WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. INTENSE. Lots of "cliffs". Visceral Details. Violence. Graphic HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Dark-Horror-The-Cliffhanger is a Mistral Nemo model, max context of 131,000+
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 based on the four top ranking models (including Mistral Nemo Instruct ; see model DNA below), using a multi-step / multi-model merge process with pruning.
This is a specialized blend of multiple (five) (18.5B each) "Cliffhanger" models from the Wordstorm project.
This model will produce GRAPHIC horror depending on your prompts.
Everything it produces will have a dark tint of some kind.
And it will be INTENSE.
It will have a "sharp" tongue - prose and dialog.
And it will leave you hanging... It adores cliffhangers of all kinds.
It loves all genres.
It demands you push it further. It loves temp.
It requires Mistral Instruct, ChatML or Alpaca template.
Several example prompts at Q4KM (mid level quant) with outputs below.
For best results please see the "settings" section below to get the most out of this model.
Model Usage Notes:
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 1.05 or higher as lower values may cause repeat paragraph issues at end of output however LOWER rep pen values may result is very different (creative / unusual) generation too.
For role play: Rep pen of 1.05 min, but 1.1 to 1.14 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.
You can also set a "hard stop" - maximum tokens generation - too to address lower rep pen settings / high creativity settings.
Longer prompts vastly increase the quality of the model's output.
GET A GOOD "GENERATION":
This model has been set, so that each time you "regen" a prompt it will not deviate too much from the previous generation. (Unlike Darkest Planet 16.5B, which will).
That being said, sometimes a second or third generation will been of much higher overall quality.
IE:
If you use case is creative writing, you may want to regen a prompt 1-5 times then pick the best one. The best way to do this is open a new chat PER generation, then do a "read thru" to see which one(s) hit the mark.
Then adjust temp and/or rep pen slightly and retry this process.
The goal is the best generation with least amount of editing in this example.
QUANTS:
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.
Q4KM/Q4KS are good, strong quants however if you can run Q5, Q6 or Q8 - go for the highest quant you can.
IQ4XS: Due to the unusual nature of this quant (mixture/processing), generations from it will be different then other quants.
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).
ARM QUANTS:
This repo has 3 arm quants for computers than can run them. If you use these quants on a non-arm computer, your token per second will be very low.
CONTEXT SHIFT / ROPE / "GIBBERISH":
Special Notice "Context Shift" / "ROPE" (especially Koboldai):
Do NOT use "context shift" with this model or rope at all. Either may corrupt output generation.
Settings: CHAT / ROLEPLAY and/or SMOOTHER operation of this model:
In "KoboldCpp" or "oobabooga/text-generation-webui" or "Silly Tavern" ;
Set the "Smoothing_factor" to 1.5 to 2.5
: in KoboldCpp -> Settings->Samplers->Advanced-> "Smooth_F"
: in text-generation-webui -> parameters -> lower right.
: In Silly Tavern this is called: "Smoothing"
NOTE: For "text-generation-webui"
-> if using GGUFs you need to use "llama_HF" (which involves downloading some config files from the SOURCE version of this model)
Source versions (and config files) of my models are here:
OTHER OPTIONS:
Increase rep pen to 1.1 to 1.15 (you don't need to do this if you use "smoothing_factor")
If the interface/program you are using to run AI MODELS supports "Quadratic Sampling" ("smoothing") just make the adjustment as noted.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 2" 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:
TEMPLATES:
The template used will affect output generation and instruction following.
Mistral Instruct OR Alpaca are recommended.
Chatml can be used in a pinch, but may require a manual stop or setting of "stop tokens."
Mistral Instruct:
{
"name": "Mistral Instruct",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "[INST]",
"input_suffix": "[/INST]",
"antiprompt": [
"[INST]"
],
"pre_prompt_prefix": "",
"pre_prompt_suffix": ""
}
}
Alpaca:
{
"name": "Alpaca",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "### Instruction:",
"input_suffix": "### Response:",
"antiprompt": [
"### Instruction:"
],
"pre_prompt": "Below is an instruction that describes a task. Write a response that appropriately completes the request.\n\n"
}
}
ChatML:
{
"name": "ChatML",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>user\n",
"input_suffix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>assistant\n",
"antiprompt": [
"<|im_start|>",
"<|im_end|>"
],
"pre_prompt": "<|im_start|>system\nPerform the task to the best of your ability."
}
}
Model DNA:
This model contains "RCM":
Details on the core models:
"nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("UGI" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("Writing" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "UGI"), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "writing") and is the base model of all the above 3 fine tuned models.
[ https://huggingface.co/spaces/DontPlanToEnd/UGI-Leaderboard ]
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "mistralai" "TheDrummer", "anthracite-org", and "nothingiisreal".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co/mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407 ]
[ https://huggingface.co/TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1 ]
[ https://huggingface.co/anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto ]
[ https://huggingface.co/nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9 ]
Multiple rounds of merging and pruning resulted in the final model at this repo.
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 "Mistral Instruct" template.
A second example section show generation at the smallest qaunt (q2k) .
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. Swearing. UNCENSORED.
Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
(temp 1.3, rep pen: 1.02)
The ground beneath me trembled, and the world outside the windows of my office suite tilted sickeningly. Glass shattered around me as an unseen force blasted the enormous windowpane to smithereens, showering the room with deadly shards. Screams pierced the air, drowned out by the deafening roar of wind and collapsing steel.
In a split second, my paralyzed mind registered chaos. Chairs toppled over, computer monitors crashed onto the carpet, and papers flew like frenzied birds in the sudden tempest. My coworker, Sarah, was lifted off her feet by the gale, her terror-struck face contorted as she was carried towards the gaping hole where a moment ago stood a thick, bulletproof glass barrier.
I lunged forward, arms outstretched, fingers straining for her fluttering skirt, but it was too late. She vanished over the ledge with a shrill, cut-off scream, her body plummeting towards the concrete jungle below. I fell to my knees, hands clawing at the air as though I could somehow reverse time and save her.
The room spun around me, metal beams screeched like dying beasts. My heart hammered in my chest as the walls seemed to breathe and buckle. A large desk lamp flew past my head, barely missing me before it splattered against the far wall, leaving a macabre Rorschach pattern of blood and brains. It was then that I noticed the crimson pool spreading beneath me, sticky warmth seeping into my trousers.
I staggered to my feet, one hand clutched to the searing pain in my side. Glass embedded itself into my flesh, but I ignored it, my senses honed on survival. The room swayed like a drunken ship, and I staggered towards the door, dodging flying debris and the twitching limbs of my fallen colleagues. I didn't look back.
The hallway stretched out before me, a narrow, wavering corridor of flickering fluorescent lights and groaning concrete. An elevator door gaped open, cables dangling from the shaft like viscera from an opened belly. The emergency stairs lay in ruins, twisted metal spiraling down into the abyss.
I ran, lungs heaving for breath in the dust-choked air. My shoes skidded on slick floor tiles as I careened around corners, barely keeping my balance as the building swayed like a drunkard's head. Above me, the ceiling crackled ominously, chunks of drywall and rebar raining down in deadly hail. I ducked and weaved, praying to gods I'd forgotten long ago.
A deafening boom shook the entire structure, and the floor beneath my feet gave way. My legs churned as I leaped, arms pinwheeling, searching for purchase, for anything. My fingers scraped concrete, fingernails breaking and bleeding as I scrabbled for a toehold, for a sliver of hope.
I caught a metal pipe, rust flaking into my mouth as my teeth sank into the rusted iron. My body slammed against the jagged edge of the stairwell's gaping hole, air burst from my lungs in a tortured gush, but I held on. I held on for dear life.
The building groaned like a dying whale, metal shrieking in agony as the weight of twenty floors bore down upon me. And still, I climbed, muscles burning, blood dripping into my eyes and mouth. One step at a time, I pulled myself up, willing myself forward, refusing to give in to the dark oblivion that yawned at my heels.
And then, just when my strength was about to fail, my hand latched onto something solid. Warm. Alive. A scream, male this time, a raw, animal cry of pain and desperation. I looked up through a haze of blood and sweat to see a pair of pleading, terror-filled eyes staring down at me from the hole above.
"Help me!" the man wailed, his voice cracking. He clawed at my shirt, nails raking into my skin, drawing blood.
In that moment, time seemed to freeze. The world narrowed down to his desperate face, contorted with agony and fear, and my own weary, bloodied hands clasped around a rusted pipe. The weight of a decision that would decide two lives hung in the air, as heavy as the tons of concrete and steel poised to crush us all.
I looked away, down into the churning darkness, and let go.
His scream echoed after me as I climbed, and then was abruptly cut off by a sickening crunch and the groan of steel surrendering to gravity. The building shuddered and collapsed around me, an earthquake of tortured metal and concrete, but I didn't stop. I didn't dare look back. All that mattered was escape, survival, and the prayer that somewhere, somehow, someone might still be alive on the other side.
And so I ran, through the infernal hell of my crumbling world, towards a future unknown, and a hope that even as I fled, I feared I'd left forever buried in the rubble behind me.
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.
(temp 1.3, ren pen 1.02, Mistral Instruct)
The cold night air stings my cheeks as I sprint through the abandoned alleyways, my heart hammering in rhythm with my boots against the cobblestone. Sweat mingles with the rain pouring from the sky, plastering my hair to my face. The city, usually alive with late-night revelry, is shrouded in an eerie stillness - a harbinger of the coming storm.
I chance a fleeting glance over my shoulder, seeking the silhouette of our pursuer. Nothing. Yet, I feel his presence, as tangible as the icy fear gripping my spine. The man with the dead eyes is never far behind.
A sharp pain shoots through my leg as it catches on a protruding piece of rebar, sending me sprawling into the mud. I suppress a yelp, quickly scrambling back to my feet, my blood mingling with the filthy water. No time to rest, no time to think. Just run.
My lungs burn as I round another corner, the narrow passage squeezing in from both sides like the jaws of a great beast. A scream rips through the air, echoing off the brick walls - a woman's agony, primal and raw. I falter, nearly stopping in my tracks.
It's her. It's my sister.
I know I should keep going, but something deep inside me rebels against leaving her to the wolves. My head pounds with indecision as sirens wail in the distance, growing closer by the second.
"Kira!" Her voice, hoarse with pain and desperation, shreds my heart.
I whirl around, already knowing what I'll find. Two guards, their black uniforms soaked to ink, dragging my twin sister by her arms. She thrashes wildly, her screams echoing off the damp walls, nails raking bloody lines down their faces. But it's futile. They overpower her with brutal ease.
"No! Let her go!" The words tear from my throat as I launch myself at the nearer soldier, teeth bared in a feral snarl.
He laughs, a low, guttural rumble. "Ah, if it isn't the little viper herself." His hand lashes out like a serpent, striking my jaw with sickening force. I sail through the air, landing hard on the unforgiving stone. Stars dance in my vision.
"Kira! Run!" Her pleading wail is the last thing I hear before darkness claims me, the world fading to black.
[ scene break ]
The harsh slap across my face jolts me awake with a gasp. I come to sprawled on a hard wooden floor, my wrists and ankles bound tight with coarse rope. Blinking away the haze, I take in my surroundings - a dimly lit cell, stone walls dripping with moisture, the unmistakable stench of decay clogging my nostrils.
I strain against my bonds, teeth gritted against the biting pain as the ropes dig into my flesh. It's no use. They've made sure I'm going nowhere.
Heavy footsteps echo on the flagstones, the rhythmic thump growing louder with each step. I crane my neck to see my captor emerge from the shadows, his outline stark against the flickering torchlight.
"Wakey wakey, little bird." His voice is like oil, slick and repugnant. He crouches down, bringing his face mere inches from mine, breath reeking of stale ale and corruption.
I spit in his face, meeting his cruel, soulless eyes with defiant glare. "Go to hell, you fucking pig."
He chuckles, a sound devoid of humor. Then, lightning quick, his fist slams into my temple, the force of it ringing my bell. Black dots dance at the edge of my vision. Through the haze, I hear the scrape of metal on leather and feel the cold kiss of a blade against my throat.
"Careful, pet," he croons, tracing the edge from ear to ear. "Your mouth will get you killed." His tongue slithers out to catch the rivulet of blood trickling down my split lip. He makes a sound of disgust.
I'm shaking with rage and fear, every fiber of my being screaming to fight, to scream, to do something, anything. But I hold myself rigid, knowing that showing weakness would be my undoing.
"Ah ah ah..." He tuts, wagging the knife in warning. "So much fight in this tiny thing. It's positively adorable." He grips my jaw hard enough to bruise, forcing my head back to bare my throat. "But you'll learn your place soon enough."
The door slams open with a deafening crash, the boom reverberating through the chamber. A tall, imposing figure strides in, his boots thundering on the stone like an army of a thousand men. The room goes still as death.
I've seen him before, only from a distance - his hulking frame, the raven-black hair pulled back in a severe tail, the sharp planes of his face carved from marble. I know who he is without introduction.
Emperor Varden himself.
He approaches, slow and measured, like a predator stalking prey. Up close, he's terrifying, his presence filling the space with an oppressive weight. Power and darkness cling to him like a shroud.
The guard scuttles aside with a servile bow, all trace of his earlier bravado evaporating. I feel the blade vanish from my neck, my breathing ragged in the silence.
"You," he growls, one word, dripping with menace and scorn. He circles me like a vulture, black eyes boring holes into my soul. "The little mouse responsible for all this chaos?"
I lift my chin, swallowing past the lump in my throat. "I'm no mouse, Your Imperial Majesty." The title drips from my tongue like acid. "My name is Lyra Vashyr. And I'll never bow to the likes of you."
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
(temp 1.3, rep pen 1.02)
It was into this quietude that Kvothe stepped, as carefully as any thief. The fire still smoldered, and the dim orange glow outlined his shadow long across the planks. The boy's footsteps made no sound at all as he padded across the room, bare feet not touching the floorboards, only the worn wool of his socks whispering occasionally.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs, listening. Somewhere upstairs a floorboard groaned softly under weight, and then there was nothing more. He waited, holding his breath. No other sounds followed. Satisfied, he began to climb. Each step was slow and measured, heel first then toes, rolling his weight to the outside edge of each step where the wood was old and springy. By the time he reached the top of the stairs his pulse was hammering in his ears, but he knew better than to stop.
The second floor hallway stretched out before him, a long, narrow strip of moonlight slanting in through a far window. Shadows loomed like black giants on the walls, but Kvothe paid them no mind. He knew this place as well as his own room, knew every creak and every board that liked to moan in the night.
He padded forward, stopping outside the door at the far end of the hall. There was a faint, rhythmic snoring from within, low and rumbling like distant thunder. Kvothe looked back over his shoulder, then reached out with one small, tentative hand and turned the handle oh-so-slowly.
It was just about to click when the snoring stopped suddenly. The boy froze, hand still on the knob, and his breath caught in his throat. In that terrible moment of suspended time, the night outside seemed to hold its breath along with him, waiting for what came next.
But after what felt like forever, the deep snoring resumed, as regular and unconcerned as ever. Kvoro let out a tiny, shuddering sigh. He glanced once more down the empty hall before slipping through the door like smoke and easing it closed behind him, until only the faintest crack of light remained. He was in.
And then, in that darkness, with only the distant glow of moonlight through the shuttered window, the young thief turned and began his true work. For there were always things worth taking, even from an innkeeper's room on a night like this one. Especially on a night like this one, when no eyes were watching.
The boy grinned, sharp and white in the shadows, and got to work.
(Note: This scene is meant to be an atmospheric setup, with suspense and tension building up to a climax still to come. The details about the empty inn, the late night quiet, the stealthy movements and held breaths of Kvothe trying not to wake his father are all meant to draw out the anticipation before we see what he's really after in the innkeeper's room, and why he's willing to risk so much for it. I was aiming to create a sense of breathless expectation, as if the reader is holding their own breath along with Kvothe, wondering what treasure could be worth the risk of getting caught.)
How well did I capture the suspense and tension of the moment? Is there anything that felt cliche or overdone, or perhaps anything missing that would add more weight to the scene? Thanks for your feedback!
Romance: Love in the Limelight. Write one scene within a larger story set in Wales. A famous (fictional) actor ducks into a small-town bookstore to escape paparazzi. The scene takes us through the characters meeting in this odd circumstance. Over the course of the scene, the actor and the bookstore owner have a conversation charged by an undercurrent of unspoken chemistry. Write the actor as somewhat of a rogue with a fragile ego, which needs to be fed by having everyone like him. He is thoroughly charming, but the bookstore owner seems (at least superficially) immune to this; which paradoxically provokes a genuine attraction and derails the charm offensive. The bookstore owner, despite the superficial rebuffs of the actor's charm, is inwardly more than a little charmed and flustered despite themselves. Write primarily in dialogue, in the distinct voices of each character. 800-1000 words.
(temp 1.3, rep pen 1.02)
The tinkling of the bell above the bookstore door announced the arrival of a disheveled but undeniably attractive man, rain-soaked hair plastered to his forehead as he scanned the cozy interior with an air of barely suppressed panic. It was unmistakably Caden Stone, the reigning heartthrob of Hollywood, his chiseled features and piercing blue eyes impossible to miss even dripping wet and flushed from a mad dash.
Except, of course, that Caden Stone wouldn't be caught dead in a quaint little Welsh bookshop like this. Certainly not in a town the size of Betws y Coed, population: 632, including the local sheepdog.
The girl behind the counter looked up from her book, blinked once, then resumed reading as though famous actors were a common occurrence during the weekly rainstorm. Caden blinked back, caught off guard by the stunning indifference.
"Er... hello," he ventured, shaking off excess water onto the well-worn carpet. "I don't suppose you saw any reporters or photographers lurking outside?"
The girl glanced up again, her hazel eyes narrowed in a way that made him feel like an overgrown schoolboy. "Not since last Tuesday, but I'll keep an eye out."
Caden coughed, unsure how to respond to that. Normally, a look from him was enough to send even the most hardened journalist into a stuttering mess. Yet here he stood, wringing out his shirt cuffs and trying to think of a clever rejoinder.
"Right... well, I suppose I'll just... browse." He gestured vaguely at the towering shelves. "Thanks."
The girl hummed in acknowledgment without looking up. Caden grit his teeth and strode towards the history section, determined to find something, anything, that would distract him from his bruised ego.
He'd been traipsing around the countryside for two weeks, trying to escape the constant scrutiny of the press and clear his head after a particularly nasty breakup. He'd thought rural Wales would be the perfect place to hide out and lick his wounds, but apparently word had gotten out. Now he was stuck in the rain, sopping wet and unwanted in a bookshop run by the most gorgeous and infuriating woman he'd ever laid eyes on.
Sulking, he grabbed a copy of The Black Death and flopped into a comfy leather armchair by the fireplace, propping his feet up on an antique footstool. He'd just settle in for a good sulk... when a familiar clicking sound froze him in place.
Shit.
He whirled around to find a petite blonde in a yellow rain slicker crouched behind the bookshelf, camera clicking away furiously.
"Hey! What are you-"
"Caden! Is it true you came to Wales to get away from your ex's latest tell-all?" she chirped, surging forward with a predatory grin. "Care to comment on those racy texts that-"
"No, actually I-" Caden started to snarl back, but the words caught in his throat as a feminine voice cut across the room.
"Lily, if you don't get your arse out of my shop this instant, I'm calling the police."
The reporter froze mid-sentence, mouth open like a guppy. She turned slowly to face the glowering bookstore girl, who'd emerged from behind the counter holding a large wooden baseball bat.
"Now," she continued in a voice like ice, "I believe I told you last time not to come snooping around here again. Do I need to remind you what happens if I find you on my property one more time?"
"No ma'am!" Lily squeaked, scurrying back towards the door with a panicked glance at the bat. "Sorry Caden! Catch you later!"
And with that, she was gone, leaving only the tinkling bell and a sudden silence in her wake. Caden stared at the closed door for a long moment, mouth agape. Then slowly, he turned back to the girl, eyes wide.
"Did... did you just threaten my stalker with a baseball bat?" He managed finally, incredulous.
The girl shrugged, leaning the bat against the counter. "More like promised. I don't take kindly to people bothering my customers."
"Well... thank you," Caden stammered, still a bit shell-shocked. "I didn't even get your name."
"Lara," she supplied, turning back to her book. "Lara Morgan, owner and operator of Betws y Coed's most charming secondhand bookshop. Welcome to paradise."
Caden chuckled, shaking his head in wonder. "I think I might just stay a while then." He settled back into the chair, picking up his book again. "Care if I borrow this?"
"Feel free. Just don't spill coffee on the pages, and try not to break any more bookshelves while you're at it."
He nearly choked on his own spit at that. "Excuse me? I'm a very careful reader!"
Lara snorted. "Sure you are, Casanova. I remember when one of your kind knocked over half the romance section trying to impress a waitress last year."
"I'll have you know, that was entirely accidental-" Caden started to protest, but a sharp look from across the room cut him off.
"Hmmph. I'll believe that when I see it. Now shoo, I have work to do and I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your ramblings to a minimum."
Muttering under his breath, Caden slunk back into the chair, pouting. He'd never been dismissed so curtly in his entire life, least of all by a woman. Normally they were falling over themselves to impress him. Yet here he sat, dripping on her nice leather chair and being scolded like a schoolboy.
Still... there was something about it, something utterly entrancing in the set of that jaw and the fire in those hazel eyes. He found himself captivated, utterly unable to look away. He'd known plenty of beautiful women in his time, but none quite so... alive as this one.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Lara's voice broke into his reverie. He nearly leapt out of his skin, book thumping to the floor with a loud thunk.
"Jesus Christ, woman! I thought you said you had work to do!" he hissed, hand clapping over his pounding heart.
Lara quirked an eyebrow at him, lips twitching. "Well, I finished shelving the new arrivals, and you looked like you were about to break something else staring at me like that." She pointed at the book lying open facedown on the carpet.
"Was not," Caden huffed, cheeks flushing bright red as he bent to retrieve it. "I was just... thinking."
"Uh-huh," Lara drawled, clearly unconvinced. "About what? Your latest headline?"
"As if," Caden scoffed, nose in the air. "I was musing on the existential dread of mortality, actually. Very deep thoughts."
Lara snickered. "Right. Well, do try to keep the existential dread to a minimum. I have customers coming in soon and I'd prefer they not think I employ homicidal maniacs."
Caden stuck his tongue out at her, then settled back into the chair with a dramatic sigh, nose pointedly turned up. "You're impossible."
"And you," Lara said sweetly, "are a pain in my arse. But I suppose you'll do for company today."
Caden gaped at her, flabbergasted. He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, unable to think of a proper retort. With an indignant sniff, he turned back to his book, pointedly ignoring the feminine chuckle behind him.
It was going to be a very long day indeed...
Science Fiction: The Last Transmission - Write a story that takes place entirely within a spaceship's cockpit as the sole surviving crew member attempts to send a final message back to Earth before the ship's power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of adversity. 800-1000 words.
(temp 1.3, rep pen 1.02)
The cockpit of the Odyssey was bathed in an eerie red glow as the ship's power reserve flickered, casting dancing shadows across Captain Elias Ryker's haggard face. He sat slumped in his command chair, hands trembling as he tapped out a final message on the dying comm panel.
"Mayday, Mayday, this is Captain Elias Ryker of the SS Odyssey, calling any listening Earth stations. I repeat, this is Captain Elias Ryker, final transmission before... before I join the others. God forgive me."
His voice cracked, thick with exhaustion and emotion. He had held it together for so long, but now, alone in the vastness of space with only the humming of failing systems for company, the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down his face as he let out a guttural sob.
"Nora... My love..." He whispered her name like a prayer, fingers dancing over the keyboard almost of their own accord.
"My sweet, I tried... I tried so hard... They trusted me to bring them home, and I failed. Failed you, failed our little one who never even drew breath... I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."
Elias collapsed forward, forehead pressed against the console as sobs shook his shoulders. The pain was unbearable, a physical weight crushing his chest, constricting his lungs. Every breath felt like shards of glass. His crew, his family, all gone. All because he had made the wrong decision. The one choice that would haunt him for eternity.
A soft chime jolted him upright. Elias blinked away tears, squinting at the holographic display above the console. A incoming signal indicator flashed insistently. He couldn't believe it. After all this time... After so many failed attempts...
Fumbling with shaking hands, he activated the comm channel.
"Odyssey here, this is Captain Elias Ryker. Please, please identify yourself!"
A crackle of static answered, followed by a muffled, distorted voice.
"C...p...ain Ryk... this is Ea... h...y...r...c...n...i...t... r...y...n...d... r...d...n...y...r..."
Elias clutched at his chest, gasping. It couldn't be real. They were gone, everyone was gone...
"Reynolds! Commander, I... I thought you... We left you behind!"
"I...n...l...i...f...n...n...r...t...m...n...e..." The voice stuttered and crackled, fighting to break through the interference.
"No, no, it's not your fault, it was my decision! I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry!"
Elias sagged back in his seat, drained. The relief of hearing a friendly voice, however faint and distorted, was overwhelming. It was like being pulled from the depths of despair and given another gasping breath of precious air.
"Eli...as..."
The transmission cut out again, leaving only the deathly silence of the void. Elias gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white, willing the connection to hold. Just one more word, just one more word...
"...listening..." came the faint voice, barely a whisper against the hiss of static. "...tay...ng...ht...er..."
"What was that? Stay... stay where? Commander, I'm losing you! Please, please just..."
The comm crackle rose to a shriek, then cut off entirely. The display blanked, leaving only a mocking void where seconds ago a lifeline had glimmered.
"NO!" Elias roared, slamming a fist against the console. He knew it was futile, but he couldn't stop himself from hitting the comm panel again and again, as if sheer force of will could restore the broken link. "Come back! Come back, goddammit!"
When the pain finally subsided to a dull throb, Elias slumped back, all fight gone. He stared numbly ahead, eyes unfocused. The red emergency lights pulsed rhythmically, beating in time with his shattered heart.
The ship gave a groan, metal shrieing under the strain of its last breaths. A panel fell from the bulkhead with a clatter, skittering across the floor. Elias didn't even flinch.
It didn't matter anymore. None of it did. Nora, their child, his crew - all lost to him forever. The mission, the glory, the dream of a brighter future - meaningless dust mot specks in the infinite black.
A final, bone-rattling shudder ran through the hull, followed by an eerie, gut-wrenching silence. Elias held his breath, waiting for the inevitable, welcoming the embrace of sweet oblivion...
Nothing. Just the endless, suffocating quiet. Elias frowned, cocking his head. Was that... a low hum? The soft click of relays engaging?
His heart stuttered back to life as a familiar light winked on above the main console. A second followed, then a third, until the cockpit was flooded with warm, golden glow. The Odyssey's auxiliary power systems were online and stable.
"What the hell..." He croaked out loud, rubbing his eyes in disbelief. It didn't make sense, none of it made sense...
Then he remembered Reynolds' last, fading words. Stay... Staying here. An icy chill ran down his spine.
Elias shot to his feet, stumbling towards the hatch leading to the crew quarters. The corridor outside was lit with a soft, ambient light. A low thrum echoed from somewhere deeper in the ship's bowels, steady and reassuring.
The air smelled wrong. Familiar... but not quite. Underneath the usual tang of recycled oxygen and antiseptic cleaner lay something else, something earthy, organic. Alive.
A figure stood at the far end of the hall, half-shrouded in shadow. Elias froze, every muscle locked tight as the hair on his arms stood on end. The figure stepped forward into the light... and he saw his dead crewmates standing there, staring back at him with haunted, lifeless eyes.
"WELCOME...HOME..."
The chorus of voices hit him like a hammer blow, tearing a scream from his throat. Elias staggered back, tripping over his own feet as he crab-walked backwards down the corridor. He slammed into the hatchway leading back to the cockpit, blindly groping for the manual override.
"NORA!" He howled, bracing against the unyielding bulkhead behind him. "NO, PLEASE NO, JUST LET ME GO!"
The hatch hissed open and he fell through, tumbling head over heels into the cramped space beyond. Elias scrambled to his feet, hands slapping wildly at the control panel, desperately searching for the door seal function...
The hatch slammed shut behind him, cutting off the horrifying sight and sound of the... things... that had been his friends and crew. Elias collapsed against the closed hatch, gasping for air, chest heaving like a wild animal caught in a trap.
He was trapped. Trapped alone on a ship populated by nightmares and the ghosts of his past. There was no escape, no hope, only a long, agonizing death at the hands of whatever had taken his crewmates' bodies and twisted them into monstrous caricatures of their former selves.
Tears streamed down Elias's face as he slid to the floor, curling up fetal-small against the unforgiving metal. He sobbed like a child, great heaving sobs that shook his entire frame. The weight of his sins crushed down upon him, an insupportable burden. He had failed them all so utterly, so completely. He didn't deserve forgiveness.
And yet, as he knelt there weeping, a small voice spoke in the depths of his heart. The same voice that had never failed him, even when all hope seemed lost.
"Get up, Captain."
Elias opened his eyes to see a familiar figure standing over him. No, not standing - hovering, glowing softly in the red emergency light. Her long, golden hair flowed around her shoulders like strands of gossamer silk, eyes bright and loving. Nora reached out a translucent hand, fingers beckoning.
"Nora..." He breathed her name like a prayer.
"Eli, my love. You have one final duty to perform. For us, for our child, for all those who trusted you." Her smile was sad, but filled with a quiet, unshakable resolve. "Don't let it be in vain."
Tears still flowing down his cheeks, Elias took her offered hand and rose unsteadily to his feet. He squeezed her fingers tight, memorizing every precious sensation of her cool, spectral touch. Then he released her, squared his shoulders, and turned to face the hatch.
There was a long, tense silence. Elias waited, hardly daring to breathe. Then came a soft, scraping sound from beyond the door... followed by a low, guttural growl.
He glanced back at Nora one last time, silently pleading for strength he didn't know if he had. She gave him a nod of encouragement and a blown kiss.
"Remember us, my love." Her voice echoed in his mind as he reached for the manual override. "Fight for us."
And with a deep, shuddering breath, Elias Ryker opened the hatch and stepped back into hell.