suddenly, my door flies open with a bang and our boss, Mr. Thompson, rushes inside. He's wearing his usual suit and tie, but his face is red and contorted with panic. "We need to get out of here, NOW!" he barks, already moving towards the windowsill where I'm standing.
I nearly laugh at the absurdity of it all – as if we can simply climb out of this 21st-floor window and expect to survive the fall. But Mr. Thompson is clearly serious about escaping, despite the obvious impossibility of his plan.
Without hesitation, he reaches for me and grabs my arm with a desperate grip that borders on cruel. "Come on," he growls, yanking me towards him as if I were nothing more than an inanimate object to be dragged away from certain doom.
I feel like a rag doll being manhandled across the floorboards, my legs kicking wildly as I try to break free of his grasp. But he's too strong and refuses to let go until we reach the window.
There, he pushes me forward with all his might – towards that gaping void where mere moments ago, glass had held us back from oblivion. "Jump!" he orders, his voice rising to a frenzied pitch as if sheer force of will could alter our fate.
The thought of flinging myself out into space, trusting in nothing but thin air and the mercy of strangers far below, is utterly horrifying. But Mr. Thompson's words are laced with desperation – he must believe this is our only chance.
In a moment that feels like an eternity, I stand teetering at the edge of the window, my body frozen with indecision as the world outside blurs into chaos. My mind races to comprehend what's happening and where it all went so terribly wrong. The glass exploded. We're trapped high above ground. More explosions rock the building below...
And then, in a flash of insight that seems almost surreal, I realize something crucial: we've been staring at this disaster unfolding right before us for minutes now – with no sign of rescue or help arriving on the scene. It's just us against the void, completely alone and utterly vulnerable.
This is it. This is our end.
But even as my mind acknowledges the finality of our predicament, a strange calm washes over me like a cool breeze on a sweltering summer day. In that moment, I understand – with perfect clarity – what really matters in life:
It's not about wealth or success or climbing corporate ladders. It's about living fully and authentically, cherishing the people we love, and finding peace even amidst chaos.
As Mr. Thompson's grip tightens on my arm once more, ready to send us plunging into oblivion, I turn to look him straight in the eyes – and with all the strength I possess, I let go of his hand.
"Let me do this," I say quietly, my voice barely audible above the screams and sirens now filling our office. "I'll jump first. Maybe someone will catch me. Or maybe not."
A look of pure terror crosses Mr. Thompson's face as he realizes what I'm saying – that in this moment of ultimate truth, I've chosen to seize control of my own destiny.
"You can't!" he yells, as if the very thought is too horrible to contemplate. "I won't let you!"
But I've already moved beyond his grasp and now stand at the precipice, staring into the abyss with a strange sense of serenity settling over me.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Thompson," I say, my voice soft yet resolute as I gaze down at the distant rooftops far below. "I've come to understand what's truly important. And this isn't it."
With that, I close my eyes and let go, stepping out into emptiness with a quiet acceptance that echoes through every fiber of my being.
The world spins wildly around me as gravity takes hold – but in the end, it doesn't matter where I land or how hard I fall. Because in this moment, I am free.
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 part of the silence, the deeper and more significant part, lay in the hearts and minds of those who waited at the Waystone Inn.
They sat around the hearth, their faces lit only by the soft fire, their gazes fixed on nothing as they stared into the flames. Their thoughts were a jumble of emotions - anxiety, anticipation, despair, hope - each one as heavy as lead in their minds, weighing them down until it felt like breathing was impossible.
A man named Fid, sitting alone at the far end of the hearth, seemed to embody this second part of silence best. His face was a map of creases and lines, etched by countless nights spent waiting for something that never came. He sat with his eyes closed, as if in meditation, but it was really just another way to avoid seeing what he didn't want to see: the flickering shadows cast on the walls by the fire.
The third part of silence at the Waystone Inn was the quietest and most unsettling of all. It was a feeling that seemed to permeate every inch of the inn, creeping into the cracks between the wooden beams and seeping through the stone foundations like frost spreading across a windowpane. This silent presence felt almost alive, as if it were watching everything and everyone inside with cold, unblinking eyes.
No one could quite put their finger on what or who this presence was. Some claimed to see dark, shadowy forms flitting around the edges of their vision when they looked up from the fire. Others spoke in hushed tones about hearing whispers carried on the wind outside - whispers that sounded like ancient secrets being shared by those long dead and buried.
Whatever it was, one thing was certain: the Waystone Inn had been waiting for something, or someone, a very long time. And tonight seemed different from all the other nights since then...
GENERATION 2:
The second part of the silence was different. It was almost palpable, an unseen weight that pressed against eardrums and breastbone alike. This silence held within it a kind of expectation, the sense that something important was about to happen or unfold, though no one could quite say what that might be.
It was as if the night itself held its breath in anticipation, like a diver poised on the edge of a deep pool, ready to plunge into the unknown depths below. And yet, despite this feeling of impending event, there seemed to be no true urgency about it, no desperate need for action or response. Rather, the atmosphere was one of quiet readiness, as if the world itself were waiting with bated breath for something – though what that might be remained a mystery.
The third part of the silence was perhaps the most profound and unsettling of all. It came from inside the hearts and minds of those who dwelled within the Waystone Inn's walls that night: patrons, staff, and owner alike. Each person present felt as if they were alone in their own personal void, a darkness that stretched out before them like an endless expanse of barren sea.
In this silence, there was no comfort or reassurance to be found; only the heavy weight of individual fears, regrets, and uncertainties. It was as if each soul had been stripped bare, left with nothing but its own naked humanity to face the night ahead. And in that bleak, desolate moment, it seemed that every person present shared a single, terrible understanding: they were all lost travelers on the same dark road, struggling to find their way through an unfathomable and uncaring universe.
As the night deepened, the silence at the Waystone Inn grew more oppressive, until it was almost possible to hear one's own heartbeat echoing inside the hollow chambers of the soul. And in that darkness, the travelers who gathered within its walls could only wait...and pray...for whatever dawn might bring.
I hurry through the revolving door of the Canadian National Tower's SkyDome Restaurant, my stomach grumbling with hunger as I gaze out at the breathtaking panoramic view of Toronto below. It's a sunny Saturday afternoon, families bustling about, children's laughter echoing off the sleek glass walls. I'm just another tourist seeking a quick bite to eat while taking in the sights.
Suddenly, a chill runs down my spine as I notice a man dressed all in black, his face an expressionless mask. He moves with a mechanical grace, scanning the room. I've seen him somewhere before; he looks like...
"No! Not here!" I whisper, backing away from him as if by doing so I can make myself invisible. But it's too late.
"Sarah Connor," he growls in an accentless voice, "I must speak with you."
The other diners start to take notice of the scene unfolding. A mother hushes her children, a businessman leans forward over his meal, and a couple exchange worried glances. The kitchen staff emerges from their hiding places behind the counter, eyes wide with concern.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I insist, trying not to panic as the stranger advances toward me.
"You will," he replies ominously, reaching out to grab my arm.
That's when the first shark appears, hurtling through the glass wall like a torpedo. It strikes a family in front of us, its jaws snapping wildly as it takes down two screaming children and their father. The restaurant erupts into chaos; people scream, run for cover, or simply stare in shock and horror.
A waitress rushes past me with a tray of drinks, sending them flying as she tries to escape the carnage. I stumble backward, almost tripping over a table as I desperately seek shelter from the bloodthirsty beasts pouring through the shattered glass. The Terminator is right behind me, shielding me from the attack as we make our way toward the relative safety of the kitchen.
Just when all seems lost and we're about to be overwhelmed by the relentless onslaught of jaws and teeth, a blue police box materializes in front of us with an earsplitting screech. The Doctor bursts out, his eyes wild and his face flushed from time travel. "Oi! Steady on, there's no need for all this!"
He grabs my arm, pulling me toward him as the Terminator steps aside to let them pass. I glance back over my shoulder to see the T-800 standing tall amidst the maelstrom of sharks, its eyes fixed intently on us as we flee.
The Doctor yanks open a walk-in refrigerator door and drags me inside just in time to avoid being swallowed by a massive great white that comes crashing through the wall behind us. I stumble over crates of produce and boxes of frozen meals, gasping for breath as the cold air hits my lungs.
"How did you know?" I ask, finally finding my voice amidst the clamor of my racing heart.
"I've been watching, luv," he says with a mischievous grin, patting his pocket where a sonic screwdriver glints. "I saw this coming; it's all about the temporal anomalies in this sector."
The Terminator bursts into the fridge behind us, its metallic form clanging against the shelves as it too seeks refuge from the raging shark tornado outside.
"Doctor, please," I beg, my voice shaking with fear and relief. "Help me get out of here!"
The Doctor nods briskly. "Right away, Sarah! I've got a plan..."
As he speaks, a massive bull shark slams into the refrigerator door, nearly tearing it off its hinges. The Terminator lunges forward to pin it down, its metal fingers sinking into the beast's flesh as it holds fast against the onslaught.
"Good lad!" the Doctor exclaims proudly as he grabs my hand and leads me toward another walk-in freezer at the back of the room. "Come on, Sarah! We need to get out of this time warp before everything goes belly up!"
Together we dash into the cold, dark void beyond the door, leaving behind the raging battle between man, machine, and beast in the SkyDome Restaurant. The Doctor slams shut the metal door behind us just as a massive tiger shark crashes through the wall where we've fled.
"Hah! Made it," he breathes with satisfaction, patting my hand reassuringly. "Now let's get you back to your own time before things get any more out of control."
"Thank you, Doctor," I say gratefully, still trying to process the incredible events that have just transpired.
"No need to thank me, Sarah." He smiles warmly as he leads me toward the blue police box. "Just remember: never travel without a towel!"
As we step inside and the door closes behind us, I glance back at the Terminator, who is standing tall amidst the frozen food and icy shelves, its eyes fixed intently on our escape. Even in this surreal situation, it's clear that its duty remains unchanged: to protect me from whatever dangers may lie ahead. And with the Doctor by my side, I feel a strange sense of comfort knowing that no matter what challenges we face, we'll never be alone.
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.
I sprint down the dimly lit alleyway, my breath ragged in my ears, the pounding of my heart deafening. The wet pavement beneath my sneakers skids me momentarily, sending me stumbling against a garbage dumpster before I recover, continuing my frantic dash.
Behind me, I can hear the rapid-fire crackle of rifles, the shouted orders and curses of the soldiers hot on my heels. Their boots thunder through the deserted streets like a stampede, threatening to trample everything in their path.
My heart races with every step as I weave between the towering tenements, trying to lose my pursuers in the labyrinthine alleyways of this seedy part of the city. I've done this countless times before, but never has it felt so perilous. Tonight's mission is different - far more dangerous than the usual sabotage and intel gathering.
My phone vibrates against my hip, the screen flashing with a message from our underground network. My thumb hovers over the accept button as I dart between two buildings, nearly colliding with an old man who stares at me in horror, clutching his worn coat to his chest.
"Accept," I whisper, pressing the button just as a bullet whizzes past my head, striking the wall inches from my face. The acrid smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils as I keep moving, my adrenaline-fueled senses on high alert.
Ahead, the mouth of another alley opens up onto a main street. Cars idle by, their headlights casting eerie shadows across the pavement. In the distance, the towering edifice of the Capitol building looms ominously, its marble facade reflecting the moon's pale glow. That's where I need to be. If only I can make it there...
Suddenly, a figure steps out from the shadows, blocking my path. His features are obscured by the darkness, but I recognize the menacing aura that precedes him.
"Ah, Lyra," he drawls, his voice dripping with contempt. "I've been waiting for you."
My blood runs cold as the soldiers burst into view behind him, their weapons trained on me like a noose tightening around my neck. For a moment, time seems to suspend as I stare at him, recognition dawning.
"You," I hiss, my voice barely audible over the pounding of my heart. "Zarek."
His smirk widens, his eyes glinting with malice in the dim light. "The one and only." He gestures lazily toward the waiting soldiers. "Looks like your luck's finally run out, sweetheart."
My fingers close around a small vial I'd retrieved from my pocket earlier, its contents a desperate last resort. The same poison that had felled countless government agents when they stumbled into our traps.
With a fierce determination, I hurl the vial at Zarek's chest - but it shatters harmlessly on his bulletproof vest. Panic claws at my throat as he lunges forward, seizing me by the collar of my jacket and slamming me against the cold concrete wall.
The soldiers close in, their rifles raised to deliver the fatal shot. But before they can pull the trigger, a deafening explosion rocks the alleyway, sending them stumbling back in surprise.
Zarek's grip on my jacket loosens momentarily as he turns to face the new threat. That's when I see him - my brother, Kael, bursting from the shadows with an RPG launcher clutched tightly in his hands. His eyes meet mine for a brief instant before he focuses back on Zarek.
"No!" I scream, trying to break free of my attacker's grasp as Kael fires again and another blast rocks the alleyway. The ground shakes beneath our feet as debris rains down, obscuring everything in a choking cloud of dust and smoke.
When it clears, the scene is one of utter chaos - soldiers sprawled across the pavement, their weapons strewn about like toys abandoned by a child. But Zarek isn't among them. Panic grips my heart as I scan the wreckage, desperately searching for any sign of life... or the body that should have fallen when Kael's rocket hit.
Then, from deeper in the alley, a chilling laugh echoes through the night air - a sound that sends ice coursing through my veins.
"You've got spirit," Zarek calls out, his voice clear as day despite the din of chaos. "I'll give you that."
My blood runs cold as I realize he must have been hiding in an adjacent building and escaped unscathed. The soldiers are down, Kael's gone, and I'm left facing off against my most hated enemy alone.
"Now," Zarek continues, his tone dripping with menace, "it's time we concluded our little game."
As if on cue, the Capitol building behind him erupts in a blaze of light - the floodlights that illuminate its facade suddenly blazing to life. The ground beneath us begins to rumble ominously and I realize, too late, what's about to happen...
The world seems to slow as I stare at Zarek in horror, understanding dawning on me like a crushing weight.
"It's a trap," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the thunderous pounding of my heart. "They're going to..."
But before I can complete the thought, a massive shockwave engulfs us - a seismic blast that obliterates everything in its path. The force of it sends me tumbling through the air like a rag doll, my mind reeling as debris rains down around me.
As consciousness begins to fade, I catch a final glimpse of Zarek's twisted grin amidst the wreckage... and then, nothing. Blackness consumes me whole.