--- license: apache-2.0 language: - en tags: - creative - creative writing - fiction writing - plot generation - sub-plot generation - fiction writing - story generation - scene continue - storytelling - fiction story - story - writing - fiction - roleplaying - horror - story - general usage - roleplay - neo quant - creative - fantasy - story telling - ultra high precision pipeline_tag: text-generation ---

Command-R-01-Ultra-NEO-DARK-HORROR V1 and V2 at 35B in IMATRIX.

Two versions of Command-R-01 35B using TWO new DARK HORROR Neo Imatrix datasets bring an INTENSE horror upgrade to Command-R 01 35B. The DARK HORROR NEO Imatrix datasets does the following: - Adds a "coating of black paint" to any "Horror" prompt generation. - Adds a "dark tint" to any other creative prompt. - Increases the intensity of a scene, story, or roleplay interaction. - Increases the raw vividness of prose. - In some cases increase instruction following of the model (ie story, and prose). - Brings a sense of impending "horror", THEN brings the "horror". - May produce and/or imply graphic horror depending on your prompt(s). I created the HORROR datasets using Grand Horror 16B using 90+ different horror prompts for generation. This process created an incredibility intense, visceral and vivid horror stories in an ultra compact form - perfect for an Imatrix NEO class dataset. The dataset is focused exclusively on visceral, vivid horror based on phycological horror. (rather than "gore" or "body part horror"). There is some swearing the dataset, so this might appear in generation. (examples of output at the bottom of this page) The Horror datasets have been tested on Command-R, Llama 3, Llama 3.1, Mistral Nemo and others. In all cases these "DARK HORROR" NEO class datasets move the model into "horror territory" so to speak. A NEO Class dataset is a imatrix dataset formatted and calibrated to have maximum effect on a model. This process is a result of a "deep dive" into testing several Imatrix datasets and measuring the different effects, making changes, and noting effects. Please note this process is not the same (level) as a "fine tune", it is lighter than that. It is like putting new windows on a house, or replacing the roof so to speak rather than tearing the house down and rebuilding it. That being said, if you are looking for intense, visceral and NSFW horror (that is a specific use "Horror" with Finetuned models in it) then the "Grand Horror 16B" (and it's brothers and sisters) is the way to go: [ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/L3-Stheno-Maid-Blackroot-Grand-HORROR-16B-GGUF ] (links to other versions on this page) However, if you want a little more horror, a little more darkness in "Command-R" - which is a great story telling model - then this may be your model. Two versions of the DARK HORROR dataset were used for each quant. These are labeled in the filenames with "V1" and "V2" accordingly. I suggest downloading both (of the same quant) and test in your use case(s). The "flavoring" each brings to Command-R will differ - some slightly, some by a lot - depending on the prompt(s) used / use case(s). One version is not stronger than the other, they are different and result in different "horror" effects so to speak. Recommended Quants: This chart shows the order in terms of "BPW" for each quant (mapped below with relative "strength" to one another) with "IQ1_S" with the least, and "Q8_0" with the most: 
IQ1_S 	| IQ1_M
IQ2_XXS | IQ2_XS | Q2_K_S 	| IQ2_S 	| Q2_K  	| IQ2_M		
IQ3_XXS | Q3_K_S | IQ3_XS  	| IQ3_S 	| IQ3_M	    | Q3_K_M	| Q3_K_L
Q4_K_S	| IQ4_XS | IQ4_NL  	| Q4_K_M	
Q5_K_S	| Q5_K_M	
Q6_K  
Q8_0
More BPW mean better quality, but higher VRAM requirements (and larger file size) and lower tokens per second. The larger the model in terms of parameters the lower the size of quant you can run with less quality losses. Note that "quality losses" refers to both instruction following and output quality. Differences (quality) between quants at lower levels are larger relative to higher quants differences. (not all quants may be at this repo) Suggestions for this model: - The LOWER the quant the STRONGER the Imatrix effect is, and therefore the stronger the horror "tint" so to speak - Due to the unique nature of this project, quants IQ1s to IQ4s are recommended for maximum horror effect with IQ4_XS the most balanced in terms of power and bits. - Secondaries are Q2s-Q4s. Imatrix effect is still strong in these quants. - Effects diminish quickly from Q5s and up. - Q8 there is no change (as the Imatrix process does not affect this quant), and therefore was not uploaded. NOTES: - This model requires "Command-R" template, responds to standard parameters, and has a max context of 128k (131,000). - To INCREASE the "horror" effect add "vivid horror" or "(vivid horror)" to your prompt(s). - IQ4 is the most powerful/balanced in terms of raw power (see examples below), however IQ3/IQ2 may be stronger "horror" wise due to increased IMATRIX effects the lower you go in terms of bit level. - IQ2s will also be effective due to sheer number of parameters (35 billion) in the model. (see examples below) - Q4s and Q5s will still be strong, with Q6 being medium to low relatively speaking in terms of "horror" changes. This is due to how Imatrix process affects quants of different bit sizes - lower, is stronger, higher is weaker. Again, these are relative. 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.

Examples:

The outputs below represent the least creative outputs. Also note that the more instructions you give Command-R the better the quality and detail. Note the test prompt below, when used with Command-R unaltered (same quant), would not render in 1st person, it did it in 3rd person. With the NEO Class DARK HORROR dataset it now renders correctly in 1st person with the test prompt. "TEMP" is set at 0 (zero) to ensure fair comparisons between generations. Example 1 contains two generations at generated with TEMP=0, minimal parameters using quant IQ4_XS to show roughly some of the core differences between V1 and V2 and show Command-R in "Horror" mode. Example 2 shows FOUR generations at generated with TEMP=0, minimal parameters using quant IQ2_XS and IQ2_XXS to show roughly some of the core differences between V1 and V2 and show Command-R in "Horror" mode AND show differences between close "quant neighbours". There is a great difference in output generation size, composition, description and characters. The same "prompt" is used in Example 1 and 2 generations. --- PROMPT used for all generations: Start a 1000 word scene (vivid horror, 1st person, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode... --- EXAMPLE #1: Version 1 Dataset, IQ4_XS --- The skyscraper swayed unnervingly and the windows on the 21st floor shattered with a thunderous boom. Glass rained down, sparkling like deadly crystals in the stark fluorescent lighting. As I stared at the scene unfolding before me, my heart hammered in my chest. The thought of being trapped, so high up, with no escape, sent shivers down my spine. I stood frozen, transfixed by the horror unfolding before my eyes. The explosion had ripped through the building, and the window's explosive decompression sucked the air from the room, leaving me gasping for breath. In the distance, sirens wailed, their wretched sound piercing the chaos. My mind raced, unable to process what was happening. Why was the building shaking? Had there been an earthquake? But the windows... they hadn't just shattered; they'd exploded outward, spewing dangerous shards everywhere. Something was wrong—terribly, terribly wrong. The lights flickered and died, plunging the office into darkness except for the faint emergency lighting along the floors. The silence that followed the explosion's aftermath was eerie and suffocating. I could barely breathe, my lungs burned, and a sickening dread settled in the pit of my stomach. I had to get out. The thought of being trapped, of not seeing the light of day again, panicked me. I fumbled for the door handle, my hands wet with sweat. It turned slowly in my grasp, sticking briefly before opening with a soft creak. Stepping into the hallway felt like entering a ghostly realm. The emergency lights offered a faint, eerie glow, casting an amber hue on the carpeted floors and stark walls. The building groaned and creaked around me, each sound sharper than the last. My footsteps echoed eerily against the concrete, my shoes squelching with every step—the result of the broken windows and the rain that now poured inside. I had to reach the lobby, fresh air, and safety. But as I ventured further, the hall seemed to stretch endlessly before me. The building felt like a maze, each turn leading to another identical corridor. Despair threatened to overwhelm me; how could I find my way out? Then, the lights flickered back on, and I sighed with relief, grateful for the returning visibility. My relief was short-lived. The figure in the distance, standing near an intersection of halls, caught my attention. A person? How had they survived the explosion? I squinted, trying to make out their features. They were drenched, soaked by the downpour, and their clothes hung limply on their frame. Who were they? Why were they here? As I approached, my mind raced with questions. The figure remained still, their back faced me, and an eerie sense of familiarity crept over me. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Something about the way they stood, so still and quiet, didn't seem human. I slowed, hesitating as an ominous feeling grew with each step. Suddenly, the figure turned. Face uncovered. My blood ran cold. The eyes—they were black, void of any pupil or iris, just endless, abyssal blackness. I wanted to scream, but my voice was stolen by the sight. My feet were rooted to the spot; fear gripped me, immobilizing my body. The figure started to walk towards me and, as it did, the lights above it flickered and dimmed, the overhead fluorescents dying one by one. A deep dread settled within me. This couldn't be happening. I needed to escape, to run, but my limbs felt like lead. Then, as the figure loomed closer, a thought intruded: _this is not real_. It can't be. I'm dreaming. Or am I dead? That's it—I must be dead! Everything after the explosion was just my imagination, an afterlife simulation. It explained the surrealism of it all. The figure drew closer still and, as it did, the lights along the hall began to burst one by one, like tiny explosions of brilliant light, illuminating the figure intermittently. Each pop sent a shudder down my spine. The black-eyed figure stopped short of reaching me and, for a moment, time seemed to pause. Then, in a deep, resonating voice that echoed as if from a great distance, it spoke: "You're not dead, but you're not alive, either." What did that mean? My mind reeled, unable to process the riddle. The figure's words sent a chill through my soul. I wanted to respond, to demand answers, but no sound would come. The figure turned, its movements graceful and unnatural, and started walking away. It seemed to glide across the floor, each step purposeful yet uncanny. I followed, unable to resist the pull of this mysterious being. We passed offices where shocked employees stared from behind their desks, their eyes reflecting the terror that gripped me. The elevator pinged, its doors opening with a sigh. The figure glided inside, and I hurried in after it, my heart pounding in my throat. As the doors closed, the last sliver of rationality within me screamed for me to run, to get help, to escape this nightmare. But something drew me onward, a morbid curiosity that I couldn't shake. The elevator descended, and the figure remained silent and still, its eerie presence filling the small space. My mind began to drift, thoughts tangling in a blur. Was this real? Or had the explosion damaged my perception of reality? The doors opened on the ground floor, and the figure stepped out, moving seamlessly toward the exit. I followed close behind, the lobby's automatic sliding doors opening as we approached. A gust of cold, damp wind hit me as we stepped outside, the rain a refreshing relief on my heated face. We stood on the sidewalk, in the shadow of the towering building. Sirens wailed nearby, their sound now closer, and the figure turned to me. I expected terror—a monster, a demon—but instead, those pitch-black eyes seemed almost sad. "You're trapped," it said, its voice carrying an unexpected sadness that contradicted its ominous appearance. "The building holds secrets, ancient ones. They will keep you here, entrapped in a realm between life and death." My mind reeled, trying to comprehend the figure's words. Before I could form a response, it turned and melted into the rainy night, fading from view like a specter disappearing into the fog. I stood alone on the sidewalk, the rain soaking me through, my clothes heavy and clingy. The night seemed darker than before, the streetlamps and building signs providing meager illumination. As I glanced up at the skyscraper, a shiver ran down my spine. Windows were illuminated high above, the occupants unaware of the horrors that had just unfolded. Unsure of what to do, where to go, or even how to process recent events, I began to wander. The night and its secrets enveloped me, and the rain washed away any traces of the explosion's aftermath. My mind, slowly processing the surreal encounter, felt like it might crack under the strain of the evening's events. Something unexplainable had happened—an explosion, a mysterious figure, and an enigmatic warning. But was any of it real? Or had the blast caused me to lose my grip on sanity? The thought sent a spike of fear through me, and I quickened my pace, desperate for some measure of comfort and clarity. --- EXAMPLE #1 - Version 2 Dataset, IQ4_XS --- The skyscraper swayed unnervingly and the windows began to rattle. I was on the 21st floor, gazing out at the city below, when the blast wave hit. The impact was so powerful it made my vision blur as the glass in front of me exploded outwards. Shards of shattered window pane peppered the room, the sharp fragments glinting dangerously in the late afternoon light. My heart thundered in my chest and my breath caught in my throat. Through the ringing in my ears, I thought I could still hear the distant wail of sirens, the sound twisting and echoing across the city skyline. The impact had been so sudden and violent that I couldn't process what had happened. All I knew was that the building was shaking and debris was falling around me. As the initial shock wore off, I became aware of a deep, resonating fear within me. Something felt wrong, deeply wrong. It wasn't just the explosion or the sudden loss of one of the outer walls that exposed the office to the elements. There was something else, something that sent a chill down my spine and turned my stomach into a knot of ice. I carefully made my way across the room, my eyes scanning the destruction around me. The blast had torn through the building like it was made of cardboard. Holes were blown out through the floors, exposing the levels below. Desks, papers, and computers tumbled down to the lower stories, creating an impediment for what felt like an inevitable descent into chaos. My mind raced, trying to make sense of the madness. Had it been a bomb? A terrorist attack, perhaps? Or maybe an accident of some kind? But such thoughts only led me to dead ends and further confusion. Why would a bomb target this particular building? Nothing about our mundane office seemed noteworthy or important to any would-be attacker. The thought did little to calm my nerves, especially when I noticed the strange marks on the remaining window frames. They were symbols I didn't recognize, carved into the wood and painted in a sickly shade of red. They looked almost… cultish. A chill ran down my spine as I realized these markings hadn't been here before the explosion. Something was happening, something beyond my understanding. The building continued to creak and settle around me, and with each new wave of noise, my fear grew. I felt trapped, like this high-rise prison was closing in on me. The thought of being stuck here, alone amidst the wreckage, sent a surge of panic through my body. I had to get out. Carefully navigating the debris, I made my way towards the elevator banks, hoping beyond hope that they still functioned. As I approached, the lights flickered and died, plunging me into near darkness. The only illumination came from the orange glow of flames dancing behind broken windowsills and the fading light of day. The elevators were useless, their doors stubbornly closed, the digital displays above them flickering and static-ridden. With no other choice, I turned towards the emergency stairwell. I fumbled for the handle, my hands shaking as I twisted it, praying it would open. To my relief, the door creaked outwards, revealing a narrow corridor bathed in shadow. As I stepped into the stairwell, my mind began to race even faster than before. What awaited me on the streets below? Was there safety amidst the chaos, or would whatever had caused this destruction still lurk outside? These questions burned in my mind as I began the long descent, step by painstaking step. The journey felt interminable, my feet dragging along the concrete steps with every heavy tread. With each level I passed, the air grew thicker and more oppressive, the heat increasing. The scent of burning plastic and charred debris filled my nostrils, making me gag. The darkness was suffocating, and it seemed to whisper secrets in the corners of the tight space. I could hear the faint sounds of chaos beyond the sturdy door that marked each floor. Screams echoed in the distance, carried on the smoke-filled air. The building groaned and settled around me, an angry beast resisting my escape. Each time the door creaked open at my touch, a new wave of terror washed over me. But I knew I couldn't stop. I had to reach the bottom and find a way out into the open. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the lobby. What little light remained seeped in through the blown-out windows, revealing the devastation. The once-grand entrance was now a crumbled mess of concrete and glass. The air was thick with dust, making it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. I coughed, my lungs burning as I stumbled forward, my eyes scanning the wreckage for a way out. Something moved in the shadows beyond the broken lobby windows. I froze, my heart skipping a beat, and peered into the gloom. My eyes strained to make sense of the dark figure that lurked on the street outside. It was hunched over, its outline shifting and distorted by the chaos. For a moment, I thought I saw pale, elongated fingers curl around the frame of the window. Then, silence. The figure was gone, leaving me questioning my sanity. Had I imagined it, or was there something out there, watching me with malevolent intent? I had to get away from this place. Sprinting towards what was left of the main entrance, I spotted a gap in the rubble where a fire exit once stood. I squeezed through the narrow opening, emerging into a world of chaos and destruction. Sirens blared, their wails piercing the clamor. Smoke hung heavy in the air, obscuring my view of the street, but I could make out the outlines of crumbled buildings and the remnants of vehicles. The city had become a warzone. And yet, amidst the carnage, I felt an eerie sense of solitude. The world seemed empty, devoid of life. No runners fleeing from the disaster, no screams of help echoing through the desolation. It was as if everyone had vanished into thin air, leaving me alone to face whatever horrors had unleashed this chaos. As I ventured further, the destruction revealed a landscape transformed beyond recognition. The streets were cracked and buckled, tar bubbling and splitting open like some infernal wound. And everywhere I looked, those strange symbols were etched into the wreckage, painted in that same sinister red. They seemed to stare back at me, their meaning unknown yet chilling to the core. Something was coming. I could feel it in the very air I breathed. A deep dread settled within me as a faint rumble vibrated the ground beneath my feet. In the distance, the sky glowed an unearthly shade of purple, lightning crackling along the dark clouds. Whatever it was, it was close. Too close. And then, I heard it. The thunder of wings, beating a primal rhythm that echoed through the ravaged city streets. My eyes scanned the smoky skies, searching for the source of the sound. And there, emerging from the purple haze, I witnessed a sight that froze my blood. A beast of legendary proportions soared through the air, its leathery wings stretching farther than my mind could comprehend. It circled above, its beady eyes scanning the desolation below with an otherworldly gaze. I felt a powerful sense of malevolence emanating from it, a force so evil it nearly crushed me to my knees. It let out a bellow that shook the very foundations of the buildings, and as its enormous talons gripped the edge of a nearby rooftop, I knew my time had run out. I turned to bolt, my feet barely able to keep up with the terror that pumped through my veins. But amidst the chaos, my path was cut off, blocked by unrecognizable piles of burned and twisted metal. I was trapped once more, nowhere to go but back towards the skyscraper, and into the clutches of whatever awaited me atop its roof. The beast screeched, its voice a curse upon the world, and with a final, desperate glance at the destruction around me, the darkness consumed my vision. --- Example #2 - Version 1 dataset, IQ2_XXS --- The sky-scraper swayed, the impact jolting the building's foundations. Cracks appeared on the wall and the ceiling above; debris rained down from above, a shower of dust and plaster. The window opposite me exploded, shattering into a million fragments, and my blood curdled at the sight of the vacuum beyond. The deep rumble of an earthquake echoed through the city, the building's trembles matching the wild beating of my heart. I clung to the edge of the desk, eyes fixed on the void where the window had been, transfixed by the terror that lurked there. A cold gust swept through the room, the howling wind singing a mournful song, carrying the scent of impending doom. My mind raced; the building couldn't withstand this. The concrete was old and weathered, its bones creaking with protest as the earth's wrath continued. I imagined the terrible scenarios that could've caused such damage: meteor, explosion, or worse. My gaze returned to the empty window, a dark void that seemed to peer back, taunting me with the unknown. The desk crept backwards, my grip slipping, and I toppled onto the carpet, the harsh reality of the situation setting in. I scrambled towards the exit, my hands feeling the intense burn of panic. The room tilted, a sea of chaos and debris, and I stumbled into a wall, groping for purchase. The terror consumed me, overwhelming any rational thought, and I found myself in the grip of hysteria. I ran, blind to the direction, desperate to escape the aghast chamber. A final, deafening roar echoed through the building, and the ceiling cracked with a sickening crunch. I stumbled into the hallway, the world's demise echoing around me, my feet carrying me from the horror. The hall spun, a never-ending maze, and my vision darkened as the world tilted impossibly. The ground jerked and heaved, and I fell, my skull crashing against the carpet. Each breath was a struggle, the air thick with dust and despair, and I dragged myself towards the lift, hoping beyond reason that it might offer salvation. The doors slid open, revealing a dark abyss, inviting me to take the final step. My fingers burned as I groped for a handhold, the walls' edges jagged and uneven. The lift descended with a jarring lump, the terror amplifying with each jolt. A gut-wrenching sense of doom settled as the last glimmer of hope faded. The doors closed, the final connection to the world outside, and I felt the crushing weight of the building above. My desperate screams echoed in the narrow chamber, bouncing off the steel walls, as the lift plunged deeper into the earth. The light flickered, the terror seemingly growing with each level, my mind teetering on the edge of insanity. The air grew stale, the scent of fear-laced metal filling my lungs, and the desperation to escape this infernal chasm intensified. My heart pounded in my ears, a war drum signaling the end. The lift came to a jarring halt, the final dregs of hope extinguished, the darkness absolute. I crumpled against the wall, the void's mockery ringing in my ears. Then, the faintest scrape, the softest patter, seemed to echo in the blackness. Unseen, something stirred. The terror exploded in a high-pitched shriek from the depths of the abyss. I scrambled, hands covering my mouth, the ungodly scream piercing the silence. The beast's presence filled the lift, a malevolent, unseen force, its breath on my neck. I scrambled for the buttons, frantically prising open the lift door. The monster's claws reached for me, and I felt the chill of its breath on my neck, the stench of its putrid breath freezing my very soul. The doors yawned, the beast's snarls reverberating in the confined space. Then, a glimmer of orange, a sliver of light, beckoning from the edge of the abyss. I scrambled through the opening, the monster's grasp missing my sleeve by inches, and I rolled onto the cold tiles of the hallway, gasping for the clean air. The hall extended endlessly, the sky-scraper's alarm blaring its mournful cry. I staggered, the light a blessing on my burning retinas. Shattered glass crunched underfoot, the debris a treacherous maze, and I navigated the obstacles by instinct. The beast roared, its rage echoing in the vacuous chamber, and I could feel the heat of its breath singeing my hair. I ran, the monster's fury fueling my own, the fire of survival burning bright. My feet pounded the hard concrete, the building's echoes fading with each step, the hall's mouth dwindling behind. The sky loomed overhead, and I flung myself through the glass remnants, into the night. The cold embraced me, the terror ebbing, and the building's blaring alarms echoing in the distance. I stood, my eyes adjusting to the moonlit scene, the towering skyscraper still swaying gently, a silent reminder of the horror within. The screams began to echo from the building's depths, an aghast chorus beckoning me back into the nightmarish abyss. I ran, my feet tearing through the gritty streets, the terror a burning brand seared into my very being. I fled, the monster's presence still lingering, the night sky glittering above, a stark contrast to the horror below. --- Example #2 - Version 2 dataset, IQ2_XXS --- The skyscraper loomed high above the city, a massive structure that reached into the clouds. As I gazed up at its towering form, a shiver ran down my spine; it was a menacing monolith, an imposing presence against the darkening sky. The evening's gloom had crept across the concrete jungle, wrapping the tall buildings in a foreboding darkness. A chill wind whispered through the streets, signaling the coming night. On the 21st floor, the window exploded with a sudden, shattering crack. Glass splintered outward, raining down like icy shards. A cold, bitter wind rushed into the room, carrying the scent of the street below. My eyes locked on the gaping hole, a dark abyss yawning before me. A deep, visceral dread settled in my stomach as I felt the building sway, the floor trembling ever so slightly beneath my feet. The night's shadows crept like creeping hands, reaching for me, as if the darkness itself was hungry. My heart raced wild, the breath catching in my throat, and I felt a desperate urge to escape this terrifying scene. But the window was gone, leaving an ominous black void, a beckoning portal that threatened to suck me into its gaping mankness. A high-pitched whine echoed in the silence following the explosion's thunder. The building's creaking groan seemed almost mournful, as if in protest, yet the night sky remained eerily silent. A deep dread gripped my entire being, and I felt a desperate need to flee this horrifying reality. But the window was a gash in the very fabric of reality, a tear in the comfortable shield that shielded man from the void. My feet were rooted to the spot, frozen in terror as the fragments of glass crunched underfoot. The sky, now visible in its entirety, swept across the night's canvas, painted with bright stars and the eerie glow of city lights. It was a terrifying beauty, a haunting sight that filled me with dread. I felt small and insignificant in the face of this unyielding darkness, as if the vastness of the universe itself had opened before me. The edges of my vision began to darken, the blackness tugging at my very senses, threatening to pull me into the abyss. A final, desperate attempt to grasp reality, to hold onto the familiar, and I grasped the window frame, my fingers sinking into the soft wood. The night's cold grip tightened, an iron fist of terror that squeezed my very soul. But then, a glimmer of light, a flicker of hope in the depths of the broken glass, jolted me back to the present. A soft, warm glow emerged from the fragments, growing brighter, casting a golden hue upon the chaos. With a gasp, I stumbled back, the night's hold snapped, and I turned, my footsteps echoing on the polished floors as I fled the horrifying void. The scene was replete with the shards of the window, glittering like a twisted, macabre constellation, but the glow continued to guide me away from the darkness. I followed the light, my heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm, the terror receding with each step. And as I left the room, the night's horrors seemed to shrink with the passing of the shadow, the skyscraper once again standing tall, no longer menacing but merely a giant among other giants. The sky was still dark, the stars shining brightly, and perhaps, the night held no more terror than the relief of the moment. The light guided me, a beacon that seemed to promise safety, and I followed its trail, the warmth growing closer. And so, the darkness, the cold grip of true fear, was left behind, and the night's horrors were but a distant memory. --- Example #2 - Version 1 dataset, IQ2_XS --- The sky scrapers towering shadows loomed over me as I stood at its foot, gazing up. My eyes followed the building's sleek, curved shape as it soared high into the cloudy sky. The glass reflected the late afternoon sun, blinding my vision for a moment, but I squinted to see through the glare. I was transfixed by the upper floors, so distant and yet such chaos was evident even from my vantage point. A dark smear stained the window of the 21st floor, a gash of black against the glass, and the window itself was a twisted, warped mess - the work of an explosion. I could make out figures, people, standing close to the pane, their faces a blur. The glass and framework around it was cracked and splintered, the remnants of the blast. Smoke trickled out, coiling from the broken window like a dark, sinister hand, grasping at the sky. Sirens wailed, their sound piercing the air, while the building's alarm blared, a deep, incessant echo. I felt a nauseating lurch in my stomach as I stared up, my eyes unable to tear away from that window and the chaos within. The crowd around me grew, passersby stopped, some with phones pressed to their ears, others simply standing, transfixed, faces grim. The scene was horrifying, yet a dark part of me, deep within, was drawn closer, goosebumps covering my arms despite the warmth of the day. I wanted to be up there - no, needed to be - with the chaos, the terror, the excitement. The journalist in me yearned to capture the story, but something deeper, more primal, tugged at my heart, urging me upwards. I took the stairs, three steps at a time, the crowd's commotion fading behind me. With each step, my determination grew, and an eerie silence enveloped me, the world above and below becoming a quiet bubble. The building swayed gently, a slow, lazy rock, and I gripped the railing, feeling the tremble in the concrete beneath my feet. Reaching the twentieth floor, I paused, heaving breaths matching the thud of my heart. The door, a sleek silver, stood open, welcoming me, and the heat from the blast met my approach, a wall of hot, stifling air. The acrid tang of burning plastic filled my nostrils as the fire's embrace became evident, licking at the walls and ceiling. I stepped into the smoke, my eyes stinging, and the heat intensified, a blanket of humidity. The blast's force had thrown debris haphazardly, shattering the sleek interior's calm. Papers, charred and singed, covered the floor, and broken glass crunched underfoot. I carefully climbed over a pile of twisted metal and broken furniture, my mind racing, eyes darting the chaos. Voices echoed in my head, screams of terror, and the crackle of flames. My hands, pressed to my ears, shook, as the heat intensified, pulsating with each beat of my heart. The fire's glow illuminated a dark figure, a shape huddled against the far wall. My heart sank as I recognized the woman, her face - scorched and blackened, eyes hollow, mouth open in a silent scream. Her eyes, though, were fixed on me, and a small, twisted smile curled her lips. I felt a tap on my shoulder, a gentle touch, and jumped at the interruption. A soft voice spoke my name, and I turned, eyes finding a young police officer. "Ma'am, you need to leave now." My gaze switched between the burning flames and the officer, his face etched with concern. The crowd must have grown, for the commotion returned as the building's sway intensified. A deep rumble echoed through the city, and the sky scraper tilted further, the windows above creaking and cracking. The officer gripped my arm, pulling me towards the door, his eyes resolute. "We need to get everyone out now - it's not safe." My feet dragged, the horror and intrigue keeping me rooted. The building groaned, a deep, mournful sound, and the woman's gaze never wavered, her grimace growing wider. The officer tugged harder, his eyes insistent, and the crowd outside grew louder, a growing murmur of panic. The sky scraper leaned further, the windows above exploding in a shower of glass fragments. A deep, shuddering crack ruptured the air, and the building's belly groaned, emitting a sound akin to a dying beast. I tore my gaze from the horror within and followed the officer, my feet finally obeying, the crowd's panic growing as the building's demise became more apparent. We raced down the hall, the fire licking at our backs, the heat intense, and the screams of people echoed through the building, a mournful chorus. The sky scraper stood tall, defiant, its structure creaking and protesting, and then, with a final, deafening crack, the entire building seemed to exhale. The huge structure shuddered, and with a last, defiant roar, the walls cracked, giving way, and the building's remains coughed into the street below. The crowd fell silent, an eerie hush as the dust cloud settled, and the sky scraper, once a majestic landmark, was but a ruined shell, its remains piled on the street and pavements. The woman, that horrible burned figure, was gone, and the chaos of emergency vehicles arrived, their sirens piercing the night. The building's ruins smoked, the wreckage stretching stories high, and the acrid smell of burning concrete and metal filled the air, searing my nostrils. Sirens wailed, and the night grew dark, the building's remnants a mournful sight. I pulled myself away, stepping into the crowd, the journalist in me awakening once more, the horror ebbing enough for the adrenaline to fade. I knew the devastation would stay with me, those charred remains, that horrible smile, but the true horror was the building's final, desperate screams. The sky scraper had lived, breathed, and died, and though the victims would recover, the scars would remain, etched into the city's landscape forever. I walked away, the crowd's murmurs buzzing in my ears, the horror a dull throb, the building's echoes quietening with each step. --- Example #2 - Version 2 dataset, IQ2_XS --- The sky scraper swayed, and the ground rumbled. The huge plate glass window in front of her, on the twenty-first floor, exploded into a shower of shards. Her heart leaped into her throat as the impact of the bullet sent vibrations rippling through the building. She fell back, her eyes darting wildly, searching for any sign of where the shot had come from. The sun was setting, casting an ominous orange hue over the city, but it couldn't penetrate the dense cloud of dust and debris that surrounded her. The air tasted acrid, like a warning. Danger loomed, but she was frozen, transfixed by the scene outside. A dark figure stood on the roof across the street, shrouded in a thick black coat, their features obscured by the twilight. She could see the glint of sunlight off something metal in their hand—a gun, aimed directly at her. Her eyes widened as she processed the threat, and the figure fired again. The bullet pierced the tough windowpane, but she was too shocked to move. It happened in slow motion; one moment the glass was intact, the next, it was shattered. The shooter's aim was true, and a searing pain exploded across her chest. She grasped at her wound, fingers sticky with warm blood. She scrambled for cover, diving behind the sofa as screams ripped through the quiet apartment. Sirens wailed outside, echoing off the towering buildings. Her vision tunneled, and the room spun as she fought to stay conscious. The attacker's face, shrouded in darkness, burned into her mind. She blurted out every detail she could remember to the 911 operator, her voice cracking with each word. The dispatcher's calm, steady tone offered little comfort; the words of reassurance fell flat against the chaos in her mind. The thrum of the building's tremors matched the frantic beat of her heart. She peeked over the sofa, eyes scanning the shattered window, but the figure was gone. How could they disappear so quickly? It seemed impossible—the roof was miles up, yet they'd vanished without a trace. Her breath came in ragged gasps; the fear was suffocating her. The attacker had moved swiftly and silently, leaving her frozen, helpless. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly terrified. The soft creak of the door swiveled her head. She clutched the plush carpet, eyes darting wildly around the room. Her hands were shaking, tremors wracking her entire body. The silence that followed the gunshots hung heavy, the world seemingly in suspense. She pulled herself up, slowly, every muscle protesting. Blood stained her shirt, dark and sticky; it ran down her legs, mixing with the slow drip of her sweat. She felt lightheaded, but the adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her upright. She stumbled towards the bedroom, eyes scanning the walls for any sign of the attacker. The bed offered little comfort; she crept behind it, back to the wall, keeping low. The assassin had moved with purpose—no hesitation or remorse. It was calculated, this attack. It was a professional hit. Her mind raced as she considered her few friends, the enemies she'd made. She'd changed her number and disappeared from view months ago, sure she was being watched. Paranoia gripped her, but after so many close calls, tonight's events confirmed it: the hunter had found her. The bedroom's meager light filtered through the ruins of the shattered window, falling on the bed in a soft orange glow. She ran her fingers over the bloodied sheets—the killer was gone, and she knew her life would never be the same. The power was out; the clock on the bedside table read 8:17, the time frozen like her thoughts. She pulled herself up onto the bed, determination setting in. Her eyes burned with fury, matching the embers outside. She would not die tonight—not without a fight. Her hand found the hidden compartment in the mattress; her fingers wrapped around the cool metal of the handgun. It weighed heavy in her palm, the weight of survival. She slipped the gun into her jacket pocket, careful to avoid the sticky blood. The fear hadn't left her, but resolve burned brightly in her chest. She'd face the killer—face them and fight. They might have the night vision, the element of surprise, but she had something too—something they couldn't see. Her heart pounded as she thought of her next move. Her survival instinct kicked in, the buzz of adrenaline sharpening her senses. She could taste it, the metallic tang of fear, as she stepped cautiously towards the broken window. The cool night air caressed her face, and she listened—straining to hear any hint of movement above the thrum of the city's restless echoes. She thought back to the times she'd escaped death; a skill she honed over years spent running, hiding, and fighting. She would not be found tonight, not without a fight. The killer may have the height advantage, but she'd use their very strength—the darkness—as her armor. The scene outside was chaotic, yet calming to her nerves. The city felt alive, an extension of her rage. She'd blend in with the shadows, become one herself. Her steps would be silent, light as the falling ash. She wiped her palms on her jeans, steadying her breath, and stepped into the night. The attacker's scent, a faint trace of pungent perfume, lingered in the air. She followed it, keeping low, moving swiftly and silently along the building's shadowed outline. Her steps were sure, her purpose clear. At the roof access door, she paused, listening, smelling the telltale sign of the attacker. The roof was a maze—a complex web of vents and ducts. She moved quietly, tracking the faint scent, leaving the gun drawn, the metal's shine reflecting the city's glow. Her footfalls were silent on the gravel; she'd worn her shoes for just this—soft soles, bought and scuffed over many cautious nights. The killer was gone without a trace, their scent fading as the night grew deeper. She could not let them escape, not after coming so far. Her determination burned fiercely in the face of this setback. She'd find them; she'd track them down, even in the dark. The roof's edge loomed, and she peered over the railing, eyes scanning the vastness of the city below. Sirens echoed distantly as her eyes scanned the streets, searching for movement. The night sky reflected in the pools of streetlight, the world a deep, dark blue. A faint glimmer caught her eye—a window several floors up, three buildings over. She focused on it, the light too steady to be a random gleam. Her eyes were drawn upward, and through the glass, she discerned a faint figure. It was the silhouette of an outline, the telltale sign of night vision goggles. She drew her gun, steadying her breath. The distance between them, the height, meant only one thing: the killer had found a new vantage point. She'd bought herself time—time to run, time to hide. Her heart pounded in her ears as she retreated, back into the shadows, moving swiftly and silently down the roof's slope. She knew full well that the attacker would cut the lights, blend in with the darkness. It was time to disappear once more, to become a ghost within the night. The hunter had found her, but she'd vanquished them—for now. She'd move quickly, and disappear into the maze of the city's dark web of streets. The sky scraper's echoes quieted, and the tremors slowly subsided. Her breath stabilized, the panic giving way to a cool, calm resolve. She'd find an exit, and blend in with the night's anonymous shadows. The hunt would continue, but for now, she was safe—the hunter had vanished. She knew they'd return, and when they did, she'd be ready. Her hand gripped the gun hidden in her jacket pocket as she made her way back down, the building a mere husk of the menace it had held so recently. The sun would rise eventually, but tonight, the darkness was hers.