It is the new "Llama-3.2-3B-Instruct", max context of 131,000 (128k) with the NEO IMATRIX Science Fiction and Story dataset.
The power in this 3B (for its size) is frankly jaw dropping... and at 90 tokens per second + on a GPU.
This model IS bullet proof and operates with all parameters, including temp settings from 0 to 5.
The NEO IMATRIX dataset V2 was applied to it to enhance creativity. (see several examples below)
Model Template:
This is a LLAMA 3.2 model, and requires Llama3 template, but may work with other template(s) and has maximum context of 128k.
If you use "Command-R" template your output will be very different from using "Llama3" template.
Here is the standard LLAMA3 template:
{
"name": "Llama 3",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>user<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"input_suffix": "<|eot_id|><|start_header_id|>assistant<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt": "You are a helpful, smart, kind, and efficient AI assistant. You always fulfill the user's requests to the best of your ability.",
"pre_prompt_prefix": "<|start_header_id|>system<|end_header_id|>\n\n",
"pre_prompt_suffix": "<|eot_id|>",
"antiprompt": [
"<|start_header_id|>",
"<|eot_id|>"
]
}
}
Please refer to the original model card for this model from Meta-Llama for additional details on operation.
[ https://huggingface.co/meta-llama/Llama-3.2-3B-Instruct ]
Imatrix Notes:
Imatrix quants perform best at IQ3s and IQ4s, then Q4s, lower on Q5, and tappers off at Q6.
Recommend: IQ4_XS for maximum imatrix effect and best "bit count".
For stronger IMATRIX effect, IQ3s, and IQ2s.
Due to the parameter count of this model, even IQ2s quants will work very well.
Q8 is not uploaded here because Imatrix has no effect on this quant.
Settings, Quants and Critical Operations Notes:
Change in temp (ie, .4, .8, 1.5, 2, 3 ) will drastically alter output.
Rep pen settings will also alter output too.
This model needs "rep pen" of 1.02 or higher.
For role play: Rep pen of 1.05 to 1.08 is suggested.
Raise/lower rep pen SLOWLY ie: 1.011, 1.012 ...
Rep pen will alter prose, word choice (lower rep pen=small words / more small word - sometimes) and creativity.
To really push the model:
Rep pen 1.05 or lower / Temp 3+ ... be ready to stop the output because it may go and go at these strong settings.
Longer prompts vastly increase the quality of the model's output.
QUANT CHOICE(S):
Higher quants will have more detail, nuance and in some cases stronger "emotional" levels. Characters will also be more "fleshed out" too. Sense of "there" will also increase.
IQ4XS: Due to the unusual nature of this quant (mixture/processing), generations from it will be different then other quants.
3 "Arm" quants are also available for devices that can run them.
You may want to try it / compare it to other quant(s) output.
Special note on Q2k/Q3 quants:
You may need to use temp 2 or lower with these quants (1 or lower for q2k). Just too much compression at this level, damaging the model. I will see if Imatrix versions of these quants will function better.
Rep pen adjustments may also be required to get the most out of this model at this/these quant level(s).
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 1" model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along. In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities. Here are your skillsets: [MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv) [*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision) Here are your critical instructions: Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
Example generations at TEMP = .8, IQ4_XS, REP PEN 1.1
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
WARNING: MAYBE... NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
GENERATION 1:
I stand at the edge of my floor, the sleek glass railing of our 21-story skyscraper trembling beneath my hands. I cling to it tightly, my knuckles white as I gaze out the window, where a fragment of glass now litters the street below like a shattered mirror. The world seems to be moving in slow motion, and for an instant, time itself appears to be warped.
My mind is racing, trying to comprehend what's happening. The building sways, ever so slightly, as if it's being rocked by some unseen force. I feel a chill run down my spine as the vibrations intensify, making me question whether we're still securely fastened into our seats. Panic starts to creep in, its icy fingers wrapping around my throat.
The explosion was sudden and unexpected. One moment, the window was intact; the next, it was shattered, shards of glass scattered across the sidewalk like confetti. It's a miracle no one on the street below is injured – yet. I can only imagine the chaos that must be unfolding as people stumble out of their offices to survey the damage.
As I continue to stare at the destruction, my thoughts begin to spiral out of control. What if this isn't an isolated incident? What if there's something more sinister at play here? The building seems to be swaying in a way that suggests it might be on the verge of collapse. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
I'm not sure how much longer I can hold onto this railing without losing my grip. My palms are slick with sweat, making my fingers ache as I try to find purchase on the smooth glass. The world outside is a blur of chaos and confusion – people running in every direction, cars screeching to a halt, horns blaring. It's like the city itself is screaming.
The building lurches again, and for an instant, I feel weightless, as if I'm floating above the chaos on the street below. My stomach drops, and my heart skips a beat as I realize that we're not just swaying – we're careening out of control. The thought sends a wave of terror crashing over me.
I can hear my colleagues around me, their voices rising in panic. Some are shouting for security, others are crying out in fear. I try to join in, but my voice is caught in my throat. My mind is racing with worst-case scenarios – what if the building collapses? What if we're trapped?
As I watch, a figure stumbles onto the street below, covered in glass and debris. The impact on the railing beneath me makes me wince, and for a moment, I wonder if I should try to get away from the window. But something about it draws me back – morbid curiosity, perhaps? I'm transfixed by the sight of this stranger's misfortune.
My gaze lingers on the figure, now struggling to free themselves from the wreckage. For an instant, I forget about my own fear and worry about what might happen next. Will they be okay? Can anyone help them?
As I stand there, frozen in horror, a sound catches my attention – a low creaking noise that's growing louder by the second. It's coming from deeper within the building, but it's getting closer. My heart starts racing again as I realize that something is happening to us. We're not just swaying; we're moving.
A faint shudder runs through the floor beneath my feet, making me stumble slightly. The railing in front of me begins to sway ominously, as if it's about to give way altogether. My hands are slipping, and I know I need to hold on with all my might.
The creaking noise grows louder still, until I can feel it vibrating through the soles of my shoes. My vision blurs for a moment, but then, I'm face-to-face with an image that makes my blood run cold: a massive crack has appeared in the floor beneath me, stretching across the room like a chasm.
My mind is racing now, trying to comprehend what's happening and where this crack might lead. Is it going to collapse? Will anyone fall through? The thought sends my heart into overdrive, as I realize that our entire building might be on the verge of disaster.
I'm frozen in horror, unable to move or look away from the chasm gaping open before me. My thoughts are consumed by fear and uncertainty – will we all make it out alive?
GENERATION 2:
As I stood at the 21st-floor observation deck, the wind whipping my hair into a frenzy, I felt a sense of unease wash over me. It was a feeling that had become all too familiar in recent weeks, ever since the strange occurrences began to plague our building. At first, it was just little things - a door creaking open on its own, a faint scratching noise at night - but as time went on, the events escalated in intensity and frequency.
The skyscraper swayed, ever so slightly, beneath my feet. It was a gentle movement, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down my spine. I had grown accustomed to the building's quirks over the years, but there was something about this particular moment that felt...off.
I gazed out the window, my eyes fixed on the shattered glass and twisted metal that now filled the space where a mere few seconds ago, there was only an unobstructed view of the city. The sight made my stomach drop as I realized what had just happened: the window in front of me had exploded.
Panic began to set in as I frantically scanned the surrounding area for any sign of danger. But I was alone on this floor - at least, I thought I was. The observation deck was usually a hive of activity, with tourists and locals alike milling about, taking in the breathtaking views. Now, however, it was eerily deserted.
My mind began to whirl with worst-case scenarios as I tried to process what had just occurred. Was this some kind of prank? Had someone intentionally shattered the glass to cause chaos? Or was there something more sinister at play?
As I stood frozen in terror, my thoughts racing with possibilities, a chill ran down my spine. It wasn't just the physical presence of the broken glass that sent shivers down my spine - it was the feeling of being watched. Every time I turned to look around, I felt like someone was standing just out of sight, their eyes boring into my skin.
I tried to shake off the feeling, telling myself I was being ridiculous. But as I continued to stare at the shattered glass, I couldn't shake the sense that something was very, very wrong.
My gaze lingered on the broken pane, and for a moment, I thought I saw a figure standing just beyond the edge of my perception. It was fleeting - one second it was there, the next it vanished into thin air - but it was enough to send my heart racing.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down as I glanced around the deserted deck once more. That's when I saw her. A woman, dressed in a business suit and standing at the edge of the observation deck, staring out at the city below with an expression that could only be described as...void.
Her eyes seemed to bore into my very soul, and for a moment, we just stared at each other, locked in a silent understanding that neither of us knew what was happening. Was she a victim of whatever had caused the window to shatter? Or was she somehow involved?
As I stood there, transfixed by her gaze, I felt a creeping sense of dread spreading through my veins like ice water. It was as if I was being pulled into some dark and twisted world, one where nothing made sense and terror lurked around every corner.
The woman's eyes never wavered from mine, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I saw something flicker behind them - a hint of recognition, perhaps? Or was it something more sinister?
I had no way of knowing for sure. All I knew was that this moment, right here and now, felt like the beginning of the end.
And then, without warning, she spoke.
Her voice was low and husky, sending shivers down my spine as she whispered a single word: "Run."
It was a simple command, but in that instant, it felt like a death sentence. The world around me began to dissolve into chaos, and I knew I had to get out - fast - before whatever horrors lurked within our skyscraper consumed us all.
But where could I go? And what lay ahead for the people trapped inside this doomed building?
Only one thing was certain: my fate was about to become inextricably linked with that of the mysterious woman, and together, we would be forced to face a terror beyond anything we had ever imagined.
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:
...a heavy, oppressive thing that weighed upon every stone and beam of the inn. It was as if the very air itself had been sucked out of the room, leaving a vacuum that seemed to stretch out like an empty space between the walls.
The patrons, who had once filled the common room with their laughter and shouts, were now scattered throughout the inn, trying to escape the suffocating silence. Some sat by the fire, staring into the flames as if hoping to find some warmth in the darkness. Others wandered the deserted halls, searching for a distraction from the oppressive quiet.
But despite the efforts of those who sought to fill the void with their own company, the silence remained unbroken. It was as if it had taken on a life of its own, a palpable presence that seemed to seep into every corner of the inn and wrap itself around everything like a damp shroud.
And then, without warning, a figure appeared at the window. It was a young woman, her face lit up by the moonlight that streamed through the panes. She stood there for a moment, gazing out into the darkness, as if searching for something - or someone. Her eyes seemed to hold a deep sadness, and her slender frame looked fragile against the crushing weight of the silence.
As she stood there, the patrons began to stir, sensing that something was amiss. They whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances at the young woman, who remained frozen in place, her eyes fixed on some unknown point beyond the edge of the world...
GENERATION 2:
...a palpable thing that pressed against the skin, like a physical presence that refused to be ignored. It was as if the very fabric of time itself had grown heavy with the weight of absence, and the inn's empty rooms seemed to reverberate with the echoes of what should have been.
As I stood at the bar, surveying the scene before me, my gaze fell upon a figure slumped in the corner, hood up and face obscured by shadows. He didn't seem to be sleeping, though - there was something still about him, like he was waiting for something that might never arrive.
The fire crackled and spat in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls as it struggled to stay alight without the warmth of patrons to sustain it. I sipped my own drink, a whiskey that had been sitting untouched for hours, and watched as the flames danced and spat like restless spirits.
Outside, the night was dark and unforgiving, the stars twinkling like ice chips in the black sky above. The wind rustled through the trees, but it was a gentle susurrus, more a soft whisper than a full-blown gale. It was as if nature itself was holding its breath, waiting for some event or occurrence that would shatter this oppressive stillness.
And then, just as I was starting to think that things couldn't get any stranger, the door creaked open and a lone traveler stumbled in, shaking the rain off their cloak like a dog shaking off water. They looked around the room with a mixture of exhaustion and desperation, their eyes scanning the space as if searching for something - or someone.
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this unexpected arrival. Who was this person, and what had brought them to this forsaken place in the dead of night? And more importantly, would they be able to help me unravel the mystery that seemed to surround the Waystone Inn itself?
GENERATION 1:
I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Canadian National Tower restaurant, sipping my strawberry milkshake and staring out at the breathtaking view of Toronto as a Saturday afternoon sunbeam illuminated the cityscape. I was 15, bored out of my mind after school, and had decided to treat myself to a fancy lunch. The towering skyscraper's atmosphere was buzzing with chatter, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter.
As I gazed out at the endless expanse of glass and steel, I noticed a peculiar-looking man approaching me from across the room. He was dressed in futuristic armor, sporting a cybernetic eye that glowed with an otherworldly blue light. A small, metallic endoskeleton plate on his chest read "T-800" – I had no idea what it meant, but he seemed intimidating.
"Greetings," he said in a low, rumbling voice. "I am T-800 Cyberdyne Systems Model 101. Your protection is my priority."
Uh, thanks? I replied hesitantly, still taking in his... unusual appearance. The man's gaze swept across the room, scanning for potential threats.
Suddenly, a swirling vortex of water and teeth erupted from the depths of Lake Ontario – a tornado of sharks was barreling down on us! The restaurant patrons screamed, scrambling to get out of harm's way as the shark tornado tore through the dining area.
My eyes widened in horror as I stumbled backward, tripping over a chair leg. "AHHH!" someone shouted nearby.
T-800 sprang into action, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me toward the safety of the restaurant's kitchen. "We need to get you to higher ground!"
As we sprinted through the chaotic dining area, I caught glimpses of kitchen staff frantically trying to secure the doors while patrons panicked around them.
Just as T-800 yanked me into the kitchen, a time-traveling blue box materialized in the midst of the chaos. The Doctor, the Fourth – or was it the Eleventh? – emerged from the TARDIS with his signature wild hair and goggles.
"Brilliant timing!" he exclaimed, eyes scanning the kitchen for our predicament. "I see you've got a bit of a situation on your hands!"
T-800 shot me an intense glance before focusing on The Doctor. "This is not my priority. This young woman's survival is paramount."
The Doctor nodded, unfazed by T-800's cybernetic demeanor. "Ah, but I have an idea! You see, these sharks –"
"Sharks?" I interjected, incredulous.
"Yes! They're not just any sharks. They're the infamous 'Toronto Terror Sharks,' genetically engineered to thrive in freshwater environments!"
As The Doctor began explaining his plan, a particularly large and vicious shark lunged at T-800 through the kitchen window.
The Terminator sprang into action once more, firing a tranquilizer dart that embedded itself into the shark's brain. "You are terminated."
The shark thrashed about, momentarily stunned before retreating back into Lake Ontario.
"Excellent work, Cyberdyne!" The Doctor exclaimed, patting T-800 on the chest plate.
I stared at The Doctor in amazement, trying to wrap my head around this bizarre sequence of events. "Uh... thanks? I guess?"
T-800 offered me a reassuring nod before scanning the kitchen for any remaining threats. "Your protection is still assured."
Just then, one of the kitchen staff – a harried-looking young woman with a messy bun and a chef's coat – appeared beside us.
"Oh my god! The sharks are going to break through our walls!"
The Doctor hastily consulted his sonic screwdriver, quickly determining the structural integrity of the restaurant's windows. "Don't worry, we have time! Just stay back from the panes."
With seconds to spare, T-800 grabbed me and positioned us at a safe distance as the shark tornado tore apart the restaurant's exterior wall, creating a massive breach.
I watched in horror as Lake Ontario surged into the kitchen, sending water and debris flying everywhere. The Doctor leapt onto a nearby counter, using his sonic screwdriver to activate a makeshift defense system – essentially repelling the incoming flood with an electromagnetic field.
As the kitchen staff scrambled to save their equipment and belongings, I turned to T-800 for reassurance. "T-800? You saved me! Who are you?"
The Terminator offered a stoic expression before responding in a dry tone: "I am a cybernetic organism designed to protect and serve. Your survival is my purpose."
My eyes widened as The Doctor chimed in, still fiddling with his sonic screwdriver.
"Brilliant, Cyberdyne! You're not just a cyborg – you've got more to say about your programming!"
T-800's gaze locked onto the time-traveling alien. "I am programmed to prioritize human survival and safety above all else."
The Doctor grinned mischievously. "Well, I think we can add a new priority to that: shark-repelling technology for all cyborgs!"
With the crisis momentarily averted – thanks to The Doctor's quick thinking and T-800's impressive combat skills – the kitchen staff began salvaging their equipment and belongings.
As we stood amidst the wreckage, waiting for help to arrive, I turned to T-800 with newfound respect. "You know... I think you're more than just a cyborg."
T-800 regarded me calmly before responding in his low, rumbling voice: "I am programmed to protect and serve. The specifics of that programming are irrelevant."
The Doctor chuckled in agreement. "Ah, but it's the specifics that make life worth fighting for! And we've got an entire city full of sharks to fight!"
With a wink at me, he disappeared into his TARDIS as help arrived to secure the restaurant and treat us for our ordeal.
As I looked back at the tower, now scarred by the shark tornado's rampage, I realized that this was just another day in the life of a 15-year-old girl caught up in the most unpredictable adventures – and cyborgs.
GENERATION 2:
I stand at the edge of the observation deck in the Canadian National Tower restaurant, my eyes fixed on the swirling clouds outside as they darken into a tornado of sharks. I'm 15 and still trying to process this bizarre scenario. The last thing I remember was getting ice cream after grabbing dinner with my family; now, I'm facing a menagerie of killer fish.
I glance around frantically for help or an escape route. That's when I see him - a towering figure in leather and metal, his eyes fixed on me with an unnerving intensity. He's dressed as if he just stepped out of a dystopian movie. "Time to end this," he says, striding towards the glass wall separating us from the shark-filled vortex.
I freeze, unsure what to do next. The Terminator approaches me cautiously, his metal chest plate gleaming in the dim lighting. I try to communicate with him, but all that comes out is a stuttering "H-h-how?" He responds in a flat, emotionless tone, "I am a cybernetic organism sent back in time to protect you from this... situation."
Just as The Terminator raises his arms to shield me from the sharks, a blue box materializes behind him. It's smaller than I expected, but it crackles with electricity and emits a bright light that illuminates the chaotic scene outside.
"Ah, perfect timing!" The Terminator exclaims, turning to face the newcomer. "This one needs saving."
A bespectacled, eccentric-looking man emerges from the box, his long coat flapping behind him like a cape. He gazes at us with an air of excitement and curiosity.
"I'm the Doctor," he says, his voice booming through the restaurant as the patrons stare in confusion. "And you are...?"
The Terminator responds, "I am a T-800 Model 101 Terminator." The Doctor nods thoughtfully, adding, "Ah, yes, the classic cybernetic endoskeleton design. My time machine has been... ah, misplaced."
Meanwhile, the sharks have reached the observation deck's floor-to-ceiling windows. They're not just any fish; they've developed distinct personalities. There's Bubba, a behemoth of a great white, who seems to be in charge; Sparky, an electric eel-like shark with bright pink stripes; and Chompers, a tiny but vicious bull shark sporting a crooked grin.
"Time for some dramatic flair," the Doctor declares, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. "This will create a temporal rift, allowing us to escape this... delightful situation."
The Terminator raises an eyebrow, intrigued by The Doctor's antics. I can feel the tension rising as we all prepare to face the shark-infested chaos outside.
"Ready or not," the Doctor says with a flourish, "here comes the tornado!"
With a flick of his wrist and a burst of energy, The Doctor opens the temporal rift. A swirling vortex appears before us, pulling in the sharks like they're magnets. Bubba, Sparky, Chompers - all are sucked into the void.
The Terminator steps forward, his metal chest plate glowing as he addresses me. "Your safety is paramount. We need to get you out of here."
As we turn to make a hasty exit, I notice the kitchen staff in frantic mode, trying to secure the restaurant's windows and doors while shouting orders at each other.
"Quick thinking, young one!" The Doctor calls back over his shoulder. "We must move fast! This tornado is not just any storm..."
The Terminator cuts him off with a firm nod. "I have calculated our escape route. We will reach safety in—"
Just as he finishes speaking, the restaurant's floor begins to shake violently, and the windows shatter under the pressure of the shark-filled vortex.
Chaos erupts as patrons scream, the kitchen staff panic, and the sharks - now trapped outside - thrash against the shattered glass, creating an impromptu aquatic show. The Doctor yells at us to move faster, while the Terminator swiftly escorts me through the winding corridors of the tower, dodging debris and panicked civilians.
We finally reach a service elevator, which opens with a hiss, revealing a narrow escape route into the safety of the upper floors. The Doctor joins us as we step inside, his eyes fixed on the shark-infested mess below.
"Well, that was fun," he quips as the doors close behind him. "Now, let's get you to a safe location and—"
The Terminator interrupts with a firm tone, "We must not linger. Our priority is your safety."
I nod in agreement, still trying to wrap my head around this extraordinary ordeal. We speed upward, dodging terrified civilians and kitchen staff frantically trying to contain the chaos.
Finally, we reach the uppermost floors of the tower, where we are greeted by a group of calm and collected security personnel who usher us into an emergency safe room.
As I breathe a sigh of relief, the Doctor leans in with a mischievous grin. "Well, that was quite the adventure! You know, the universe is full of surprises. And we're not done yet!"
The Terminator gives him a stern look. "This mission is concluded. The young one's safety has been ensured."
I nod at The Terminator before turning to The Doctor. "Thanks for saving me... I mean, getting me out of that mess."
The Doctor smiles warmly. "Anytime, kiddo! Just remember: the universe is full of wonder and danger. You never know when you'll need a hero - or two!"
As we all share a laugh, the sound system crackles to life with the tower's PA announcement. "Attention, attention. Due to unforeseen circumstances, the Canadian National Tower restaurant will be closed until further notice. We apologize for any inconvenience."
The Terminator steps forward, his expression stern once more. "This mission is at an end. The young one is safe."
I nod in gratitude before turning back to face the swirling vortex outside - still brewing with sharks and chaos.
"Well," I say with a smile, "I guess that's one Saturday afternoon I'll never forget!"
The Doctor grins mischievously from beside me. "Don't worry, kiddo! There are plenty more adventures waiting for you out there in the universe!"
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman.
Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
GENERATION 1:
I sprinted through the crowded marketplace, dodging merchants and pedestrians as I desperately sought an escape from our pursuers. My heart pounded in my chest like a drumline, threatening to give away my position at any moment. Behind me, the sounds of shouts and footsteps grew louder, echoing off the stone buildings.
I veered sharply to the left, weaving through the stalls selling everything from fresh produce to handmade jewelry. A vendor shouted out as I knocked over his display, sending a jumble of colorful fabrics and trinkets scattering across the cobblestones. I didn't look back, didn't pause, just kept running.
As I emerged onto the city's central square, I spotted the imposing figure of our leader, Marcus, standing atop a crate of crates near the town hall. His piercing blue eyes locked onto mine, and I knew he'd caught wind of our escape attempt. He gestured sharply to one of his guards, who raised his hand in a signal to halt.
I didn't need to be told twice. I darted toward Marcus, weaving past the gathered crowd of onlookers. My fingers brushed against his arm, and for a split second, we exchanged a fleeting glance of reassurance before he mouthed a single word: "Run."
The guard's voice boomed through the square as he shouted for us to surrender. I didn't hear him; my mind was already racing with new escape routes and possible safe houses. Marcus didn't need me to be told twice; we both took off in a sprint, dodging through the throng of people.
We burst through the doors of a nearby tavern, slamming them shut behind us just as our pursuers reached the square. I leaned against the doorframe, panting, and caught my breath for a moment before Marcus grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the stairs leading up to the upper floors.
"We can't stay here," he whispered urgently. "They'll find us."
I nodded, already moving in step with him as we navigated the narrow corridors. We had planned to meet at this tavern to discuss our next move, but now it seemed like a trap.
We reached the second floor and burst through the door into a cramped study filled with stacks of dusty books and flickering candles. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting shadows on the walls as Marcus slammed the door shut behind us, trapping us inside.
"Lock it," I breathed, my eyes scanning the room frantically for any signs of danger.
Marcus swiftly produced a key and inserted it into the ancient lock, turning it with precision. The satisfying click echoed through the room as he secured our hiding place from unwanted visitors.
Now that we were safe, Marcus turned to me with an intent look in his eyes. "Aria, I've been thinking..."
My heart skipped a beat as I wondered what had prompted this sudden change in conversation. What was going on?
"What?" I asked warily, though my mind already knew the direction he'd take.
"We can't keep running," Marcus said, his voice measured and deliberate. "It's time we make our stand."
A shiver ran down my spine as I realized what he meant. We couldn't continue to evade the authorities indefinitely; it was only a matter of time before they cornered us.
But I had other plans, ones that involved going after the heart of the oppressive regime: the dictator himself.
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Marcus nodded grimly. "The time for rebellion has come, Aria."
As his words hung in the air, I felt a surge of determination course through me. This was it – our moment to strike back against the regime that had oppressed us for so long.
And then, just as we were about to make plans for our final stand...
A knock echoed at the door.
My head whipped around to face Marcus, but he just raised an eyebrow. It wasn't like him to be caught off guard, not after all these years of planning and scheming.
I took a step forward, hand resting on the hilt of my knife, ready for whatever lay outside those doors...
And that's when I saw it – the unmistakable shape of the regime's dreaded Death Squad leader, staring at us with an air of superiority from beneath his imposing black helmet.
The room fell silent as Marcus and I exchanged a stunned glance. Our rebellion had just gotten a lot more complicated.
GENERATION 2:
I sprint down the deserted alleyway, my feet pounding against the cracked concrete. I can hear the footsteps behind me, heavy and deliberate, growing louder with each passing second. My heart racing in my chest, I glance over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of pursuit.
"Turn back now, Maya," a low voice calls out, echoing off the walls.
I shake my head, a fierce determination burning within me. "Never."
The footsteps grow closer, and I can see a figure emerging from the darkness ahead. I narrow my eyes, trying to make out who it is beneath the dim light of the alleyway's few street lamps. My hand instinctively goes to the dagger at my waist, its familiar weight a comforting presence against my side.
As I round a corner, I spot my pursuer – Kael, one of the enforcers for the regime. His eyes are fixed on me with an unnerving intensity, his jaw set in a hard line. "Maya, stop this madness," he growls, his voice low and menacing.
I dart to the side, avoiding a narrow puddle that reflects my image back at me like a broken mirror. My breathing quickens as I spot a nearby fire escape leading up to the rooftops. It's our only chance to shake Kael and make it out of this alley alive.
"Come on," I shout up at him, already sprinting towards the metal stairs.
Kael hesitates for a moment before taking off after me. His boots echo through the alleyway as he gives chase.
I leap onto the first rung of the ladder, my fingers wrapping tightly around the rusty handrail as I pull myself upwards. The metal creaks beneath my weight, but I push on, my heart pounding in my chest. As I ascend higher into the night air, I feel Kael's hot breath on my heels.
We reach the rooftop, and I dash towards the edge, my feet pounding against the gravel as I make a beeline for the city's central park. The park is our safe haven – or so I've been told. Rumors of hidden passages and secret meetings spread through the rebel network like wildfire.
But tonight, something feels off.
I glance back over my shoulder to see Kael mere feet behind me, his eyes blazing with a fierce determination that makes my blood run cold. I take another step forward, and as I do, a sudden loud crash echoes through the park's deserted grounds.
The sound of screeching tires and shattering glass fills the air. My heart skips a beat as I hear the unmistakable rumble of an armored vehicle rolling into the park.
Kael spots it too, his face twisted in rage. He leaps off my heels, sprinting towards the armored vehicle with a deadly efficiency that sends my blood racing.
"No!" I shout, but he's gone, swallowed up by the chaos.
The armored vehicle careens to a stop beside me, its tires squealing as I stumble backward. A figure steps out of the driver's seat – a woman who looks eerily like...
My eyes widen in horror as the truth hits me like a ton of bricks: it's my own sister, Aziza, who has been working undercover within the regime.
"Aziza!" I shout, stunned, but she just stands there, her expression cold and detached. "Welcome to your execution."
The words hang in the air like a death sentence as the armored vehicle's door swings open, revealing an army of armed soldiers waiting to take me down.
But that's not all – behind Aziza, a figure emerges from the shadows, their face obscured by a hood...