WARNING: NSFW. Ultra Detailed. HORROR, VIOLENCE. Swearing. UNCENSORED. SMART.
Story telling, writing, creative writing and roleplay running all on Mistral Nemo's 128K+ new core.
This is a massive super merge takes all the power of the following 3 powerful models and combines them into one.
This model contains "RCM":
Details on the core models:
"nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("UGI" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("Writing" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "UGI"), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "writing") and is the base model of all the above 3 fine tuned models.
[ https://huggingface.co/spaces/DontPlanToEnd/UGI-Leaderboard ]
About this model:
This super merge captures the attibutes of all these top models and makes them even stronger:
This super merge is also super stable (a hairs breath from Mistral Nemo's ppl), and runs with all parameters and settings.
10 versions of this model will be released, this is release #5 - "part 5".
Extra Intense?
This model's focus is sheer intensity. Raw and vivid.
It does not hold back.
(see some of the examples below for details)
Usually I release one or two versions from the "best of the lot", however in this case all of the versions turned out so well - all with their own quirks and character - that I will be releasing all 10.
An additional series 2 and 3 will follow these 10 models as well.
(examples generations below)
Model may produce NSFW content : Swearing, horror, graphic horror, distressing scenes, etc etc.
This model has an INTENSE action AND HORROR bias, with a knack for cliffhangers and surprises.
It is not as "dark" as Grand Horror series, but it as intense.
This model is perfect for any general, fiction related or roleplaying activities and has a 128k+ context window.
This is a fiction model at its core and can be used for any genre(s).
WORDSTORM series is a totally uncensored, fiction writing monster and roleplay master. It can also be used for just about any general fiction (all genres) activity including:
Templates to Use:
The template used will affect output generation and instruction following.
Alpaca:
{
"name": "Alpaca",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "### Instruction:",
"input_suffix": "### Response:",
"antiprompt": [
"### Instruction:"
],
"pre_prompt": "Below is an instruction that describes a task. Write a response that appropriately completes the request.\n\n"
}
}
Chatml:
{
"name": "ChatML",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>user\n",
"input_suffix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>assistant\n",
"antiprompt": [
"<|im_start|>",
"<|im_end|>"
],
"pre_prompt": "<|im_start|>system\nPerform the task to the best of your ability."
}
}
Mistral Instruct:
{
"name": "Mistral Instruct",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "[INST]",
"input_suffix": "[/INST]",
"antiprompt": [
"[INST]"
],
"pre_prompt_prefix": "",
"pre_prompt_suffix": ""
}
}
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.
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "mistralai" "TheDrummer", "anthracite-org", and "nothingiisreal".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co/mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407 ]
[ https://huggingface.co/TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1 ]
[ https://huggingface.co/anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto ]
[ https://huggingface.co/nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9 ]
This is a four step merge (3 pass-throughs => "Fine-Tune" / "Instruct") then "mated" using "DARE-TIES".
In involves these three models:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-18.5B-Celeste-V1.9-Story-Wizard-ED1-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-Magnum-v2.5-18.5B-kto-Story-Wizard-ED1-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Story-Wizard-ED1-Instruct-GGUF ]
Combined as follows using "MERGEKIT":
models:
- model: E:/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Instruct
- model: E:/MN-magnum-v2.5-12b-kto-Instruct
parameters:
weight: .6
density: .8
- model: E:/MN-18.5B-Celeste-V1.9-Instruct
parameters:
weight: .38
density: .6
merge_method: dare_ties
tokenizer_source: union
base_model: E:/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Instruct
dtype: bfloat16
Special Notes:
Due to how DARE-TIES works, everytime you run this merge you will get a slightly different model. This is due to "random" pruning method in "DARE-TIES".
Mistral Nemo models used here seem acutely sensitive to this process.
This shows up in PPL and "real world" tests as well as "TEMP=0" ("core test") generations.
PPL range of 7.7327 to 7.8024 ... and that is on just 10 generations.
This model: PPL = 7.7410 +/- 0.12620 (100 chunks, wiki.test.raw)
"tokenizer_source: union" is used so that multiple "templates" work and each fine tune uses one or two of the templates.
Other Versions in this series:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-WORDSTORM-pt1-RCM-Kiss-of-Madness-18.5B-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-WORDSTORM-pt2-RCM-Escape-Room-18.5B-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-WORDSTORM-pt3-RCM-POV-Nightmare-18.5B-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-WORDSTORM-pt4-RCM-Cliffhanger-18.5B-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/MN-WORDSTORM-pt5-RCM-Extra-Intense-18.5B-Instruct-gguf ]
Parts 6-10 will appear in full source (located in the "Source Files" collection, on the main page of this repo ) with links to GGUFs.
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8", minimal parameters and "Mistral Instruct" 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 ground quakes violently beneath my feet, and I grasp desperately for something - anything to keep myself upright. My heart races frantically, hammering against my chest as if it too is trying to escape the chaos enveloping us.
I barely register the sound of shattering glass as a deafening boom reverberates through the office floor. My mind goes blank in shock before panic finally takes over and adrenaline surges through my veins like lightning. In a split second, I see my co-worker Kate tumble towards the new gaping hole where our window once stood. Her scream pierces through the cacophony, raw terror etched across her face as she plummets into oblivion.
"NO! KATE!" The primal yell rips from my throat involuntarily as my legs propel me forward in vain pursuit. I lunge with outstretched arms, fingertips grazing just inches short of hers before gravity claims her too. She disappears into the gaping maw of blue sky and cityscape, leaving behind only silence save for the whistling wind howling through the jagged remnants of what was once safety glass.
Sobbing uncontrollably, I collapse onto my hands and knees, retching bile onto the already bloodstained carpet. Screams of agony and panic echo from every corner of the office as more lives shatter around me. Phones ring shrill alarms while computer screens flicker and die one by one in protest to the seismic violence wreaking havoc upon our sanctuary high above New York City's bustling streets.
In my periphery, I catch movement - a colleague clinging desperately to an overturned cubicle wall, knuckles white from strain against gravity's unrelenting pull. His eyes are wide with primal fear, pupils dilated into twin obsidian pools of despair as he silently pleads for rescue that never arrives before his fingers finally give way and he follows Kate over the precipice.
Time slows to a molasses crawl; every second stretched infinitely taut with an excruciating ache that seizes my lungs in its icy grip. The world beyond our shattered walls spins sickeningly, skyscrapers leaning drunkenly sideways like towering Jenga pieces threatening to topple at the slightest breeze.
My name is Jenna, and until this very moment when hell broke loose, I'd always thought that nothing could ever shatter my carefully constructed veneer of control over life's unpredictabilities. But as the building groans in its death throes around me, I finally understand the terrifying fragility of everything - and just how quickly one split second can irrevocably alter your existence forevermore.
(Word count: 598/1000) [To be continued...]
GENERATION 2:
Glass shards rain down like hail against my face and hands, stinging my skin. I flinch away from the sudden impact, staggering back until my calves hit the edge of the desk behind me. Panic surges through my veins as I look out at the dizzying drop below.
What the hell was that? A natural disaster? A terrorist attack?
The building groans like a wounded beast. Alarms shrill in my ears, competing with screams and shattering glass from other offices. Phones ring unanswered. The scent of smoke curls under my nostrils, acrid and thick. I cough, doubling over.
Get it together, Lily. Think.
My gaze darts around the chaos-strewn space, landing on my purse. Thank God. It survived the initial blast. I lunge for it, ignoring the cuts from the broken glass imbedded in my flesh. Rummaging inside, my fingers close around the cold metal of my phone. Relief floods me as I see three bars.
"911, what's your emergency?" The operator's voice crackles through speakerphone, barely audible over the pandemonium surrounding me.
"I'm stuck on the 21st floor of the Continental Building," I shout. "There was an explosion! We're falling apart!"
"What's your name, honey?"
"Lily... Lily Thompson." My teeth chatter as a shockwave rocks the structure again, sending papers and pens flying like shrapnel.
"I need you to stay calm for me, okay? Help is on the way. Can you get to an emergency exit or stairwell?"
I swallow hard, willing my trembling hands steady enough to dial the number of our floor's head fire warden. It rings once before a gruff voice barks into the receiver.
"Bob! Oh thank God!" I gasp out a breathless prayer as his familiar gruffness grounds me. "It's Lily. We need to evacuate, now!"
"Already on it," he grunts over the commotion. "Meet at the stairwell in two minutes max."
The line goes dead before I can respond. I pocket my phone and snatch up my bag, slinging it across my shoulders. Heart pounding, I inch toward the doorway, ducking to avoid another rafter that crashes down with a deafening boom.
Flames lick at the carpet fibers as I sprint out into the hall. Smoke billows in thick clouds, choking my lungs. Coughing and wheezing, I press my sleeve over my nose and mouth, feeling blindly along the wall for guidance. The paint burns my skin through my blouse.
A shrill scream pierces my ears. I whirl around to see Sarah, from accounting, crumpled on the floor, her leg twisted at an unnatural angle. Blood pools beneath her, mixing with the spreading fire.
"Shit," I curse under my breath, glancing back toward the safety of the stairs then down at her limp form. I can't leave her.
Dropping to my knees beside her, I cringe as shards of glass slice through my slacks into my bare thighs. Tears sting my eyes but I grit my teeth, ignoring the pain. With a grunt, I hook my arms under her armpits and yank hard, dragging her dead weight toward the exit.
"Come on, come on," I pant, coughing up black phlegm. The heat scorches my back as we inch forward, one agonizing step at a time. "Almost there..."
A thunderous crack reverberates through the floorboards and beams overhead splinter apart like matchsticks. I yelp in terror, throwing myself over Sarah's lifeless body as a massive section of ceiling crashes down mere feet away. Dust and debris cloud my vision.
"Fuck!" My voice cracks with hysteria as I struggle to my feet again, leaving bloody smears on the charred carpet. "Wake up! Wake up!"
I shake her shoulders hard but she doesn't stir. Hot tears spill over my cheeks, mingling with the soot and sweat streaking down my face.
"Please," I choke out a broken plea to any higher power listening before slinging Sarah's limp form over my shoulder in a fireman's carry. My quivering muscles scream in protest but there's no other choice.
I stumble blindly, every step an eternity against the inferno raging around us. The world spins like a kaleidoscope of flames and smoke and agony. Each breath feels like breathing through water. But I don't stop until my shins slam into cold concrete steps.
"Lily!" A strong hand grabs me by the arm, pulling us both down onto the landing. Bob's soot-streaked face blurs in my vision as relief crashes over me. "I thought you were dead."
"I'm okay," I rasp, coughing up more black spittle. "But Sarah... she's hurt bad..."
His expression darkens but he nods grimly. "Let's move, no time to waste." With a grunt, he hoists her unconscious form onto his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.
We half-run, half-fall down the narrow stairwell, dodging chunks of falling plaster and rebar. The stench of burning flesh follows us every step of the way. Sirens wail from somewhere far below, growing louder with each flight we descend.
I don't know how long it takes before our feet hit blessed fresh air once more. All I remember is the searing pain in my lungs, the ringing in my ears, and the screams echoing off the concrete walls behind us as the building collapses into a fiery tomb.
Policemen swarm around us, shouting orders I can't process through the fog of shock. Someone drapes a blanket over our shoulders while paramedics descend on Sarah's motionless body with IVs and defibrillators. I collapse onto the curb, trembling uncontrollably as everything fades to black.
When I wake again hours later in the sterile white hospital room, my first thought is that it was all just a nightmare... Until I look down at my bandaged hands, criss-crossed with angry red gashes and bruises blooming beneath. Then reality slams back into place like a freight train.
I survived... but how many others weren't so lucky?
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:
crackle
A sudden sound broke the stillness. Not laughter or conversation, but a sharp, dry noise that cut through the heavy air like a knife. It came from the hearth where logs had settled in their bed of ash.
The second part of the silence was the absence of breath. No one drew a living lungful into their chest, no one let it out in a soft sigh or snore. There were no sleeping bodies sprawled across the long tables, no heads nodding on crossed arms. The Waystone Inn stood empty as an abandoned tomb.
The third part of the silence was the most unsettling - it was a listening quiet. Not a stillness waiting to be broken by natural sounds, but a tense and watchful hush as if the night itself held its breath in anticipation. Something unnameable seemed to lurk at the edges of perception, just out of sight or hearing, waiting.
Then came another noise, soft but distinct this time: thump-thump. The sound of footsteps on the old plank floor. Slow and measured, they echoed through the empty hall until they reached the hearth. There, they stopped. A shadow detached itself from the others that crouched in dark corners, stretching long across the flagstones as a figure came into the pale glow.
It was a man, tall and broad-shouldered but gaunt of face. His hair hung black and unkempt to his shoulders, and eyes like chips of moonlit ice stared out from hollow sockets. He stood motionless for a long moment before kneeling down beside the dead fire, prodding at the ashes with a poker until a tiny coal glimmered red. With infinite patience he coaxed it back to life, blowing gently until flame licked up around fresh kindling and began to dance.
The man watched the growing flames without expression as they cast flickering shadows across his face. His gaze remained fixed on the small blaze even when a creak of old wood sounded from behind him and another shadow detached itself from the darkness. It was smaller, slighter than his own. A woman's figure stepped out into the light.
She had hair the color of spun gold, pale skin like milk under the firelight. Her eyes were blue as morning mist but hard with a cold that matched his own. She stood beside him silently, watching the flames grow until they leapt up to lick at the stone chimney, crackling merrily.
Then she spoke. "You've been gone long."
The man never turned to look at her. "Long enough." His voice was low and rough from disuse. "There are things that take time."
"What have you found?" The question held a sharp edge despite its softness.
He glanced sidelong at her, one corner of his mouth curling in a humorless smile. "Answers." He stood slowly to his feet, towering over her slight frame. "And questions."
The woman frowned slightly but did not shrink back from the sudden proximity. She studied him for a long moment before nodding once, curtly. "Then tell me." Her voice was cold and commanding despite its quiet tone.
The man hesitated only briefly before speaking again in that same low rumble. "It's as we feared. They come north."
"Who?"
"The Others. The White Worm's children. I've seen their signs, smelled the taint of their passing like a rotten wind." His eyes never left the dancing flames. "They stir once more after so long asleep."
The woman tensed beside him but kept her face carefully blank. "How many?"
"Too many to count. An army dark as night itself, stretching far beyond sight or sound. And at their head..." He paused, swallowing hard against a sudden dryness in his throat. "A thing of nightmare. A King of Skulls."
Silence fell between them once more as they both stared into the hungry flames. The crackle and pop of burning wood filled the space left empty by words unspoken. Finally, after what seemed like ages, she broke it with a single word.
"Then..." Her voice wavered ever so slightly before hardening again. "What do we do?"
The man turned to face her then, eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made even this cold heart tremble. His lips curled back in a snarling grin devoid of warmth or humor.
"We fight."
GENERATION 2:
Unbroken and empty.
The second part of the silence was a presence, almost tangible. It was the kind of stillness that comes when every living thing holds its breath in anticipation of something momentous about to happen. The hairs on the back of one's neck prickled, skin crawled with goosebumps, and a weight seemed to press down from above. It was as if all the natural sounds of night were silenced out of respect or fear.
And beneath even this heavy presence lay the third part - an absence so profound it seemed to swallow sound itself. As though something essential had been removed from the fabric of reality, leaving behind a gaping hole where music and mirth should have been. It was as if all the laughter in the world had fled, leaving only the stark emptiness of its memory echoing through time.
The Waystone Inn stood silent as a tomb. And yet, within those walls, something stirred.
I step off the elevator into the revolving doors leading into the CN Tower's revolving restaurant. The city of Toronto sprawls out below me like a glittering carpet, stretching as far as my 15-year-old eyes can see. I've begged Mom for months to celebrate my birthday here and finally she caved. As we approach our table by the window, a shiver runs down my spine.
Suddenly, a deafening BOOM rocks the building. Plates clatter onto the floor, screams echo through the restaurant as the ground shakes violently. I grab hold of the nearest table to steady myself. The lights flicker and then go out completely, plunging us into darkness. Panic rises in my throat.
"What was that?!" Mom yells over the chaos, her voice trembling.
"I-I don't know," I stammer, trying to make sense of it all as the room spins around me.
Then, a blinding white light pierces through the darkness and illuminates a large figure standing at the entrance. It's wearing black tactical gear with a red cross on its chest plate - The Terminator. He strides forward like an unstoppable force, eyes fixed straight ahead, ignoring the terrified screams and pleas for help.
"Get down!" I shout, yanking Mom to the floor as gunfire erupts from nowhere, bullets whizzing past our heads. The sound of shattering glass fills my ears as the window behind us explodes inward.
Mom clings to me, sobbing hysterically while I cover her body with mine. "It's going to be okay," I lie, voice shaking. My eyes dart around frantically for an exit, a weapon - anything!
Just then, another deafening BOOM rocks the building again. This time it sounds closer...and wetter. What the hell?
"Look!" Mom shrieks, pointing a quivering finger at the broken window.
Oh my god. A massive black funnel of water spirals up from Lake Ontario, swirling and churning with something dark inside it. Something alive.
Sharks. Hundreds of them, teeth bared in feral snarls as they're sucked up into the vortex. The tornado touches down on the other side of the tower's glass walls, shattering them like brittle ice under the force. Water gushes in like a raging tsunami, washing over our heads and dragging screams with it.
I cough up water, gasping for air as I'm slammed against a table leg. Everything is chaos - people thrashing in the frothing waves, furniture smashing into walls, glass shards slicing skin raw. I grab hold of the table again with one hand while groping blindly for Mom with my other.
"Honey! Honey!" she wails somewhere nearby.
"I'm here!" I choke out, spitting blood and bile. "Hold on!"
Suddenly a strong grip clamps around my arm - it's him. The Terminator hoists me up like a rag doll despite the churning currents battering us side to side. He tosses me over his shoulder with no effort at all and wades through the knee-deep water towards higher ground.
"Mom!" I scream, flailing against his iron grip. "Let me go!"
He ignores my pleas, plowing forward like a bulldozer through the pandemonium. Then suddenly he stops short, head cocked slightly to one side. What now?
CRACK! CRACK! The sound of gunfire again - but this time it's coming from somewhere else entirely.
"Bastard!" A familiar British accent bellows over the mayhem as a figure in tweed and bow tie materializes out of thin air beside us, sonic screwd Doctor Who brandishing a futuristic gun. "How many times do I have to tell you?!"
The Terminator whirls around to face him, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"Oh bugger," the Doctor mutters, shrinking back just before The Terminator's fist connects with his jaw in a sickening crunch of bone and teeth.
"No!" I shriek, struggling against my captor's iron grip. "Stop it! Please!"
But he doesn't listen - how could he? It's not part of his programming to care about human emotions or pleas for mercy. All that matters is its mission: terminate the threat.
"Honey!" Mom's voice echoes somewhere distant through the roaring waterfall, barely audible over the cacophony.
"Mom!!" I wail back uselessly as The Terminator drags me away from her, disappearing into the swirling blackness. "NOOOO!!!"
The Doctor groans, clutching his face with one hand while still firing wildly at...what? I can't see anything except churning water and splashing blood.
"Get off me you mechanical menace!" he growls, landing a solid punch to The Terminator's gut that doesn't even faze him. "I'm trying to save your sorry arse here!"
CRASH! The tower shudders violently as another wall gives way under the pressure of the sharknado. Waves crash in from both sides now, engulfing us all.
"Fuck!" The Doctor spits out a mouthful of blood and water. "We've got seconds before this whole bloody building collapses!"
He grabs hold of me with one hand while firing his gun blindly behind him with the other - but it's too late. A massive great white leaps straight at us through the spray, jaws gaping wide enough to swallow us whole.
"Look out!" I scream as its teeth close around The Terminator's head...
...and clamp shut on empty air instead. I blink in disbelief - he's gone. Vanished like smoke into thin air without a trace.
"What the hell?" I stammer, struggling against The Doctor's iron grip as he drags me towards the gaping elevator shaft where we came in. "What happened?!"
"Long story short: time travel!" He yells over the roar of collapsing concrete and shattering glass. "Now shut your mouth and run!"
We launch ourselves off the edge just as the floor gives out beneath our feet, plummeting down into endless blackness together...
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.
My heart pounds in rhythm with the clatter of my boots on the cobblestone streets. Shadows dance around me as I sprint through the empty alleys, dodging the light cast by flickering streetlamps. Each breath feels like a blade slicing through my lungs, but I force myself to push harder, faster.
"Stop!" A gruff voice bellows behind me, followed by the crack of gunfire echoing off the stone walls. I duck instinctively, feeling the bullet whiz past my ear as it ricochets off the wall beside me.
I risk a glance over my shoulder and curse under my breath. Four heavily armed guards are hot on my heels, their boots thundering like thunder in the night. Sweat pours down my face despite the chill that clings to the autumn air.
"She's just ahead!" one of them shouts, pointing his rifle at me. I swerve left, narrowly avoiding another spray of bullets.
I spot an old wooden door, barely hanging on its hinges, just up ahead. If I can only reach it... With a final burst of adrenaline, I launch myself at the splintered wood and slam my shoulder against it. It groans under the impact but finally gives way, sending me sprawling into darkness.
I land hard on the rough wooden floorboards, pain exploding through my arm as I catch myself. The acrid smell of dust and mold assaults my nostrils, making me cough and sputter. I scramble to my feet, wiping blood from my scraped palm onto my already filthy pants leg.
The door crashes open behind me, sending splinters flying in all directions. "There she is!" one of the guards growls.
I don't wait for them to advance. My body moves on pure instinct as I sprint deeper into the abandoned warehouse, weaving through towering shelves stacked with forgotten crates and barrels. The old floorboards creak precariously under my weight, threatening to buckle at any moment.
"Spread out!" another guard orders. "She can't hide forever!"
I grit my teeth, cursing myself for choosing this place as a last resort. It was supposed to be abandoned, forgotten like everything else in this godforsaken city. But now they'll tear it apart board by board until they find me.
My lungs burn as I dodge and weave through the maze of shelves, desperate to lose them in the labyrinthine interior. The clatter of their boots grows distant for a blessed second before resounding again, closer than before. They've split up, encircling me like vultures closing in on their prey.
I chance another look back and freeze cold in my tracks. There he stands, rifle trained right at my chest - the leader himself, Captain Rourke. His scarred face leers cruelly in the dim light filtering through gaps in the rotten roof above us.
"End of the line, little mouse," he sneers, cocking his gun with an ominous click. "No more running this time."
Trapped. No way out... except up. I spin around wildly, eyes darting to the rafters high overhead. A rusty ladder clings precariously to one of the support beams, leading up into inky blackness.
With a silent prayer, I leap for the first rung, scrambling upward as fast as my trembling hands will allow. Splinters dig into my palms as I climb higher and higher, praying the ancient wood will hold. The crack of gunfire rings out below me and a bullet whizzes past my ear so close it singes my hair.
"Shoot her leg off!" Rourke bellows from somewhere in the shadows. "I want that little bitch alive!"
I don't look down, just keep climbing until my arms scream in agony and spots dance before my eyes. Almost...almost there...
My hand finally finds purchase on a solid beam above me and I haul myself up onto the narrow plankwalk with a gasp of relief. For one precious second, I allow myself to collapse against the rough wood, gulping air into lungs greedy for oxygen.
And then everything goes black as hell itself opens beneath my feet...