It is a LLama2 model, max context of 4096 (or 16k+ with rope).
This compressed version is an ODE to the original "Psyonic-Cetacean 20B" by Jeb Carter in a smaller, more compact size attempting to preserve it's unique prose and character.
This model has been designed to be relatively bullet proof and operates with most parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
This model is for any writing, fiction or story telling activity as well as roleplay and other creative activities.
It requires "Llama2" template and/or "Alpaca" template.
Example outputs below.
Psyonic-Cetacean? ... wait a minute.
Yes, this is a compressed version of Jeb Carter's fantastic "Psyonic-Cetacean 20B".
I used the same float 32 version files to create this version as was used to create the "Ultra" versions here:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Psyonic-Cetacean-Ultra-Quality-20b-GGUF ]
The main difference is the size 13B vs 20B, and this version's perplexity is much lower than the original or ultra versions (q4KM: "Original 20B": PPL = 8.7858, "Ultra 20B": PPL = 8.6882, "Depth Charge": PPL = 7.1007 - lower is better.)
This version will also be faster in per token per second generation too.
Although every attempt was made to preserve all functions, features and voice of the original 20B there will be some slight differences.
However this model will work at all parameter settings due to the compression and style of this merge.
All models used (and their upstream counterparts) were used to create this 13B version.
Model Notes:
Suggest a temp of .8 or higher, and try BOTH templates if using this model for creative writing.
Repeat penalty setting of 1.05 or higher is recommended.
Note that temp AND "rep pen" changes will drastically change the output ; adjust in small increments for best results.
Also, this model may perform better cold for some prompts: Unload the model, load the model -> prompt it ... rather than keeping the model loaded at all times.
Recommend using the larger quant you can "run" for quality.
This repo also has the new "arm quants" : Q4_0_4_4, Q4_0_4_8 and Q4_0_8_8
Model Template:
This is a LLAMA2 model, and requires Alpaca or Llama2 template, but may work with other template(s) and has maximum context of 4k / 4096. However this can be extended using "rope" settings up to 16k.
Here is the standard ALPACA template (best for story telling / long form):
{
"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"
}
}
Here is the standard LLAMA2 template (best for general usage):
{
"name": "Llama 2",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "[INST]",
"input_suffix": "[/INST]",
"antiprompt": [
"[INST]"
],
"pre_prompt_prefix": "",
"pre_prompt_suffix": ""
}
}
Model "DNA":
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "Microsoft", and "KoboldAI".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co/KoboldAI/LLaMA2-13B-Psyfighter2-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co/microsoft/Orca-2-13b ]
Jeb Carter's original:
[ https://huggingface.co/jebcarter/psyonic-cetacean-20B ]
And models used in "LLaMA2-13B-Psyfighter2" (used in full at Float32 to recreate this model):
[ https://huggingface.co/TheBloke/Llama-2-13B-fp16 ]
[ https://huggingface.co/KoboldAI/LLaMA2-13B-Tiefighter ]
[ https://huggingface.co/Doctor-Shotgun/cat-v1.0-13b ]
[ https://huggingface.co/Doctor-Shotgun/llama-2-13b-chat-limarp-v2-merged ]
Parts of these models were "grafted" / "fused" together to create this model.
This 13B version was built using "DARE-TIES" full scale (instead of gradient) method rather than a "pass-through" method which was used to create the original/Ultra 20B Psyonic Cetacean.
LLaMA2-13B-Psyfighter2 was recreated using the same mergekit formula, but preserved at float 32 instead of float16.
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 "Alpaca" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
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: ( temp=2 )
as heavy as an untouched feast, a blanket of quiet that threatened to smother any sound. The air itself seemed to press against Eldric's eardrums like water on the lungs; he was almost relieved by the ragged edge of desperation that crept into his thoughts as the silence dragged at him, tempting him toward insanity with promises of peace and numb oblivion. He shuddered, cursing himself for a fool, but found it impossible to look away from the final, empty table near the hearth.
A lone candle flickered on it, casting dancing shadows against the wall behind; as though the flame was mocking Eldric, reminding him that there had been a time when even this place would have hummed with life. He could picture it in his mind's eye: the bustling common room teeming with people, the taproom full of laughter and the smell of fresh bread, music pouring from fiddles and lutes as dancers filled the floor...He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the phantoms, but they continued to taunt him.
When next he opened them, Eldric found himself glancing at the inn sign again: a stag leaping above the word "Halftime," carved in bold script beneath. He wondered where everyone was, if this silence was specific to the inn or encompassed all of Highmoor...Or worse, if it meant that time itself had stalled here; that Eldric had fallen from his path into some nameless limbo where stories were forgotten and even memories were lost. He took a deep breath, steel settling around his heart like a winter cloak. Whatever the reason for the silence, he was not free to break it. Not yet.
GENERATION 2:
But the silence was not complete. There was another quality to it, as if sound itself were layered like the walls of the inn, thick with memories, secrets, and stories told late into the night. It was a presence that settled over everyone inside, weighing down their words until they came out in hushed whispers or not at all. Even the fire that crackled in the hearth seemed to do so more out of habit than necessity, throwing off just enough heat to take the edge off the cold but leaving much of the room wrapped in shadows.
The third part of the silence was like a current beneath the surface, an undercurrent of anticipation and unease that ran through the air, making the hair on the backs of necks stand up and eyes dart towards the door whenever it creaked open to admit another traveler. It was as if everyone knew something was about to happen, even if they didn't quite know what.
The three parts combined to make a silence that was almost tangible, a weighty thing that settled into the bones and made it difficult for anyone to move or speak with any ease. And yet, despite this oppressive hush, there were still those who managed to find refuge within its depths...
I'm in the Canadian National Tower Restaurant on a Saturday night. I just turned 15 and I've never been anywhere like this before. It's huge, all glass walls and a view of the city that takes your breath away. The lights twinkle below us like stars, and the people here tonight are dressed to match.
I'm sitting at one of those little round tables for two, surrounded by my family. They're laughing and talking about how much they missed me when I was gone. It wasn't that long ago, but it feels like a different lifetime. Before the accident. Before everything changed.
They don't know it yet, but something's about to happen. Something big. Something terrifying. But right now, all I can focus on is my family, and how they look so much happier than they have in months. They think we came here for a nice dinner out, to celebrate my birthday. They don't know that there's someone else coming tonight, too.
I glance at my phone, tapping my fingers impatiently against the table. I can't stop looking at the screen, even though it hasn't changed in minutes. The text is still there: "He'll be here soon."
My family notices me watching the door, and they exchange worried glances across the table. They know something's wrong, but they don't know what. I can see it written all over their faces. Mom's tense posture, Dad's furrowed brow. Even my little sister is quiet, her eyes darting back and forth between me and the door every few seconds.
And then he steps through the doors. He doesn't walk or run; he appears in an instant, a blur of metal and flesh. The Terminator, sent from the future to kill someone important. In this case, me. I feel my heart stop in my chest as his red eyes land on mine, and for a moment, time seems to stand still.
The other patrons of the restaurant notice him, too. There's a collective gasp, and then silence falls over the room like a blanket. The kitchen staff behind the counter freeze, one hand on a pot as if they're afraid to take it off the burner. Everyone seems frozen in time, except for me and my family.
"You must be Sarah," he grinds out, his voice distorted through the speakers built into his endoskeleton. He doesn't sound anything like Arnie; this one has more of a computer-generated quality to it. His arms are folded across his chest, and his face is a mask of determination. I know he means me no harm yet; he hasn't drawn his weapons or attacked anyone. Not yet, anyway.
I want to run. To jump up from the table and bolt for the nearest exit. But I can't seem to make my legs move. It's like I'm paralyzed with fear. "Who are you?" My voice comes out weaker than I imagined it would, but at least he seems to recognize the name.
"I am a Terminator, sent from the future on a critical mission," he repeats, his red eyes never leaving my face. "You have been targeted for termination."
The words send a shiver down my spine. I glance at my family again, still sitting there like statues. I want to tell them it's going to be okay, that this is just some sort of mistake. But the words catch in my throat, and all that comes out is a whimper.
And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, The Terminator disappears again. Vanishes into thin air with the same fluid motion he had when he came through the doors. Gone before anyone could react to his presence.
The restaurant bursts back into life around us. People begin talking and laughing again, like nothing strange has happened. It's almost surreal, as if it was all a dream. But I know better. I know what I just saw, and I know that The Terminator will be back for me soon enough.
And then, through the open doors of the restaurant, there's a blur of color. A flash of blue police box materializes in front of us, rocking gently on its invisible landing struts. Out steps Dr. Who, his usual grin plastered across his face as he takes in the scene before him.
"Ah, I see our friends from the future have shown up," he says cheerfully, waving a sonic screwdriver around. "And you must be The Terminator. Or an imposter; it's hard to tell sometimes with your kind." He pauses, studying the T-800 intently. "No time for introductions, I suppose. Sharks! Everywhere!"
With that, he vanishes again, only to reappear a moment later inside the police box. The doors close behind him with a whooshing sound, and then the TARDIS rockets into the air, disappearing from sight almost instantly.
Just as it does, there's another flash of movement to my right. A tornado funnel clouds down toward us from above, full of sharks spinning crazily in its vortex. The kitchen staff screams, and everyone ducks for cover. I look up at the twister, seeing dozens, maybe even hundreds of sharks swirling inside it.
I think about running, but before I can make a decision, The Terminator reappears next to me. He extends one metal hand, offering me shelter. "Come," he grates out, his voice devoid of emotion. "We must flee."
With shaky legs, I take his hand and let him pull me to my feet. Together, the three of us run through the restaurant, dodging chairs and tables as we make our way toward the exit. The twister follows close behind us, the sharks swirling dangerously close to the floor now.
I can feel their presence all around us, a thrumming in my bones that tells me they're there. They're hunting. And if we don't get out of here fast enough...
We burst through the doors and into the cool night air. The Terminator releases my hand, drawing his plasma rifle as he turns to face our pursuers. Behind him, Dr. Who reappears from inside the TARDIS again, already shouting directions at the other time traveler.
"Left! Hard left!"
The Terminator dodges a shark that flies past his head, narrowly avoiding its razor-sharp teeth. He returns fire with a hail of plasma bolts, vaporizing several of the sharks out of the air before they can reach us. The remaining ones scatter, disappearing into the darkness around us.
Dr. Who lands his TARDIS on the ground beside me, the doors slamming open to reveal a panicked-looking K-9 inside. "Right, that should hold them for now," he says, pulling a small device from his pocket and aiming it at the sky. There's an earsplitting boom as he detonates it, sending a shockwave through the air. The remaining sharks are sent flying in all directions by the blast, disappearing over the horizon.
"Phew," Dr. Who says with a satisfied smile. "That was close." He turns to me and extends his hand. "You're coming with us now, Sarah. Back to my ship. We have much to discuss." I take his hand reluctantly, not wanting to leave my family behind but knowing I don't have much choice in the matter anymore.
The Terminator stands a few feet away from us, watching silently as Dr. Who leads me toward the TARDIS. As we near the doors, he speaks for the first time since we met him. "She will not be able to outrun it." His voice is flat and emotionless. "The future cannot be changed."
Dr. Who pauses, glancing back at the Terminator over his shoulder. There's a sadness in his eyes that wasn't there before. "I know," he says quietly. Then, with one last look at my family, he helps me into the TARDIS and closes the doors behind us.
The TARDIS dematerializes with a flash of light, disappearing from our reality as quickly as it arrived. The Terminator remains standing there for a moment longer, his red eyes fixed on the spot where we vanished. Then, he turns and walks away, back into the night. Alone.
The restaurant goes back to normal. The lights flicker, the music plays, people laugh and talk around their tables. But none of them will ever know what really happened here tonight. None of them will ever see the future unravel before their eyes, feel the rush of adrenaline as they barely escape with their lives.
None of them will ever meet The Terminator or Dr. Who. And most importantly, none of them will ever be in danger from a tornado of sharks. They'll just go about their lives, blissfully unaware of the vast and terrifying universe that exists beyond the walls of this place.
But I know better. Now, I belong to another time and place entirely. And though my family may never understand what happened here tonight, I'll carry it with me forever. The memories, the fear...and the determination to change my fate.
Because I am Sarah Connor. And the future is not set in stone.
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:
The gunshot echoes through the cold concrete prison cell as I collapse onto the damp floor, my chest burning and every muscle in my body seizing up. I can't breathe; every gasp of air feels like it's being forced from my lungs with the barrel of a rifle. The taste of copper fills my mouth and I close my eyes tightly, willing myself to stay conscious.
But this is not how it was supposed to end. Not like this.
I try to push myself up onto an elbow, fighting against the wave of agony that ripples through me with every movement. The bullet wound in my chest throbs and blood seeps through my fingers as I claw at the cold concrete beneath me. My head feels light, disconnected from the rest of my body, as if it might float away at any moment.
Footsteps echo outside my cell. Doors slam and voices bark orders, but I can't make out what they're saying. They don't matter anymore. All that matters is getting out of here.
I force myself to my feet, leaning heavily against the cold metal bars of my cell for support. My legs buckle beneath me and I drop to one knee, panting hard as adrenaline surges through my veins. It's now or never.
With a grunt of effort, I throw myself forward and lunge at the cell door, wrapping my fingers around the bars. They're cold against my sweaty palms but unyielding. I push with all my might, ignoring the pain in my chest, determined to break free.
"Leave go!" a guard yells from somewhere nearby. "Let go or we'll shoot!"
I ignore him, focusing on the lock as I twist and wiggle my hands, trying to loosen the bars enough to slip through them. With one final heave, they come free with a clatter that echoes through the prison block. I let out a relieved breath as I stumble into the hallway.
But it's too late. Guards are already running towards me, weapons raised. They surround me, trapping me against the wall of the cellblock. My heart sinks; there's no escape this way.
One of them levels his rifle at my chest, aiming for a killing shot. The barrel glows red as it heats up and I know what's coming next. There's nowhere left to run.
"Wait!" I cry out, throwing up my arms in surrender. "Please, don't do this! You don't understand!"
But they don't listen; the guard squeezes the trigger and the world goes black.
I open my eyes, gasping for air as reality comes crashing back. I'm lying on the cold metal floor of an abandoned warehouse, surrounded by shadows cast by flickering candlelight. The scent of damp concrete fills my nostrils and my body is covered in sweat. It was all a dream, just that; another nightmare brought on by the haunting memories of my last few days.
But it doesn't change anything. I know what happened. And I can never forget.
Rising slowly to my feet, I wipe the tears from my eyes and take a shaky breath. I have work to do. The revolution isn't over just because they took my life; I may be gone but the fight goes on. It has to.
My hand brushes against something cold and metallic as I push myself off the floor, and I realize it's the pistol they took from me before executing me. I clench it tightly in my fist, feeling a spark of determination ignite within me. No matter what it takes, I will see this through to the end.
I have to believe that it's possible. For all of us.
GENERATION 2:
I wake up with a jolt as harsh light fills my cell. My heart races and sweat beads on my forehead from the nightmare where I was being dragged across the stone floor by my hair, over and over again until it ripped out of my skull. I look around the damp, cold cell, wishing for even just a few moments of silence in this eternal prison. The other prisoners in here don't speak much anymore; we've all given up hope. But that doesn't mean we haven't tried.
I force myself to take slow breaths, trying to calm my racing heart as I stand and stretch my aching limbs. Today must be the day they'll come for me. It's always been like this; they never tell you when it's going to happen, but you can feel it in the air, the tension that makes every muscle twitch with unease.
I pace around my cell, running my fingers through my unkempt hair and scrutinizing my reflection in the small bar of soap I keep by the door. My eyes are sunken and dark, my cheeks hollowed, and my once-vibrant curls hang limp and lifeless. The scars on my arms and legs speak of a past life, one of passion and purpose. Now, all that remains is this eternal hellhole.
As I continue to pace, I think back to how it all started. How I became a symbol of hope in a world where hope was nothing more than a cruel joke. How they called me the "Rebel's Daughter," like some kind of badge of honor. But that was before they found out my name and took everything from me.
My name is Aria, and I am not afraid.I glance at the small, rusty nail hidden beneath my mattress as if it were a precious jewel. It's all I have left of him, the one who taught me how to fight for what I believed in. My father, a great general in our country's army before the regime took power. He was executed for treason right after me, but his spirit lives on inside me. His words echo through my mind, urging me to keep fighting, no matter the cost.
Footsteps pound down the hallway outside, jolting me from my thoughts. My heart leaps into my throat as I grab the nail and slip it into my pocket. There's no time to waste; they must be here for me now.
I square my shoulders, trying to stand tall despite the weight of fear pressing down on me like a lead blanket. The door swings open with a loud creak, revealing two guards in black uniforms. They stride into my cell and motion for me to follow them.
"You've got one minute," one of them growls, his face unreadable behind a metal mask. I nod curtly and hurry past him, taking one last look at my cell before the door slams shut behind me, sealing my fate.
As we walk down the dimly lit hallway, my heart races faster with every step. I can feel the guards' eyes on me, boring into my back like ice picks. They're waiting for any sign of resistance, any hint that I haven't given up yet. But they won't find it; there's nothing left to fight for here.
We reach an elevator and the guards motion for me to enter. One presses a button on the panel, and with a loud clang, we begin our descent into the depths of this hellhole. As the elevator descends, my heart races faster; I can feel it pounding against my ribcage like a caged bird desperate for freedom.
With every second that passes, my fear turns to determination. I steel myself, closing off all emotion and focusing only on what's to come. The elevator dings open, revealing a large chamber filled with people. Men in black uniforms stand guard along the walls while others sit at desks, monitoring screens and data feeds. At the far end of the room is a raised platform, where sits the man who holds my fate in his hands: The Leader.
I am escorted across the chamber, each step echoing through the silence like a gunshot. As I near the platform, I see him lean back in his chair, regarding me with cold, calculating eyes. He's an imposing figure; tall and lean, with dark hair slicked back from his forehead. There's something almost regal about the way he holds himself, as if he truly believes he was born to rule.
The guards force me up the steps and onto my knees before him. I look into his eyes, refusing to show any fear or submission. "So," he says after a long moment, his voice smooth and controlled. "You are the one they call the 'Rebel's Daughter.'"
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "Yes." My voice is steady, despite the tremor in my chest. "And you are the tyrant who murdered my father and thousands of innocents."
His eyes narrow, and for a moment I think he might actually react to my words. But then, as quickly as it came, his emotionless mask slips back into place. He leans forward, studying me like some strange insect pinned to a board. "You are a foolish girl," he says at last. "Your father's execution was necessary. The people of this country needed order; they needed someone to bring them together and restore peace."
I snort in disbelief. "Peace through fear and oppression? That's not peace, it's tyranny!"
He shrugs. "Perhaps, but it doesn't matter now. You have been found guilty of treason against the state, and for that, you will die." He stands up, signaling an end to our conversation. "Take her away."
The guards drag me from the platform, back through the chamber and up the elevator. As we ascend, I look out over the sea of faces below, wondering if any of them share my beliefs, my passion for a better world. For freedom.
We reach the top floor once more and are led down another hallway to a small room with bars on the door. The guards push me inside and slide the cell door closed, locking it with a clang that echoes in my ears like a death knell. As they leave me there, I sit down on the cold concrete floor, my back against the wall, and close my eyes.
And in that moment, as my heart races and my breath comes in ragged gasps, I know that this is not the end. They may have taken everything from me, but they'll never take my spirit, my determination. I am Aria, the Rebel's Daughter, and I will not go down without a fight.
I will rise again.
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:
The sky scraper sways beneath me, my stomach lurching uncomfortably as the building tilts dangerously to one side. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, panic rising with each thud of my racing pulse. My breath comes out in ragged gasps, and sweat prickles at my hairline. All around me, people scream; a cacophony of terror that only serves to heighten the nightmare-like quality of the situation.
My gaze is fixed on the window directly in front of me, on the 21st floor, as it shatters into a thousand jagged pieces, spraying the air with shreds of glass and metal. The explosion sends shockwaves through the building, making the tower lean further in our direction. I can feel my knees go weak at the impact, and for a terrifying moment, I'm certain we're going to pitch forward and plummet to our deaths. But somehow, miraculously, the building rights itself again.
My heart is still racing as I try desperately not to think about what could be causing this catastrophe. I know logically that there must have been some sort of attack, but my imagination runs riot with images of a giant monster stomping through the city, reducing everything in its path to rubble. The absurdity of it all threatens to send me into hysterics, but terror keeps my emotions in check.
Around us, people are scrambling for the exits, trampling over each other in their reckless haste to escape. My coworkers from the 20th floor office have spilled out into the hallway like ants from a disturbed anthill, pushing and shoving as they flee the building. I want nothing more than to follow them, but something keeps my feet rooted to the spot. It's as if my body knows that running isn't going to save us this time.
I glance down at the window again, watching as the glass crumbles under the weight of its own destruction, falling away in glistening shards. A sharp pain stabs through me, and I realize with dawning horror that one of those pieces must have struck my leg a moment ago. Blood trickles slowly down my calf, mingling with the beads of sweat on my forehead. The sensation is strangely distant, almost as if it's happening to someone else.
"We need to go!" A hand grabs my upper arm roughly and yanks me backward, trying to pull me away from the window. It's one of the security guards from downstairs; a burly man with a handlebar mustache who always has a joke for everyone. His face is pale beneath his five o'clock shadow, and his eyes are wide with fear as he tries to usher me toward safety. "There could be more explosions, or fire! We need to get out of here!"
I nod dumbly, allowing him to lead me through the maze of offices and hallways that connect our floor to the stairwell. As we hurry along, I can't help but glance back over my shoulder every few seconds, taking in the sight of the destroyed window and wondering what horrors lie beyond it. The thought of venturing outside, into the midst of whatever disaster has befallen the city, sends a fresh wave of terror washing over me.
We reach the stairwell at last, but before we can descend any further, there's a muffled boom from below and the whole building shudders beneath our feet. The guard and I exchange a startled look before beginning to descend as quickly and quietly as possible. Our footsteps echo through the metal stairs, sounding impossibly loud in the tense silence.
As we near the 10th floor, I hear a woman scream from somewhere above us. The agony in her voice sends a cold chill down my spine, and I break into a cold sweat all over again. The guard slows his pace slightly, peering up and down the stairs as if he could see through the solid steel to where she is. His expression is grim when he finally looks at me again.
"We need to find another way out," he whispers hoarsely. "This stairwell might not be safe."
GENERATION 2: (llama2 template)
The sky scraper sways beneath me, my heart racing and palms sweaty. I'm on the 21st floor, watching with horror as the window in front of me shatters into a thousand pieces, shards of glass flying through the air like daggers. The explosion throws me against the wall, but I manage to keep my footing somehow.
My thoughts spin out of control, my mind reeling at the sight before me. I can't believe this is happening - it feels unreal, almost as though I'm in some sort of twisted nightmare from which I can't wake up. The sky scraper shudders again, sending more debris flying through the air, and I realize with sickening certainty that it's just a matter of time before we come crashing down.
I force myself to focus, to try and figure out what to do next. The emergency stairwell is probably my best bet, but with each passing second I feel more trapped by the oncoming panic. My legs are shaking uncontrollably as I make my way over to the door leading to the stairs, praying under my breath that it won't be locked or blocked.
As I twist the handle, a fresh wave of terror washes over me when I realize how little noise there is. The building's alarms should be blaring by now, but all that can be heard are distant screams and the occasional rumble from below as the other floors collapse in on themselves. It feels so unnatural, like something out of a disaster movie.
I force my way into the stairwell, relieved to see that it's mostly clear. But even with no one in front or behind me, I can feel the weight of the situation bearing down on me. There are too many questions and not nearly enough answers.
What caused this? Was it a bomb? An accident? Or could it be something worse? As soon as that last thought crosses my mind, images of the bodies in the hallway flash through my head unbidden. They were mutilated, torn apart in ways I didn't even think possible. The horror of those sightings are burned into my brain, and now they seem to be coming back to haunt me with every step downwards.
The stairs groan as the building continues to buckle beneath us. I can feel the concrete shifting under my feet with each footfall, like walking on a bridge made of sand. Panic claws at my throat, threatening to reduce me to uncontrollable sobs. But I force myself to keep going, one step after another.
As I finally reach the ground floor, relief washes over me for what feels like the first time since the explosion. The exit is clear and there's no one around to impede my progress. It's then that I notice something strange: the front doors are ajar, as if they were blown open by some unseen force...
Should I go outside? What's even out there? But before I can make a decision, a horde of twisted creatures comes stumbling through the opening. Their flesh is gray and rotting, their eyes sunken and empty. They moan as they shuffle closer, drawn to me by some invisible thread.
With nowhere else to go, I retreat deeper into the building, the horde of ghoulish things following close behind. My only hope now seems to be finding shelter in one of the lower floors... if there's anywhere left that hasn't been overrun.
GENERATION 3, Rep pen=1.05
The sky scraper swayed, and my heart skipped a beat. I can't take my eyes off the 20th floor window, watching as it shatters into a million pieces. A chill runs down my spine as I realize this is no ordinary accident. My hands tremble as I try to steady my shaky breathing.
I'm on the 21st floor, trapped in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but memories of happier times to keep me company. The wind howls like a banshee, adding to the eerie silence that has settled over the building. Even the other people here have gone quiet, sensing something truly horrifying is about to unfold.
I force myself to focus on the task at hand: get the hell out of here alive. The hallway is dark, lit only by the flickering emergency lights, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. Each shadow reminds me that I'm not alone, that whatever caused this disaster is still lurking in the shadows.
My feet feel like lead as I trudge towards the stairwell, every muscle in my body tense and ready to react to any threat. The further I get from the explosion, the more the adrenaline starts to fade, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.
I reach the stairwell door and push it open, only to be greeted by an even more unnerving sight: the stairs are covered in blood, gore, and god-knows-what else. The once pristine white walls are now stained with crimson, creating a twisted painting of horror. The thought of touching any surface sends shivers down my spine.
I swallow hard, willing myself to move forward. There's no time for fear or disgust; I have to survive. I take the first step onto the stairs, wincing as my shoes crunch on something unnatural. My heart leaps into my throat with every sound, certain that something terrible is about to jump out at me.
The further down I go, the worse it gets. The stench of death fills my nostrils, making me gag. I can't help but wonder how many people have already fallen victim to this nightmare. Were they unlucky enough to be near the explosion? Or were they taken by whatever monster is still on the loose?
My thoughts are interrupted by a rustling sound from above. Instinctively, I duck behind the metal banister and peer over the edge, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. Something large and dark darts across the landing above me, disappearing into the shadows. I swear I can feel its eyes on my back, boring into my skin, branding me as prey.
With a shaking hand, I reach for my cell phone, praying it still has enough juice to make a call. There's no service, of course, but maybe if I'm lucky I can reach someone through a nearby phone. I'll take any chance at survival right now.
I continue down the stairs, taking them two at a time as my panic grows. I don't know what lurks below, but I can't stay where I am any longer. My footsteps echo through the stairwell, announcing my presence to whatever might be listening. With every step, my terror deepens, making it harder and harder to breathe.
I finally reach the ground floor, my lungs burning from the effort. The exit is just ahead, but I hesitate before opening the door. What if it's a trap? What if whatever did this is waiting outside for me? Tears prick my eyes as I debate whether to risk it or not.
But then I remember the people who didn't make it out, and I know I can't stay here. I steel myself for what might be waiting for me on the other side of that door and throw it open. The night air hits me like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, I'm blinded by the sudden change in lighting.
I blink several times, trying to adjust my eyes, when movement from the shadows catches my attention. Something huge and black lunges at me, its claws extended, aiming for my throat. I stumble backward, tripping over my own feet and landing hard on the pavement.
My heart feels like it's going to leap out of my chest as I scramble to get away. My muscles are on fire, but I ignore the pain. All that matters is putting distance between us. I glance behind me, terrified to see what else might be following.
To my horror, there's nothing there. No pursuers, no monsters, just the silent night and the empty street. It's as if everything vanished into thin air. My breath comes out in ragged gasps as I try to make sense of it all.
Was it a dream? A hallucination brought on by fear and stress? Or was it real, and I somehow managed to escape its grasp? The questions swirl around in my head, driving me to the brink of insanity.
All I know for sure is that I can't stay here. I have to keep moving, to find help and safety. So with shaking legs and a racing heart, I force myself to my feet and continue down the deserted street, hoping against hope that I can outrun whatever horrors lurk behind me.