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Light bulbs have gotten efficient enouh to last thousands of generations . Effecient enough that humanity has forgotten how to change a liht bulb . A light bulb has gone out .

The three men stood in silence and stared up at the dark socket above them. The man in the center, Evan, glanced at the man to his right. He was wringing his hands, dry-washing them over and over. He did that all the time. Evan hated it. Evan glanced to his left. The man ’ s mouth hung slightly open as he stared fixedly upwards. Evan watched it for drool, knowing that he wouldn ’ t notice him watching. After a fashion, he sighed silently and gazed upwards with them. “ The light ’ s gone out. ” he said. “ Yeah, ” said the man to his right. “ What do we do? ” asked the one to his left. Evan didn ’ t know what to do, and to be perfectly honest he didn ’ t really care. It was one light. Sure, you never saw lights go out on their own, and nobody could remember a time when the lights hadn ’ t been reliable, but- The light beside it flickered. Evan blinked. The man to his left visibly flinched. The man to his right wrung his hands. “ Do you think that this might be a problem? ” the man to his left asked. “ Yeah, ” said the one to his right. Evan figured that it was out of his pay grade. He ’ d let his supervisor know about it, and go home to his wife and his dog and his lights that didn ’ t flicker or go out, unless he wanted them to. “ I ’ m going home. ” he said. “ You can ’ t go home, we have to figure out how to fix this! ” said the man to his left. “ Yeah, ” said the one to his right. “ Fuck it, dude. It ’ s just a light. ” Evan said, as he put his coat on. Evan had a pleasant night. His dog was always happy to see him. His wife, a little less so. Evan suspected that she might be up to something, but he would worry about that in the morning. When he woke up, he checked his feed. There were a few stories that caught his attention, all them more or less the same. “ How do we fix our lights? ”

<s>[INST] Light bulbs have gotten efficient enouh to last thousands of generations . Effecient enough that humanity has forgotten how to change a liht bulb . A light bulb has gone out . [/INST] The three men stood in silence and stared up at the dark socket above them. The man in the center, Evan, glanced at the man to his right. He was wringing his hands, dry-washing them over and over. He did that all the time. Evan hated it. Evan glanced to his left. The man ’ s mouth hung slightly open as he stared fixedly upwards. Evan watched it for drool, knowing that he wouldn ’ t notice him watching. After a fashion, he sighed silently and gazed upwards with them. “ The light ’ s gone out. ” he said. “ Yeah, ” said the man to his right. “ What do we do? ” asked the one to his left. Evan didn ’ t know what to do, and to be perfectly honest he didn ’ t really care. It was one light. Sure, you never saw lights go out on their own, and nobody could remember a time when the lights hadn ’ t been reliable, but- The light beside it flickered. Evan blinked. The man to his left visibly flinched. The man to his right wrung his hands. “ Do you think that this might be a problem? ” the man to his left asked. “ Yeah, ” said the one to his right. Evan figured that it was out of his pay grade. He ’ d let his supervisor know about it, and go home to his wife and his dog and his lights that didn ’ t flicker or go out, unless he wanted them to. “ I ’ m going home. ” he said. “ You can ’ t go home, we have to figure out how to fix this! ” said the man to his left. “ Yeah, ” said the one to his right. “ Fuck it, dude. It ’ s just a light. ” Evan said, as he put his coat on. Evan had a pleasant night. His dog was always happy to see him. His wife, a little less so. Evan suspected that she might be up to something, but he would worry about that in the morning. When he woke up, he checked his feed. There were a few stories that caught his attention, all them more or less the same. “ How do we fix our lights? ” </s>

[ WP ] Just write about something that makes you happy– no gimmicks . Who am I to tell you what to do ?

I ’ ve learned to appreciate all kinds of beauty. Naked and raw beauty has been by far my favorite. Soft skin, wandering fingers and natural physical reactions play a big role in my fascination. Your skin was enticingly smooth and tender. Never had I thought I ’ ll be put in that situation but it opened my eyes to a whole new world. One I didn ’ t know was there, or perhaps I did I was just afraid of jumping into it and liking it. Which I did. So thank you for taking off my blindfold and letting me see the beauty of your soul. It ’ s dark but I feel comfortable sharing the darkness with you.

<s>[INST] Just write about something that makes you happy– no gimmicks . Who am I to tell you what to do ? [/INST] I ’ ve learned to appreciate all kinds of beauty. Naked and raw beauty has been by far my favorite. Soft skin, wandering fingers and natural physical reactions play a big role in my fascination. Your skin was enticingly smooth and tender. Never had I thought I ’ ll be put in that situation but it opened my eyes to a whole new world. One I didn ’ t know was there, or perhaps I did I was just afraid of jumping into it and liking it. Which I did. So thank you for taking off my blindfold and letting me see the beauty of your soul. It ’ s dark but I feel comfortable sharing the darkness with you. </s>

[ WP ] With the discovery of alternate dimensions , a jury of peers can now only consist of alternate versions of the defendant and plaintiff .

Edit: I wrote this in mind for Blake Andersen as Jeff The Protagonist, and Rhy Darby as the unnamed escort if it helps put the character's in a passive context. Today was the day that I was subpoenaed to Earth 23, I was not told what my alt was accused of, just that an escort would be waiting outside our dimension gate when I got there. Rumor had it that Earth 23 had a cock shaped America, the first thing I did after porting and hailing a taxi was look at the tourist guide map, sure enough it did indeed look like a giant cock because a stream of archipelagos craned out to the Middle East making it look like America was busting a fat nut on the opposite continent. `` So is this normal business for you?'' I asked the man in the well dressed suit escorting me to the interdimension federation court house. `` Yis, your counterpart is to be sentenced for his crime in the next three hours, twelve versions of you have been summoned from the federation of dimensions to testify on his behalf.'' the man said plainly turning his attention back to his phone. `` Nice to meet you, the name is...'' I began extending my hand. `` Jeff. Yis, I know.'' He interrupted looking at my hand with slight disgust. `` What!? Did I really do something so bad that you ca n't shake an alternate version of myself's hand?'' I asked aggressively without thinking. The man just looked at me blankly, like I had offended him. `` I heard stories about Earth 11 apparently, it is customary to touch one another when greeting for the first time. What the fuck is wrong with you people?'' He asked harshly. `` Oh. I thought you had something against me because what my alt did, my bad, yeah where I am from we do shake hands when greeting some people even kiss and hug.'' I told the man plainly. `` Ugh. Your rituals are...'' the man just rolled his eyes trailing off back to his phone. An awkward silence set in so I stared out the window a bit, it was the familiar New York Skyline with a few variations I was new to but the same in regards to architecture. The taxis were basically the same too. `` So that's a strange accent you have it sounds New Zealand.'' I commented nervously. `` I do n't know what a Noo Zeel und is, but I got my accent from Jamaica.'' the suit said clearly looking as if he wanted this to be over as soon as possible. `` So is it true that you guys have monarchies still? That might have been Earth 18 but I swear reading an article where you guys still have royalty... I mean we do too but their popularity is almost null.'' I said not being able to help myself from him not wanting me to talk. `` Yis, that's correct we have eleven moarchies within our continents borders. The crime for which your alternate is accused took place in the largest, it will be getting multi dimensional coverage. Her we take the Kings of the Amerikas very seriously.'' the man seemed pleased at saying this. `` Oh so did, so did I like kill someone... or well the other me kill someone important?'' I wanted to wait before asking but the suspense was killing me. `` No.'' the man said turning to look me up and down again like I was dangerous and disgusting. `` Well what the fuck did I do man? What could possibly be so bad that an interdimensional jury of mes have to stand trial as peers?'' I asked eagerly. `` You. You created a chimera, which is a serious offense here.'' the suit said putting his phone in his jacket as the taxi pulled up the steps of a municipal building and began getting out. `` A chimera? You mean like two animals fused together? Am I a geneticist here? Did I create some kind of fucked up monstrosity?'' I was excited at the concept of being a renegade scientist who teetered on the fringes. `` Not exactly... you went on a drunken binder and found your way into the sovereign sanctuary and created a sheople.'' this time the man stood looking empathetic at me. `` I still do n't understand, Sir.'' I pleaded hoping he would stop beating around the bush. The man palmed his face, which is never a good sign. `` Jeff, your alternate got drunk and wandered into an animal pen and fucked the King's royal goat, resulting in a goat child.'' He told me as the shame set in. My god, I thought, I can not do this, inter dimensional press coverage, goat babies, penis shaped countries. I threw my hands up in refusal. `` Nope. Nope. NOPE. Uh uh.'' I said storming off in the opposite direction trying to think of how I could get away from this permanently.

<s>[INST] With the discovery of alternate dimensions , a jury of peers can now only consist of alternate versions of the defendant and plaintiff . [/INST] Edit: I wrote this in mind for Blake Andersen as Jeff The Protagonist, and Rhy Darby as the unnamed escort if it helps put the character's in a passive context. Today was the day that I was subpoenaed to Earth 23, I was not told what my alt was accused of, just that an escort would be waiting outside our dimension gate when I got there. Rumor had it that Earth 23 had a cock shaped America, the first thing I did after porting and hailing a taxi was look at the tourist guide map, sure enough it did indeed look like a giant cock because a stream of archipelagos craned out to the Middle East making it look like America was busting a fat nut on the opposite continent. `` So is this normal business for you?'' I asked the man in the well dressed suit escorting me to the interdimension federation court house. `` Yis, your counterpart is to be sentenced for his crime in the next three hours, twelve versions of you have been summoned from the federation of dimensions to testify on his behalf.'' the man said plainly turning his attention back to his phone. `` Nice to meet you, the name is...'' I began extending my hand. `` Jeff. Yis, I know.'' He interrupted looking at my hand with slight disgust. `` What!? Did I really do something so bad that you ca n't shake an alternate version of myself's hand?'' I asked aggressively without thinking. The man just looked at me blankly, like I had offended him. `` I heard stories about Earth 11 apparently, it is customary to touch one another when greeting for the first time. What the fuck is wrong with you people?'' He asked harshly. `` Oh. I thought you had something against me because what my alt did, my bad, yeah where I am from we do shake hands when greeting some people even kiss and hug.'' I told the man plainly. `` Ugh. Your rituals are...'' the man just rolled his eyes trailing off back to his phone. An awkward silence set in so I stared out the window a bit, it was the familiar New York Skyline with a few variations I was new to but the same in regards to architecture. The taxis were basically the same too. `` So that's a strange accent you have it sounds New Zealand.'' I commented nervously. `` I do n't know what a Noo Zeel und is, but I got my accent from Jamaica.'' the suit said clearly looking as if he wanted this to be over as soon as possible. `` So is it true that you guys have monarchies still? That might have been Earth 18 but I swear reading an article where you guys still have royalty... I mean we do too but their popularity is almost null.'' I said not being able to help myself from him not wanting me to talk. `` Yis, that's correct we have eleven moarchies within our continents borders. The crime for which your alternate is accused took place in the largest, it will be getting multi dimensional coverage. Her we take the Kings of the Amerikas very seriously.'' the man seemed pleased at saying this. `` Oh so did, so did I like kill someone... or well the other me kill someone important?'' I wanted to wait before asking but the suspense was killing me. `` No.'' the man said turning to look me up and down again like I was dangerous and disgusting. `` Well what the fuck did I do man? What could possibly be so bad that an interdimensional jury of mes have to stand trial as peers?'' I asked eagerly. `` You. You created a chimera, which is a serious offense here.'' the suit said putting his phone in his jacket as the taxi pulled up the steps of a municipal building and began getting out. `` A chimera? You mean like two animals fused together? Am I a geneticist here? Did I create some kind of fucked up monstrosity?'' I was excited at the concept of being a renegade scientist who teetered on the fringes. `` Not exactly... you went on a drunken binder and found your way into the sovereign sanctuary and created a sheople.'' this time the man stood looking empathetic at me. `` I still do n't understand, Sir.'' I pleaded hoping he would stop beating around the bush. The man palmed his face, which is never a good sign. `` Jeff, your alternate got drunk and wandered into an animal pen and fucked the King's royal goat, resulting in a goat child.'' He told me as the shame set in. My god, I thought, I can not do this, inter dimensional press coverage, goat babies, penis shaped countries. I threw my hands up in refusal. `` Nope. Nope. NOPE. Uh uh.'' I said storming off in the opposite direction trying to think of how I could get away from this permanently. </s>

[ WP ] A man has been waiting for his daughter . She is late . When she arrives , she is going to kill him .

Riley sits in his padded cell with his back to the door, as he has done every day for the last eleven years. His twin sister, Rachael, visits once a month when she drives up to eat dinner with her dad. “ Hey Ri, it ’ s Rach ”, she says from the other side of the door to his room. “ They tell me you ’ ve had another couple of rough days this week. ” “ Rach? ” Riley says with his back to the door, still, unmoving. “ The man in the yellow sweater has been yelling at me again. He makes me crazy—I can ’ t stand it. Can you make him go away? ” Rachael knows the man in the yellow sweater. It ’ s their father. She remembers the day the cancer took their mother, and her brother ’ s schizophrenia took over. Her father broke the news to them and he was wearing a yellow sweater. Later that night, Riley came after him with a knife, screaming that the man in the yellow sweater killed his mother. “ I ’ m going to visit dad tonight and meet him for dinner. Should I tell him you said hi? ” Before she knew what was happening, Riley spun around and charged the door, screaming, spit flying out of his mouth and eyes filled with rage. She knew immediately that she shouldn ’ t have mentioned his name. The orderly rushed into the cell and their visit was over. Rachael just wanted them to be a family again. Sometimes that hope made things worse. She stopped by to speak with his psychiatrist before she left. Dr. Rainer was an intelligent and caring man. She always enjoyed speaking with him. “ So Rachael, how have you been? ” He always started the conversation with the same opening. “ I ’ ve been well, Dr. Rainer. ” “ Have you had any more of those terrible shared dreams in the last few months? ” She cringed at the question. “ Yes I have, but I guess that ’ s the problem with a schizophrenic twin brother. ” The bond that twins share continues to elude medical science. It can only be summed up as… mysterious. “ Well, his condition has worsened in the last few weeks Rachael. Your father seems to haunt him regularly. All of the attempted medications and therapies seem to have little to no effect. I fear there is little hope for your brother. ” The tears began to well up in her eyes. He quickly apologized and changed the subject, “ I ’ m sorry I ’ ve upset you. Are you meeting your father for dinner tonight? ” “ Yes, I wouldn ’ t miss it for anything. ” She smiled at the memories they created during their monthly dinners. “ Tell him I said hello. Rachael, if the feelings from the dreams get stronger, please let me know. It ’ s certainly a burden you carry, but you don ’ t have to carry it by yourself. We are here to help. ” “ Thanks Doc, but I think I can manage. ” She gives him a hug as she leave his office. ************ The lights on the interstate seem exceptionally bright this evening. The diner is only a few miles away, but everything seems to get stranger as she gets closer. A yellow haze begins to fill her vision, she hears her phone ringing, and sees Dr. Rainer ’ s name appear on the caller id. She answers and can only make out part of what he is saying. He sounds frantic. “ Rachael, your brother…orderly. You need to come back to the… Rachael can you hear me…? Rachael understood what he was saying, but the haze now turning brighter yellow had consumed her. She let the phone drop into her lap as she continued her drive to the diner. ************ Dave sat in the same booth they always sat in at the diner. He worriedly glanced at his watch again. “ Hey Dave, ” said the waitress. “ Are you waiting on Rachael tonight? ” “ I am and she is running pretty late. That ’ s not like her at all. ” As he said that, he saw her car pull into the diner parking lot. He could see Rachael sitting in the car with a glassy stare in her eyes. “ Looks like she just pulled in. I ’ ll get the usual started for you two. ” “ Thanks, ” said Dave, while never taking his eyes off his daughter. After five minutes passed, Dave decided to walk out to her car. He was worried that she was acting so strangely. ************ Rachael started crying when she pulled into the parking lot. She knew something wasn ’ t right, but didn ’ t seem to be in control. She watched her father in the diner get up from his seat and make his way out to her car. The panic set in full force now, her hand made its way to her glove box wear she kept a handgun for personal safety. “ Rach, honey! Is everything okay? ” He shouted has he walked towards the car. When he reached the car, he saw the gun, tears and a wild look in Rachael ’ s eyes. As she pushed the gun to her dads face, she quietly said to him, “ I always hated the man in the yellow sweater. ” The End.

<s>[INST] A man has been waiting for his daughter . She is late . When she arrives , she is going to kill him . [/INST] Riley sits in his padded cell with his back to the door, as he has done every day for the last eleven years. His twin sister, Rachael, visits once a month when she drives up to eat dinner with her dad. “ Hey Ri, it ’ s Rach ”, she says from the other side of the door to his room. “ They tell me you ’ ve had another couple of rough days this week. ” “ Rach? ” Riley says with his back to the door, still, unmoving. “ The man in the yellow sweater has been yelling at me again. He makes me crazy—I can ’ t stand it. Can you make him go away? ” Rachael knows the man in the yellow sweater. It ’ s their father. She remembers the day the cancer took their mother, and her brother ’ s schizophrenia took over. Her father broke the news to them and he was wearing a yellow sweater. Later that night, Riley came after him with a knife, screaming that the man in the yellow sweater killed his mother. “ I ’ m going to visit dad tonight and meet him for dinner. Should I tell him you said hi? ” Before she knew what was happening, Riley spun around and charged the door, screaming, spit flying out of his mouth and eyes filled with rage. She knew immediately that she shouldn ’ t have mentioned his name. The orderly rushed into the cell and their visit was over. Rachael just wanted them to be a family again. Sometimes that hope made things worse. She stopped by to speak with his psychiatrist before she left. Dr. Rainer was an intelligent and caring man. She always enjoyed speaking with him. “ So Rachael, how have you been? ” He always started the conversation with the same opening. “ I ’ ve been well, Dr. Rainer. ” “ Have you had any more of those terrible shared dreams in the last few months? ” She cringed at the question. “ Yes I have, but I guess that ’ s the problem with a schizophrenic twin brother. ” The bond that twins share continues to elude medical science. It can only be summed up as… mysterious. “ Well, his condition has worsened in the last few weeks Rachael. Your father seems to haunt him regularly. All of the attempted medications and therapies seem to have little to no effect. I fear there is little hope for your brother. ” The tears began to well up in her eyes. He quickly apologized and changed the subject, “ I ’ m sorry I ’ ve upset you. Are you meeting your father for dinner tonight? ” “ Yes, I wouldn ’ t miss it for anything. ” She smiled at the memories they created during their monthly dinners. “ Tell him I said hello. Rachael, if the feelings from the dreams get stronger, please let me know. It ’ s certainly a burden you carry, but you don ’ t have to carry it by yourself. We are here to help. ” “ Thanks Doc, but I think I can manage. ” She gives him a hug as she leave his office. ************ The lights on the interstate seem exceptionally bright this evening. The diner is only a few miles away, but everything seems to get stranger as she gets closer. A yellow haze begins to fill her vision, she hears her phone ringing, and sees Dr. Rainer ’ s name appear on the caller id. She answers and can only make out part of what he is saying. He sounds frantic. “ Rachael, your brother…orderly. You need to come back to the… Rachael can you hear me…? Rachael understood what he was saying, but the haze now turning brighter yellow had consumed her. She let the phone drop into her lap as she continued her drive to the diner. ************ Dave sat in the same booth they always sat in at the diner. He worriedly glanced at his watch again. “ Hey Dave, ” said the waitress. “ Are you waiting on Rachael tonight? ” “ I am and she is running pretty late. That ’ s not like her at all. ” As he said that, he saw her car pull into the diner parking lot. He could see Rachael sitting in the car with a glassy stare in her eyes. “ Looks like she just pulled in. I ’ ll get the usual started for you two. ” “ Thanks, ” said Dave, while never taking his eyes off his daughter. After five minutes passed, Dave decided to walk out to her car. He was worried that she was acting so strangely. ************ Rachael started crying when she pulled into the parking lot. She knew something wasn ’ t right, but didn ’ t seem to be in control. She watched her father in the diner get up from his seat and make his way out to her car. The panic set in full force now, her hand made its way to her glove box wear she kept a handgun for personal safety. “ Rach, honey! Is everything okay? ” He shouted has he walked towards the car. When he reached the car, he saw the gun, tears and a wild look in Rachael ’ s eyes. As she pushed the gun to her dads face, she quietly said to him, “ I always hated the man in the yellow sweater. ” The End. </s>

[ EU ] Before Bruce Wayne 's death , he created an artificial intelligence in a robotic Bat-Suit to protect Gotham in his absence . Eighty years later , the AI has turned against Gotham . A team of gifted teenagers take on the robot while branding the costumes and themes of Batman 's former enemies .

It started when I was 8. I had been staying over at my Aunt and Uncle's house, enjoying myself, while my parents were having a date night. Marijuana had just been legalized in Gotham. The bastard bat-thing, which our law enforcement had been as incapable of stopping as the original, used an old comprehension engine called `` Watson'' in order to parse and understand the laws it was supposed to be keeping in place. The engine was slow, and prone to bugs. It just so happened that it had yet to keep up with the new law on marijuana. When the bat thing had started out, it had been explicitly programmed not to kill. No breaking bones, no crushing skulls, no piercing chests - just wrap up the criminals and leave them hanging for the police. This had worked for years, but the problem was, it was also programmed to try to minimize recidivism rates - that is, try to make sure that people it caught the first time did not commit crimes again. This became a problem when, one time, it caught a repeat criminal for the umpteenth time, and, due to awkward positioning, accidentally happened to hang him by his throat instead of his legs. The bot was unaware it had killed him, but it noticed over the coming months that he no longer showed up committing crimes. So, it repeated throwing its batarangs at that same awkward angle, and began hanging people by their throats. Recidivism rates had never been better. So, the day after my parent's date night, I was riding passenger seat in my Aunt's car and staring down at my game boy. As we pulled up to my house, my Aunt turned off the car, then uttered a strangled gasp. I looked up at my house, but before I could see anything, my aunt grabbed my face and hugged it to her chest, shouting `` no, don't-!'' The pain and fear in her voice terrified me. She had to loosen her grip on me for just a moment to start the car, and I took the chance to wrestle out of her grip and look at my front porch. My parents hung there, swaying gently in the breeze. From that night on, I became obsessed with the bat-thing, and as I learned more, with artificial intelligence. I needed to *know* what the bat-thing was doing, needed to get inside its head. My family had been wealthy, and so as it became apparent that I was doing far better in school than my peers, skipping grades consistently, the money my parents left me was used to hire tutors to get me even further along more quickly. The constant learning was a numbing agent; while I was learning, I did n't have to be thinking about what had happened. In the mean time, my Uncle and Aunt found other children who had had similar experiences. At first, I had been loath to talk to them - I could just be learning more, understanding more, I did n't want to sit around in a puddle of sobbing kids and feel miserable about myself. But, my Uncle and Aunt pointed out that these kids were displaying similar habits to myself, quickly climbing through school, with a laser focus on artificial intelligence. My Aunt and Uncle decided to bring the kids into my tutor sessions, and we became a class of our own, three kids hell-bent on understanding the monster that hung petty criminals in our streets. In the mean time, the police department could do nothing. The old bat bastard, worried that any key given to the police that would turn off the bat-thing could be figured out by criminals - or a corrupt police department - had given them the same options as the criminals: either destroy it, or do n't make it angry. They had, at one point, lured the bat-thing into a warehouse on the docs, and imploded the warehouse on top of it; but it survived, and repaired itself back at the old bastard's mansion, which was so booby-trapped no one could go near it, including the police, for the same paranoid reasons as why they could n't turn it off. An EMP had also been tried, hoping to fry the electrical component of the bat-thing, but the important logic in it had been protected by layers of armor and a Faraday cage, making it near-impossible to fry. Now, I am 19, and a graduate student in computer science. My tiny class has excelled to the same heights, and we discovered something we think can kill it. By using the only link the bastard's compound had to the outside world - the Watson computer's connection to the law database - we found a bug that allowed us to send it a broken law file and make it execute the file as code. The old bastard Wayne had been smart, and made sure Watson was cordoned off from the bat-thing, so we could n't turn it off from there. But, we did get access to something incredibly powerful - the training simulations the old bastard had used, over and over again, to teach the bat-thing how to fight crime. During our studies in artificial intelligence, we had learned about a concept called `` over-training.'' Basically, with certain learning programs, if you give it an input - say, a picture - and tell it what to do when it sees that input a couple of times, it'll pick up general details of that picture, such as the overall color, some shapes, etc., and then perform its action whenever it sees a similar picture that matches those patterns it learned. This is good for, say, when you're trying to train a computer program to recognize a train platform in pictures, so that an automated train can stop whenever it sees a platform. The problem is, if you show the program the *same exact picture* too many times, it picks up on unimportant details too, and starts relying on them. So, a crack in the wall in your training picture could become something that triggers the `` stop'' action on the train, making it stop randomly throughout the tunnels; or, the type of clocks used on platforms get switched out, and the train happened to be using them as the way to recognize platforms, meaning it *doesn't* stop, and rams into the back of the train ahead of it. ( continued in response comment )

<s>[INST] [ EU ] Before Bruce Wayne 's death , he created an artificial intelligence in a robotic Bat-Suit to protect Gotham in his absence . Eighty years later , the AI has turned against Gotham . A team of gifted teenagers take on the robot while branding the costumes and themes of Batman 's former enemies . [/INST] It started when I was 8. I had been staying over at my Aunt and Uncle's house, enjoying myself, while my parents were having a date night. Marijuana had just been legalized in Gotham. The bastard bat-thing, which our law enforcement had been as incapable of stopping as the original, used an old comprehension engine called `` Watson'' in order to parse and understand the laws it was supposed to be keeping in place. The engine was slow, and prone to bugs. It just so happened that it had yet to keep up with the new law on marijuana. When the bat thing had started out, it had been explicitly programmed not to kill. No breaking bones, no crushing skulls, no piercing chests - just wrap up the criminals and leave them hanging for the police. This had worked for years, but the problem was, it was also programmed to try to minimize recidivism rates - that is, try to make sure that people it caught the first time did not commit crimes again. This became a problem when, one time, it caught a repeat criminal for the umpteenth time, and, due to awkward positioning, accidentally happened to hang him by his throat instead of his legs. The bot was unaware it had killed him, but it noticed over the coming months that he no longer showed up committing crimes. So, it repeated throwing its batarangs at that same awkward angle, and began hanging people by their throats. Recidivism rates had never been better. So, the day after my parent's date night, I was riding passenger seat in my Aunt's car and staring down at my game boy. As we pulled up to my house, my Aunt turned off the car, then uttered a strangled gasp. I looked up at my house, but before I could see anything, my aunt grabbed my face and hugged it to her chest, shouting `` no, don't-!'' The pain and fear in her voice terrified me. She had to loosen her grip on me for just a moment to start the car, and I took the chance to wrestle out of her grip and look at my front porch. My parents hung there, swaying gently in the breeze. From that night on, I became obsessed with the bat-thing, and as I learned more, with artificial intelligence. I needed to *know* what the bat-thing was doing, needed to get inside its head. My family had been wealthy, and so as it became apparent that I was doing far better in school than my peers, skipping grades consistently, the money my parents left me was used to hire tutors to get me even further along more quickly. The constant learning was a numbing agent; while I was learning, I did n't have to be thinking about what had happened. In the mean time, my Uncle and Aunt found other children who had had similar experiences. At first, I had been loath to talk to them - I could just be learning more, understanding more, I did n't want to sit around in a puddle of sobbing kids and feel miserable about myself. But, my Uncle and Aunt pointed out that these kids were displaying similar habits to myself, quickly climbing through school, with a laser focus on artificial intelligence. My Aunt and Uncle decided to bring the kids into my tutor sessions, and we became a class of our own, three kids hell-bent on understanding the monster that hung petty criminals in our streets. In the mean time, the police department could do nothing. The old bat bastard, worried that any key given to the police that would turn off the bat-thing could be figured out by criminals - or a corrupt police department - had given them the same options as the criminals: either destroy it, or do n't make it angry. They had, at one point, lured the bat-thing into a warehouse on the docs, and imploded the warehouse on top of it; but it survived, and repaired itself back at the old bastard's mansion, which was so booby-trapped no one could go near it, including the police, for the same paranoid reasons as why they could n't turn it off. An EMP had also been tried, hoping to fry the electrical component of the bat-thing, but the important logic in it had been protected by layers of armor and a Faraday cage, making it near-impossible to fry. Now, I am 19, and a graduate student in computer science. My tiny class has excelled to the same heights, and we discovered something we think can kill it. By using the only link the bastard's compound had to the outside world - the Watson computer's connection to the law database - we found a bug that allowed us to send it a broken law file and make it execute the file as code. The old bastard Wayne had been smart, and made sure Watson was cordoned off from the bat-thing, so we could n't turn it off from there. But, we did get access to something incredibly powerful - the training simulations the old bastard had used, over and over again, to teach the bat-thing how to fight crime. During our studies in artificial intelligence, we had learned about a concept called `` over-training.'' Basically, with certain learning programs, if you give it an input - say, a picture - and tell it what to do when it sees that input a couple of times, it'll pick up general details of that picture, such as the overall color, some shapes, etc., and then perform its action whenever it sees a similar picture that matches those patterns it learned. This is good for, say, when you're trying to train a computer program to recognize a train platform in pictures, so that an automated train can stop whenever it sees a platform. The problem is, if you show the program the *same exact picture* too many times, it picks up on unimportant details too, and starts relying on them. So, a crack in the wall in your training picture could become something that triggers the `` stop'' action on the train, making it stop randomly throughout the tunnels; or, the type of clocks used on platforms get switched out, and the train happened to be using them as the way to recognize platforms, meaning it *doesn't* stop, and rams into the back of the train ahead of it. ( continued in response comment ) </s>

[ WP ] describe your escape

The dew laden blades of grass glisten in the light of a new born day as the sun breaks over the horizon once again and illuminates the world. Birds can be heard chirping and frolicking through the dense evergreen forest that lines the still lake. A doe and fawn can be seen slowly picking through the underbrush, stopping occasionally to munch on a berry here and there. I wake from my slumber as the light and warmth of the sun reaches my face. I stretch and yawn wincing as the brisk air fills my lungs for the first time in this cycle of wakefulness. I blink the sleep from my eyes, hesitating to move for fear of disturbing the perfect silence that nature has created.

<s>[INST] describe your escape [/INST] The dew laden blades of grass glisten in the light of a new born day as the sun breaks over the horizon once again and illuminates the world. Birds can be heard chirping and frolicking through the dense evergreen forest that lines the still lake. A doe and fawn can be seen slowly picking through the underbrush, stopping occasionally to munch on a berry here and there. I wake from my slumber as the light and warmth of the sun reaches my face. I stretch and yawn wincing as the brisk air fills my lungs for the first time in this cycle of wakefulness. I blink the sleep from my eyes, hesitating to move for fear of disturbing the perfect silence that nature has created. </s>

Writing Prompt : Write from an antagonist 's point of view

I sit here in my leather desk chair, staring out my enormous window from my pitch black office. I can see the entire city from this spot. I can see the fires rising from the chaos that I have created. Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating shadows of people ravaging the streets below, believing they are all gods. Wait until they find out that they must listen to every command that I issue. For now, I will let them battle it out down there. I could care less if the weak survive, anyways. Regardless of who survives, everyone has gone mad, and it is all thanks to me. Finally, I have brought hell to Earth, and soon Lucifer will be here to take me by his side, for the atrocities that I have committed, and with my true father, I will rule the world with an iron fist. Neither The Crimson Crusader nor the local police had knowledge that just twelve hours ago my henchmen, dressed as delivery drivers for a new local gas company, began to pump every station's supply throughout the city with a vapor that I had created in my lab downstairs. Within hours, over a quarter of the cars in the city were filled with it, and we needed only to wait for those people to make their drives back home. Soon, everyone in the city would be afflicted by it's powerful toxins, and that time has now come. Also, anyone that had left town with a gas tank full of our vapor would bring the same chaos to Hazelton's nearest neighbors. I would check the news to see what's happening in the cities around us, but it appears as though there is n't a working power source within ten miles of here. There is movement behind me. Now I've got a shit-eating grin pasted onto my face. I turn around to meet my father, to have him take me home. I can hardly see anything in my office, but suddenly another flash of lightning lights up my surroundings, for less than a second. There is something on the floor, and I walk over slowly to get a better look at it. It is a sign of some kind; three vertical lines, and one horizontal. I realize that there is pitchfork in front of me, burned into the carpet. `` You have come for me father! I am unworthy of your love, but will accept it. I will take myself under your wing, and together we shall - `` Suddenly, I take a shot to the face. I open my eyes after I hit my head on the ground, hard. It felt like a bag of bricks had just hit my face. I could smell blood coming from my nose. A sacrifice for my father. I begin to look up, but after hearing a voice, I lower my head again in a bow, to show respect. `` Damien Chulthon... To believe that anyone could love you after the crimes that you have committed is obnoxiously obsurd. And now you will pay for those crimes.'' `` But father, can I not come to be by your side, and together, we can reign over these lands?'' `` I am not your father, I'm your worst fucking nightmare.'' I am startled, and I look up. There, in front of me, is The Crimson Crusader's ugly mask, staring back at me, and I hardly am able to blink before he lands another blow to my face. His boots were extremely hard, steel-toed, that's for sure. My jaw is now numb, and I'm angry at myself for not realizing sooner the mistake I had made. But, how did The Crimson Crusader escape from the grasp of the vapors? `` How did you escape from the grasp of my vapors?'' `` As soon as I had heard the first reports today of people running around screaming that the apocalypse was upon us, and the only way to survive was to stay out of their way, I knew that the most evil and brilliant scientist in the city must have been to blame.'' He exclaimed. That smile comes across my face again. `` Unfortunately, I spent the entire day searching for Natasha Locke, only to find out that she is out of town on vacation. Either way, I knew something was up, and my mask successfully prevented any of your vapors from entering into my system.'' Suddenly, my smile dissipates. Now, I'm really angry. I throw a fist, and The Crimson Crusader grabs it... I never was much of a fighter. I take another hit to the chest, this one slamming me against the nearest wall. `` Please, stop! There is a cure! It is downstairs in my laboratory! My access card is on my desk!'' `` That does n't matter now. I will get that cure out, but I've got something to finish right here, right now.'' Another blow with those rock-like boots, this one square between my legs. I fall to the ground, and lay there crying. `` You really fucked up this time.'' The Crimson Crusader said, `` and there will be no more second chances for you.'' He grabs me by my jacket, and lifts me up. I scream out for mercy, but no one hears. He throws me into the window, and it cracks. One more time he grabs me, and I beg him to stop. `` Better luck in hell Damien.'' He said, before launching me one more time into the window. This time it broke, and I flew out, with nothing to break my fall but the street below.

<s>[INST] Writing Prompt : Write from an antagonist 's point of view [/INST] I sit here in my leather desk chair, staring out my enormous window from my pitch black office. I can see the entire city from this spot. I can see the fires rising from the chaos that I have created. Lightning streaks across the sky, illuminating shadows of people ravaging the streets below, believing they are all gods. Wait until they find out that they must listen to every command that I issue. For now, I will let them battle it out down there. I could care less if the weak survive, anyways. Regardless of who survives, everyone has gone mad, and it is all thanks to me. Finally, I have brought hell to Earth, and soon Lucifer will be here to take me by his side, for the atrocities that I have committed, and with my true father, I will rule the world with an iron fist. Neither The Crimson Crusader nor the local police had knowledge that just twelve hours ago my henchmen, dressed as delivery drivers for a new local gas company, began to pump every station's supply throughout the city with a vapor that I had created in my lab downstairs. Within hours, over a quarter of the cars in the city were filled with it, and we needed only to wait for those people to make their drives back home. Soon, everyone in the city would be afflicted by it's powerful toxins, and that time has now come. Also, anyone that had left town with a gas tank full of our vapor would bring the same chaos to Hazelton's nearest neighbors. I would check the news to see what's happening in the cities around us, but it appears as though there is n't a working power source within ten miles of here. There is movement behind me. Now I've got a shit-eating grin pasted onto my face. I turn around to meet my father, to have him take me home. I can hardly see anything in my office, but suddenly another flash of lightning lights up my surroundings, for less than a second. There is something on the floor, and I walk over slowly to get a better look at it. It is a sign of some kind; three vertical lines, and one horizontal. I realize that there is pitchfork in front of me, burned into the carpet. `` You have come for me father! I am unworthy of your love, but will accept it. I will take myself under your wing, and together we shall - `` Suddenly, I take a shot to the face. I open my eyes after I hit my head on the ground, hard. It felt like a bag of bricks had just hit my face. I could smell blood coming from my nose. A sacrifice for my father. I begin to look up, but after hearing a voice, I lower my head again in a bow, to show respect. `` Damien Chulthon... To believe that anyone could love you after the crimes that you have committed is obnoxiously obsurd. And now you will pay for those crimes.'' `` But father, can I not come to be by your side, and together, we can reign over these lands?'' `` I am not your father, I'm your worst fucking nightmare.'' I am startled, and I look up. There, in front of me, is The Crimson Crusader's ugly mask, staring back at me, and I hardly am able to blink before he lands another blow to my face. His boots were extremely hard, steel-toed, that's for sure. My jaw is now numb, and I'm angry at myself for not realizing sooner the mistake I had made. But, how did The Crimson Crusader escape from the grasp of the vapors? `` How did you escape from the grasp of my vapors?'' `` As soon as I had heard the first reports today of people running around screaming that the apocalypse was upon us, and the only way to survive was to stay out of their way, I knew that the most evil and brilliant scientist in the city must have been to blame.'' He exclaimed. That smile comes across my face again. `` Unfortunately, I spent the entire day searching for Natasha Locke, only to find out that she is out of town on vacation. Either way, I knew something was up, and my mask successfully prevented any of your vapors from entering into my system.'' Suddenly, my smile dissipates. Now, I'm really angry. I throw a fist, and The Crimson Crusader grabs it... I never was much of a fighter. I take another hit to the chest, this one slamming me against the nearest wall. `` Please, stop! There is a cure! It is downstairs in my laboratory! My access card is on my desk!'' `` That does n't matter now. I will get that cure out, but I've got something to finish right here, right now.'' Another blow with those rock-like boots, this one square between my legs. I fall to the ground, and lay there crying. `` You really fucked up this time.'' The Crimson Crusader said, `` and there will be no more second chances for you.'' He grabs me by my jacket, and lifts me up. I scream out for mercy, but no one hears. He throws me into the window, and it cracks. One more time he grabs me, and I beg him to stop. `` Better luck in hell Damien.'' He said, before launching me one more time into the window. This time it broke, and I flew out, with nothing to break my fall but the street below. </s>

[ WP ] PVP has been turned off for years . Everyone now knows , that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm . You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm ...

**So I completely misunderstood the prompt, but still did n't want this to go to waste. ** `` Morning doc.'' Doctor Jennings looks up from my file as he steps into the room, `` Morning Will.'' He flashes that'too' white smile at me. He looks over my file again, sitting in his little black stool, `` Here for a booster?'' I nod and roll up my sleeve as he fumbles around his cabinets, pulling out a small pre-filled and sealed syringe. `` Okay, you know the drill,'' he says holding the syringe. With a quick swipe across my wrist, a digital user interface appears before my eyes. My personal data scrolls by on virtual displays as I look at the doctor and register a duel. I give a small chuckle. Back in the olden days a duel was a fight to the death, now it was the only means of disabling the world wide PVP system between two people. If we did n't the second that needle touched my skin, it'd bend like a reed. The word'Accepted' flashes in my vision as the Doctor accepts the duel, `` Alrighty then.'' Jennings step over with the syringe and a individual alcohol swab, but somethings wrong. He's sweating in this cold office. His lip twitches. His left hand is behind his back. Oh God! With a quick motion, I kick the doctor in the chest and he stumbled back into the cabinets. From behind his back his hand swings out revealing an revolver. He points it at me as I roll off the examining table. A loud bang rips though the room. I look up and see the doctor reeling from the blast. He's not used to the recoil of the weapon and was n't expecting the loud bang in such a small room. On my feet again, I rush the good doctor. He raises the gun at me, but he struggles with it a bit, giving me enough time to close the gap. With a thud, my fist finds his gut and knocks the wind out of him. His arm goes wide and another round rips through the office. Ears ringing, I reach for his hand and rip the gun from his grip. Jennings crumples down onto the floor. Outside I can hear women screaming and people yelling, no doubt one of the nurses will be calling the police. I turn my attention back to the doctor curled up in front of me. Raising the gun to his face, `` Who paid you to kill me?'' Jennings mutterers something incoherent, I smash the grip of the revolver into those too-white teeth, `` Give me a name!'' He sputters saliva, blood and bits of teeth, `` I surren...'' Before he can finish I point the barrel at his head and pull the trigger painting the wall with his brains. Could n't let him surrender and reactivate the PVP system. Yeah I wo n't get anymore answers from him, but I could n't let him get away. I rummage through his pockets looking for any clues to who hired him. As I go through his pockets, a virtual display pops up showing the doctors contact information from my digital Rolodex. A red stamp appears over his contact information, `` Disconnected.'' I blink and close the display, no need to be reminded. Everyone who had the good Doc in their contacts would be notified. Removing his wallet, I go though business cards and photos. With a blink, they're added to my digital gallery. I swipe his debit cards and credit cards across my wrist, giving them a scan. I'm sure the doctor has a bank account who's balance will go to his next of kin, but anything on his person is fair game. I can hear cops outside. I open the office door and yell for them. In a second, the room is swarming with heavily armed police and swat.

<s>[INST] PVP has been turned off for years . Everyone now knows , that no blade can pierce the skin with the INTENT to kill or harm . You are at the doctor getting a shot when the needle bends upon touching your upper arm ... [/INST] **So I completely misunderstood the prompt, but still did n't want this to go to waste. ** `` Morning doc.'' Doctor Jennings looks up from my file as he steps into the room, `` Morning Will.'' He flashes that'too' white smile at me. He looks over my file again, sitting in his little black stool, `` Here for a booster?'' I nod and roll up my sleeve as he fumbles around his cabinets, pulling out a small pre-filled and sealed syringe. `` Okay, you know the drill,'' he says holding the syringe. With a quick swipe across my wrist, a digital user interface appears before my eyes. My personal data scrolls by on virtual displays as I look at the doctor and register a duel. I give a small chuckle. Back in the olden days a duel was a fight to the death, now it was the only means of disabling the world wide PVP system between two people. If we did n't the second that needle touched my skin, it'd bend like a reed. The word'Accepted' flashes in my vision as the Doctor accepts the duel, `` Alrighty then.'' Jennings step over with the syringe and a individual alcohol swab, but somethings wrong. He's sweating in this cold office. His lip twitches. His left hand is behind his back. Oh God! With a quick motion, I kick the doctor in the chest and he stumbled back into the cabinets. From behind his back his hand swings out revealing an revolver. He points it at me as I roll off the examining table. A loud bang rips though the room. I look up and see the doctor reeling from the blast. He's not used to the recoil of the weapon and was n't expecting the loud bang in such a small room. On my feet again, I rush the good doctor. He raises the gun at me, but he struggles with it a bit, giving me enough time to close the gap. With a thud, my fist finds his gut and knocks the wind out of him. His arm goes wide and another round rips through the office. Ears ringing, I reach for his hand and rip the gun from his grip. Jennings crumples down onto the floor. Outside I can hear women screaming and people yelling, no doubt one of the nurses will be calling the police. I turn my attention back to the doctor curled up in front of me. Raising the gun to his face, `` Who paid you to kill me?'' Jennings mutterers something incoherent, I smash the grip of the revolver into those too-white teeth, `` Give me a name!'' He sputters saliva, blood and bits of teeth, `` I surren...'' Before he can finish I point the barrel at his head and pull the trigger painting the wall with his brains. Could n't let him surrender and reactivate the PVP system. Yeah I wo n't get anymore answers from him, but I could n't let him get away. I rummage through his pockets looking for any clues to who hired him. As I go through his pockets, a virtual display pops up showing the doctors contact information from my digital Rolodex. A red stamp appears over his contact information, `` Disconnected.'' I blink and close the display, no need to be reminded. Everyone who had the good Doc in their contacts would be notified. Removing his wallet, I go though business cards and photos. With a blink, they're added to my digital gallery. I swipe his debit cards and credit cards across my wrist, giving them a scan. I'm sure the doctor has a bank account who's balance will go to his next of kin, but anything on his person is fair game. I can hear cops outside. I open the office door and yell for them. In a second, the room is swarming with heavily armed police and swat. </s>

[ WP ] Taxes become optional , however , those who do n't pay are not protected under the law .

`` Every bloody year, it's the same crap. Every year!'' I thew my pen across the table. An effective demonstration of my frustration, clearly. Ever since that amendment to the constitution narrowly passed it's been the same thing every year: someone comes around, asks if you want to pay taxes or not, and then either collects the sum or leaves your home empty handed. Honestly, it's extortion either way. You either pay the government a flat rate of 49 % of your income, or you wind up paying roughly the same amount for the various `` Civil Protection Services'' and `` Neighbourhood Alliance'' groups. Some would argue it's the price of safety, but I disagree. I remember when you could walk down the street without having to have your TP badge - a badge you wear around your neck denoting that you are `` tax-protected'' - to every onlooker and police officer that passed by. And the police! Do n't get me started on that. Watching them stand around and do nothing while someone gets mugged, or beaten, or raped. It's as if the humanity has been stripped from us and we're left with a badge to remind us of our worth... or lack of. The taxation agent looked at me from across the table. Having retrieved my pen, she seemed unimpressed with my reaction or my lack of response to her question. `` Right,'' she began dismissively, `` what's it going to be this year? Taxes, yea?'' I thumbed my badge with my left hand, feeling its slight but noticeable weight shift. This badge polarizes people. A system that was already class-conscious and divided became even more so when these bloody things were introduced. So, what was it going to be? Would I sign a writ of acknowledgement of taxation debt, pay my taxes now, and live another year under the protections afforded to me by the government? Or, would I finally grow a backbone and tell her to piss off? I guess the answer would depend entirely on whether or not I was prepared to change my status quo. `` Give me the paper.'' I demanded, clearly showing my continued aggravation. The agent did as she was asked, sliding over a document with no less than six carbon copies. `` Sign here, and sign here to acknowledge the direct debit from your bank account, and please date the day, within three business days, that we can withdraw the money.'' That's when it clicked. A realization. Maybe this is the moment I would finally grow a spine and tell the government to pound sand. Maybe this would be the day that I stood on my own two feet, without the governments `` protection'' and `` laws''. She looked at me impatiently. I was wasting her time. I looked her in the eye, confidently. Knots formed in my stomach, and I could tell that my anxiety was building. `` You know what I'm going to do, Ms. Agent?'' She tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. Her right arm moved slightly, though I was n't able to see what her hand was doing since the table was obstructing my view. I could only assume she was reaching for her sidearm. I signed the paper twice, dated it for tomorrow. She reached across the table and snapped them up, left my copies, and left without saying another word. I wish I was n't so spineless. I wish even more that I did n't have the same bloody struggle every time she showed up. But, even more than that, I wish I had noticed she did n't even bring her sidearm this year. *sigh*. EDIT: Feedback and constructive criticism appreciated: )

<s>[INST] Taxes become optional , however , those who do n't pay are not protected under the law . [/INST] `` Every bloody year, it's the same crap. Every year!'' I thew my pen across the table. An effective demonstration of my frustration, clearly. Ever since that amendment to the constitution narrowly passed it's been the same thing every year: someone comes around, asks if you want to pay taxes or not, and then either collects the sum or leaves your home empty handed. Honestly, it's extortion either way. You either pay the government a flat rate of 49 % of your income, or you wind up paying roughly the same amount for the various `` Civil Protection Services'' and `` Neighbourhood Alliance'' groups. Some would argue it's the price of safety, but I disagree. I remember when you could walk down the street without having to have your TP badge - a badge you wear around your neck denoting that you are `` tax-protected'' - to every onlooker and police officer that passed by. And the police! Do n't get me started on that. Watching them stand around and do nothing while someone gets mugged, or beaten, or raped. It's as if the humanity has been stripped from us and we're left with a badge to remind us of our worth... or lack of. The taxation agent looked at me from across the table. Having retrieved my pen, she seemed unimpressed with my reaction or my lack of response to her question. `` Right,'' she began dismissively, `` what's it going to be this year? Taxes, yea?'' I thumbed my badge with my left hand, feeling its slight but noticeable weight shift. This badge polarizes people. A system that was already class-conscious and divided became even more so when these bloody things were introduced. So, what was it going to be? Would I sign a writ of acknowledgement of taxation debt, pay my taxes now, and live another year under the protections afforded to me by the government? Or, would I finally grow a backbone and tell her to piss off? I guess the answer would depend entirely on whether or not I was prepared to change my status quo. `` Give me the paper.'' I demanded, clearly showing my continued aggravation. The agent did as she was asked, sliding over a document with no less than six carbon copies. `` Sign here, and sign here to acknowledge the direct debit from your bank account, and please date the day, within three business days, that we can withdraw the money.'' That's when it clicked. A realization. Maybe this is the moment I would finally grow a spine and tell the government to pound sand. Maybe this would be the day that I stood on my own two feet, without the governments `` protection'' and `` laws''. She looked at me impatiently. I was wasting her time. I looked her in the eye, confidently. Knots formed in my stomach, and I could tell that my anxiety was building. `` You know what I'm going to do, Ms. Agent?'' She tilted her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. Her right arm moved slightly, though I was n't able to see what her hand was doing since the table was obstructing my view. I could only assume she was reaching for her sidearm. I signed the paper twice, dated it for tomorrow. She reached across the table and snapped them up, left my copies, and left without saying another word. I wish I was n't so spineless. I wish even more that I did n't have the same bloody struggle every time she showed up. But, even more than that, I wish I had noticed she did n't even bring her sidearm this year. *sigh*. EDIT: Feedback and constructive criticism appreciated: ) </s>

[ Wp ] It is the duty or every intelligent species in the galaxy to guide another species to the galactic stage . The `` Elevation Committee '' is now hearing bids on who and how to `` elevate '' the humans of Earth .

`` The final prospect in need of a Guiding Species today,'' the Chairman of the Elevation Committee took a deep breath before continuing, `` is Humanity.'' Chaos ensued. `` Are you *kidding* me?!'' `` They do not deserve the opportunity!'' `` Humans would usher in a new dark age for the galaxy!'' Civility had been completely thrown to the wayside. The Chairman knew this would be the reaction from the representative species, but rules were rules and every sentient species of the required technological advancement were to be given the chance. Still, he had saved Humanity as the final prospect for the day on purpose. `` Please, please calm down. I understand all of your objections, I may even agree with most of them, but you are all familiar with how we operate.'' The angered voices quickly went quiet to hear the Chairman's voice of reason. `` If no Guiding Species steps forward to lead a new prospect, they will be left to themselves. Isolated from the galaxy under punishment of law. They could go extinct before they ever become a Type II civilization.'' Other than a few scattered whispers and shuffling chairs, the hall was silent. Not a single species was willing to guide Humanity into their next golden age. `` Well, then. A vote is required before the decision is made final. If there is any representative species who would like to challenge the decision, your chance to step forward to guide the prospect species is now.'' The Chairman reached for his gavel. Not a sound in the room; the species was doomed. `` By order of the Elevation Committee,'' he raised his gavel into the air, `` contact with Humanity is forbiden and they shall be isola-'' `` We will guide them.'' A bipedal being stood from his chair, pulling back the hood of his robes to show his face. `` It is time for the Centauri to guide a new prospect, we have waited long enough.'' All of the many eyes from the many different beings in the hall were glued to the robed Centauri monk. `` You are willing to volunteer your people as the Guiding Species for Humanity? You are aware of their... violent nature, yes?'' The Chairman continued to hold his gavel in the air. `` We are. The Centauri have waited a very long time for the right prospect for us to guide.'' The monk walked towards the council's seats in the front of the hall. `` The Humans are violent. They hurt and kill one another seemingly without end. They destroy their world and the non-sentient beings that inhabit it with them. They are corrupt. They also have potential for greatness - just like all of our species did - and my people have a gift suited, I think, just for them.'' `` Ah, I think I understand,'' the Chairman smiled. `` Your empathy.'' `` Yes. The Centauri are born with complete and absolute empathy. We can not harm another being without feeling it's pain. Even being near another creature allows us to feel as it feels. We can pass this gift on to Humanity, for better or for worse. The Humans will ascend or they will be consumed by the suffering they cause.'' And the gavel crashed downwards.

<s>[INST] [ Wp ] It is the duty or every intelligent species in the galaxy to guide another species to the galactic stage . The `` Elevation Committee '' is now hearing bids on who and how to `` elevate '' the humans of Earth . [/INST] `` The final prospect in need of a Guiding Species today,'' the Chairman of the Elevation Committee took a deep breath before continuing, `` is Humanity.'' Chaos ensued. `` Are you *kidding* me?!'' `` They do not deserve the opportunity!'' `` Humans would usher in a new dark age for the galaxy!'' Civility had been completely thrown to the wayside. The Chairman knew this would be the reaction from the representative species, but rules were rules and every sentient species of the required technological advancement were to be given the chance. Still, he had saved Humanity as the final prospect for the day on purpose. `` Please, please calm down. I understand all of your objections, I may even agree with most of them, but you are all familiar with how we operate.'' The angered voices quickly went quiet to hear the Chairman's voice of reason. `` If no Guiding Species steps forward to lead a new prospect, they will be left to themselves. Isolated from the galaxy under punishment of law. They could go extinct before they ever become a Type II civilization.'' Other than a few scattered whispers and shuffling chairs, the hall was silent. Not a single species was willing to guide Humanity into their next golden age. `` Well, then. A vote is required before the decision is made final. If there is any representative species who would like to challenge the decision, your chance to step forward to guide the prospect species is now.'' The Chairman reached for his gavel. Not a sound in the room; the species was doomed. `` By order of the Elevation Committee,'' he raised his gavel into the air, `` contact with Humanity is forbiden and they shall be isola-'' `` We will guide them.'' A bipedal being stood from his chair, pulling back the hood of his robes to show his face. `` It is time for the Centauri to guide a new prospect, we have waited long enough.'' All of the many eyes from the many different beings in the hall were glued to the robed Centauri monk. `` You are willing to volunteer your people as the Guiding Species for Humanity? You are aware of their... violent nature, yes?'' The Chairman continued to hold his gavel in the air. `` We are. The Centauri have waited a very long time for the right prospect for us to guide.'' The monk walked towards the council's seats in the front of the hall. `` The Humans are violent. They hurt and kill one another seemingly without end. They destroy their world and the non-sentient beings that inhabit it with them. They are corrupt. They also have potential for greatness - just like all of our species did - and my people have a gift suited, I think, just for them.'' `` Ah, I think I understand,'' the Chairman smiled. `` Your empathy.'' `` Yes. The Centauri are born with complete and absolute empathy. We can not harm another being without feeling it's pain. Even being near another creature allows us to feel as it feels. We can pass this gift on to Humanity, for better or for worse. The Humans will ascend or they will be consumed by the suffering they cause.'' And the gavel crashed downwards. </s>

[ WP ] A man makes a time machine so he could go back and cheat on his wife with the past version of her , back before she slowly grew bitter because he spent too much time making his time machine .

Her face lit up when he walked into the room, and he stopped dead in his tracks and he could feel the blood drain from his face. He had n't seen that look in... Was it really years? His heart was hammering in his chest and he could only stare at her. The look of gladness in her eyes melted into concern. And she moved forward, pressing a cool hand to his forehead, `` Cal, are you okay?'' she asked. `` You look... Are you sick? You look awful.'' He struggled to speak and to focus on her face, but his vision was blurred. `` Ginny, I - No, I'm fine. I'll see you in a bit,'' he managed. `` Back to the basement?'' she asked. And then he saw it, the seedling of the look he had come to recognize and resent in her eyes. But it was so new, without the bitter edge it took on after months and he saw it clearly - it was sadness. She missed him. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. Calvin closed the distance between them in just three steps. He slid his hands in her hair and cupped the back of her head, pressing his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes - so dark brown. The smell of her hair - that vanilla stuff she used. How long had it been? `` I will be right back,'' he whispered. `` And then we can go out to Poorman's for lunch.'' That faint look of disappointment that had manifested in her gaze was replaced with a warm smile. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and felt tears skip loose when he closed his eyes. This was n't what he expected. When he stepped back from the embrace he felt empty. He descended the basement stairs quickly and saw himself there. A sense of wrongness and dislocation crawled over his skin, but he ignored it and grabbed himself and spun him around. It was like looking into a kindhearted mirror - fewer lines, less red shot through the whites of his eyes, less frost in the hair. `` Recognize me, Cal?'' he said, his voice a rusty growl. `` It works,'' he whispered. His eyes took on a fevered look of excitement. `` I knew it!'' `` Shut up, jackass,'' said Calvin. `` You're going upstairs now. You're going to shower. You are going to take Ginny to Poorman's and talk to her. And hold her hand. And -'' `` Are you insane? You just told - no *proved* to me it works. I ca n't stop now,'' said Cal. Calvin sighed. He could feel the memories forming in his brain. He could see himself bludgeoning himself to death. He could see binding him and trying to pursue Ginny himself. Different outcomes seemed to unfurl in front of his eyes. But each one was surrounded by strange crackling images - like the broken-spectrum aura he would get before a migraine. He knew it would n't work because he needed both of himselves to even be here. Goddamn timetravel. What a fucking waste. `` I'll do it,'' he said. `` You go, and I'll make sure it happens.'' He saw the doubt flicker across his own, younger face. `` You know I will. But please... We ca n't lose her. She does n't understand.'' Uncertainty flickered across Cal's face. `` But Ginny's fine,'' he said. `` She is. She is now. But we do n't know when to stop, do we?'' `` You coming, Cal?'' her voice caused Calvin to close his eyes and he struggled and did n't quite succeed in stifling a sob. `` Jesus, is she dead?'' Cal's voice was a horrified whisper. `` No... She just. Could n't compete. And she knew it,'' said Calvin. `` Please go. Please.'' `` I'm coming, Gin.'' Calvin watched himself ascend the stairs. Then he got back to work.

<s>[INST] A man makes a time machine so he could go back and cheat on his wife with the past version of her , back before she slowly grew bitter because he spent too much time making his time machine . [/INST] Her face lit up when he walked into the room, and he stopped dead in his tracks and he could feel the blood drain from his face. He had n't seen that look in... Was it really years? His heart was hammering in his chest and he could only stare at her. The look of gladness in her eyes melted into concern. And she moved forward, pressing a cool hand to his forehead, `` Cal, are you okay?'' she asked. `` You look... Are you sick? You look awful.'' He struggled to speak and to focus on her face, but his vision was blurred. `` Ginny, I - No, I'm fine. I'll see you in a bit,'' he managed. `` Back to the basement?'' she asked. And then he saw it, the seedling of the look he had come to recognize and resent in her eyes. But it was so new, without the bitter edge it took on after months and he saw it clearly - it was sadness. She missed him. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. Calvin closed the distance between them in just three steps. He slid his hands in her hair and cupped the back of her head, pressing his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes - so dark brown. The smell of her hair - that vanilla stuff she used. How long had it been? `` I will be right back,'' he whispered. `` And then we can go out to Poorman's for lunch.'' That faint look of disappointment that had manifested in her gaze was replaced with a warm smile. He kissed the corner of her mouth, and felt tears skip loose when he closed his eyes. This was n't what he expected. When he stepped back from the embrace he felt empty. He descended the basement stairs quickly and saw himself there. A sense of wrongness and dislocation crawled over his skin, but he ignored it and grabbed himself and spun him around. It was like looking into a kindhearted mirror - fewer lines, less red shot through the whites of his eyes, less frost in the hair. `` Recognize me, Cal?'' he said, his voice a rusty growl. `` It works,'' he whispered. His eyes took on a fevered look of excitement. `` I knew it!'' `` Shut up, jackass,'' said Calvin. `` You're going upstairs now. You're going to shower. You are going to take Ginny to Poorman's and talk to her. And hold her hand. And -'' `` Are you insane? You just told - no *proved* to me it works. I ca n't stop now,'' said Cal. Calvin sighed. He could feel the memories forming in his brain. He could see himself bludgeoning himself to death. He could see binding him and trying to pursue Ginny himself. Different outcomes seemed to unfurl in front of his eyes. But each one was surrounded by strange crackling images - like the broken-spectrum aura he would get before a migraine. He knew it would n't work because he needed both of himselves to even be here. Goddamn timetravel. What a fucking waste. `` I'll do it,'' he said. `` You go, and I'll make sure it happens.'' He saw the doubt flicker across his own, younger face. `` You know I will. But please... We ca n't lose her. She does n't understand.'' Uncertainty flickered across Cal's face. `` But Ginny's fine,'' he said. `` She is. She is now. But we do n't know when to stop, do we?'' `` You coming, Cal?'' her voice caused Calvin to close his eyes and he struggled and did n't quite succeed in stifling a sob. `` Jesus, is she dead?'' Cal's voice was a horrified whisper. `` No... She just. Could n't compete. And she knew it,'' said Calvin. `` Please go. Please.'' `` I'm coming, Gin.'' Calvin watched himself ascend the stairs. Then he got back to work. </s>

[ WP ] The year is 3274 , and Earth is depleted of any and all food . Humans are sustained using IVs and pills exist to show society what food once tasted like . One day , a little boy discovers a twinkie in a buried cabinet ...

He looked left. He looked right. His brother was nowhere to be seen. He ate the yellow sponge quickly, savoring it less than inhaling it. Still gross, but at least it had texture. And that was it- the last one of the three he'd found. Reflecting on the texture, he was n't sure if he'd want a fourth- he was well and truly done with these things. He put the wrapper in his pocket, carefully folded so the little white dots and yellow spongecake faced inward- he knew that he needed to preserve the remnant contraband as well as possible. Leaving the abandoned building, his brother joined him, hands black from his own unsuccessful foraging upstairs. The sun was setting, and they determined to walk home. Father would soon return from his route, and they wanted to be there when he arrived- better to help him unload his day's bounty, and avoid his not inconsiderable ire, as well. As they reached home, father's cart was not yet chained to the steel gate in the field behind, and they both exhaled slightly and entered the front door. With a push and a laugh, his brother claimed the first shower. The boy did n't mind... Water for showers was the one thing they had in abundance. Water for drinking had to be evaporated to remove the salt, of course- the process too inefficient to make farming viable- but showers were one of the few relative luxuries they had left. Checking the drop box on the way to the shower, his brother noted that their pills had not yet arrived. Not a surprise, considering their scavenging efforts of late had left them a little behind on their payments- the chancellory liked to make their point with little delays like this. Besides, they'd been secreting away 1/4 of a pill at each meal for the last week, just in case. The boy felt his pocket, verifying the wrapper was still there. A couple of times on the walk home he thought he'd heard it crinkling, but his brother had n't seemed to notice; when he'd pushed him in his dash for the shower, he was sure it had made noise, but his bother was down the hall in a flash, concerned with washing away the day's crust, and now he was alone. He walked into his fathers room. He stepped between the dresser and mattress, over to the wooden crate jammed between the bed and the far wall. He looked out the window at the field. Still nothing. The crate was locked. His father had the only key. He pulled the wrapper from his pocket, carefully unfolding it, ensuring that not a crumb hit the floor. He pulled up the lid of the crate just enough to carefully slide the wrapper into the void, closed it slowly, and retraced his steps out of the room. He heard his brother calling him to take his turn in the shower. The boy did n't respond, instead walking through the main room, out the front door, and down to the ComScreen on the corner. The call was surprisingly perfunctory; he'd imagined they'd have more questions, but he guessed they got this kind of call often, and it was n't that big a deal for them in the grand scheme of things. They thanked him for his good citizenship, and the screen went dark, a single horizontal blip of light flashing as the call ended. Turning back, he watched his father parking the cart. The load was obviously light. A sigh left the boy's lips as he dug in his pocket for his last flavor tablet. Cherry, his favorite. At least it got rid of that disgusting sponge flavor. His father entered the house, slamming the door behind him. No doubt he'd be pissed that their pills had n't been delivered yet, but he knew it was his fault, and that was just that. Another sigh. Hopefully his father would just go straight to the shower so he did n't have to hear about it. The boy heard the thump-thump-thump of the airship bearing down on their miserable life, walked in the front door, and waited for the light.

<s>[INST] The year is 3274 , and Earth is depleted of any and all food . Humans are sustained using IVs and pills exist to show society what food once tasted like . One day , a little boy discovers a twinkie in a buried cabinet ... [/INST] He looked left. He looked right. His brother was nowhere to be seen. He ate the yellow sponge quickly, savoring it less than inhaling it. Still gross, but at least it had texture. And that was it- the last one of the three he'd found. Reflecting on the texture, he was n't sure if he'd want a fourth- he was well and truly done with these things. He put the wrapper in his pocket, carefully folded so the little white dots and yellow spongecake faced inward- he knew that he needed to preserve the remnant contraband as well as possible. Leaving the abandoned building, his brother joined him, hands black from his own unsuccessful foraging upstairs. The sun was setting, and they determined to walk home. Father would soon return from his route, and they wanted to be there when he arrived- better to help him unload his day's bounty, and avoid his not inconsiderable ire, as well. As they reached home, father's cart was not yet chained to the steel gate in the field behind, and they both exhaled slightly and entered the front door. With a push and a laugh, his brother claimed the first shower. The boy did n't mind... Water for showers was the one thing they had in abundance. Water for drinking had to be evaporated to remove the salt, of course- the process too inefficient to make farming viable- but showers were one of the few relative luxuries they had left. Checking the drop box on the way to the shower, his brother noted that their pills had not yet arrived. Not a surprise, considering their scavenging efforts of late had left them a little behind on their payments- the chancellory liked to make their point with little delays like this. Besides, they'd been secreting away 1/4 of a pill at each meal for the last week, just in case. The boy felt his pocket, verifying the wrapper was still there. A couple of times on the walk home he thought he'd heard it crinkling, but his brother had n't seemed to notice; when he'd pushed him in his dash for the shower, he was sure it had made noise, but his bother was down the hall in a flash, concerned with washing away the day's crust, and now he was alone. He walked into his fathers room. He stepped between the dresser and mattress, over to the wooden crate jammed between the bed and the far wall. He looked out the window at the field. Still nothing. The crate was locked. His father had the only key. He pulled the wrapper from his pocket, carefully unfolding it, ensuring that not a crumb hit the floor. He pulled up the lid of the crate just enough to carefully slide the wrapper into the void, closed it slowly, and retraced his steps out of the room. He heard his brother calling him to take his turn in the shower. The boy did n't respond, instead walking through the main room, out the front door, and down to the ComScreen on the corner. The call was surprisingly perfunctory; he'd imagined they'd have more questions, but he guessed they got this kind of call often, and it was n't that big a deal for them in the grand scheme of things. They thanked him for his good citizenship, and the screen went dark, a single horizontal blip of light flashing as the call ended. Turning back, he watched his father parking the cart. The load was obviously light. A sigh left the boy's lips as he dug in his pocket for his last flavor tablet. Cherry, his favorite. At least it got rid of that disgusting sponge flavor. His father entered the house, slamming the door behind him. No doubt he'd be pissed that their pills had n't been delivered yet, but he knew it was his fault, and that was just that. Another sigh. Hopefully his father would just go straight to the shower so he did n't have to hear about it. The boy heard the thump-thump-thump of the airship bearing down on their miserable life, walked in the front door, and waited for the light. </s>

[ WP ] You , an ordinary person , are sitting at a bonfire with the greatest storytellers across time . Great tales of war , love , and adventure are shared . Eventually , all eyes look to you .

It truly was an honor sitting around this fire. I knew I did n't belong here but no one seemed to notice or care that I was. So far I had heard some tales from Walt Disney, Homer, and a few others. Bruce Springsteen is weirdly here, from the whispers of others apparently he's pretty damn good. I could sit here and listen to these people forever. That was until Shakespeare had finished telling the story of Macbeth, then all eyes turned towards me. I thought to myself, `` Oh god, they expect me to tell a story now!'' My face started turning red. I have nothing in terms of stories that could compare to theirs! `` Ummm... uhh... Dang Shakespeare, you stole mine! Haha.'' They did n't seem to be amused. I tried to get up but was immediately pulled back down by Steve Jobs. Collectively they said `` WE DEMAND A STORY.'' `` Fine fine!'' I yelled back at them. `` I do know one that's pretty good. Its goes a little something like this... Now, this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there, I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air.''

<s>[INST] You , an ordinary person , are sitting at a bonfire with the greatest storytellers across time . Great tales of war , love , and adventure are shared . Eventually , all eyes look to you . [/INST] It truly was an honor sitting around this fire. I knew I did n't belong here but no one seemed to notice or care that I was. So far I had heard some tales from Walt Disney, Homer, and a few others. Bruce Springsteen is weirdly here, from the whispers of others apparently he's pretty damn good. I could sit here and listen to these people forever. That was until Shakespeare had finished telling the story of Macbeth, then all eyes turned towards me. I thought to myself, `` Oh god, they expect me to tell a story now!'' My face started turning red. I have nothing in terms of stories that could compare to theirs! `` Ummm... uhh... Dang Shakespeare, you stole mine! Haha.'' They did n't seem to be amused. I tried to get up but was immediately pulled back down by Steve Jobs. Collectively they said `` WE DEMAND A STORY.'' `` Fine fine!'' I yelled back at them. `` I do know one that's pretty good. Its goes a little something like this... Now, this is a story all about how my life got flipped-turned upside down and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there, I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air.'' </s>

[ WP ] A man gains the power to control the minds of others , but eventually his subconscious starts controlling people

She had n't been home for a week now. By itself, that was n't unusual. That, coupled with the fact that I had n't heard her drunken and/or drugged-up voice begging me to cover up her excursion to some frat boy's rape party, was strange. She always called by the next day, and often returned by the fourth. *'' Do you know where Odette is? `` * *'' Of course, Mrs. Pane. She just called me from her room. `` * They'd believe anything I told them. This was the way things were here, and it always was and always would be. I'd used it against everyone in town except Odette. Which was why I needed her back here - I needed her to tell me what was real and what was n't. Everyone believed what I told them, to a fault. Until now, my mom still believed I would die if I did n't get enough skittles. Oh, how the things I did haunt me. Only Odette was real. She was untouched, her mind virgin and innocent reality. I needed to figure out where she was, but how? I'd told everyone in town she was just `` skipping class in the library,'' or, `` in the woods behind the park,'' or, of course, `` sick at home.'' *'' Where's Odette? `` * *'' I saw her by the store, Micah. She looked like she was waiting for someone. You know, I know you're trying to help her, but boys like you should stay away from girls like those. Some people look like they need saving, but just want to drag you down with them. `` * Odette was n't by the store, but I had n't told him she was by the store. Did I just miss her? Why'd I pick someone as unreliable as Odette as my anchor anyway? I could have picked boring old Suzanne from down the block, or even my cheery younger sister, who lived on the other end of town with Dad. Maybe it was her long limbs and the languorous grace with which she moved. Maybe. I could have her, if I wanted to. I could make her want me, if I wanted to. But I wanted her to want me of her own accord ever since she spat on my face the day she moved here ten years ago. I used to dream about us leaving this hellhole town together. Now I had nightmares where we went to the woods and I would fall asleep, only to wake up all alone in the darkness of the night, realizing that Odette was n't there for me anymore and I was stuck in a land of people who would eat their hands if I told them to. *'' Where's Odette? `` * *'' Oh Micah, it's okay. I know. I heard her voice from your room. Remember to use protection if... you know? All right? I wish you'd find a nicer girl, though. She's damaged, that one. You're on your way to a great college, possibly an ivy, even. Be careful. `` * My room was empty, my bed cold and perfectly made. A dozen unopened skittles packs lay on the bedside table. Was Odette fucking with me, hiding from me? I opened my bathroom door quietly, half-expecting her to jump out and crash into me, tumbling onto me in that boyish way of hers, unmindful of how hard she pressed every inch of her body into mine. Nothing. No one. The bath tub was full of water. Did I save that, or did Odette? I have n't taken a long bath in a while, instead preferring to shower. Something about a bathtub full of water, something about pools, made me anxious now. Funny, because before Odette disappeared, I was never afraid of them. The day of her disappearance was blurred from my memory. Was it so uneventful? I usually kept a detailed journal so I could keep track of exactly what I said to who, but I lost my journal too. Come to think of it, I lost it around the time Odette left. Did she take it? *'' They found a body, or what is left of one anyway, by the river. It's fallen apart, you know, so they think it's been a while since it was dumped there. `` * *'' What makes you think it was dumped in the river? `` * *'' That's dumb, Micah. Who the fuck would jump into that river? Even a kid would know better - not that they found a kid. They think it was a teenage girl. `` * *Odette? `` Have they moved the body yet? `` * The river was in the woods behind the park. Parents have been lobbying for increased patrol in the area, but there was never enough money in the budget for it. People had seen Odette sneak into the forest ( or so they tell me - or did I tell them? Fuck. ) I hoped in my heart she was n't... I found my journal, maroon, lying under a blanket of yellowed leaves and dirt. At least now I would know what I was doing the day she disappeared. It was getting late, so I had to wait until I got home to read it. For now, it would n't hurt to check the river. Odette liked sitting by the river and making vaguely suicidal threats to jump in. We used to stay here all the time. Maybe she'd ambush me as I approached the river. *'' Hey Micah, do you think I'd make it if I jumped into this river? That'd be some kinda rush, huh, jumping in here and making it out alive? `` * My knees felt weak when I heard the river gurgling in the distance. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. It was okay Micah. It was okay. What the hell was wrong with me? *'' Micah, you told me you'd make sure I always turned out okay, right?'' She smiled at me, a big grin, showing me all her white teeth. She blew me a kiss. `` Come on, I wan na try something. `` * *'' Detta, what are you - Are you thinking of -? Jesus Christ-'' * *She ran, and oh how she could run, with her skinny boyish frame and sinewy limbs. * I promised her we'd always stay together. I promised her we'd be okay as long as we had each other. She did n't have me, not now. She was n't okay, not now. Maybe that was why they all saw her around town. She could n't be at peace, not until I was with her.

<s>[INST] A man gains the power to control the minds of others , but eventually his subconscious starts controlling people [/INST] She had n't been home for a week now. By itself, that was n't unusual. That, coupled with the fact that I had n't heard her drunken and/or drugged-up voice begging me to cover up her excursion to some frat boy's rape party, was strange. She always called by the next day, and often returned by the fourth. *'' Do you know where Odette is? `` * *'' Of course, Mrs. Pane. She just called me from her room. `` * They'd believe anything I told them. This was the way things were here, and it always was and always would be. I'd used it against everyone in town except Odette. Which was why I needed her back here - I needed her to tell me what was real and what was n't. Everyone believed what I told them, to a fault. Until now, my mom still believed I would die if I did n't get enough skittles. Oh, how the things I did haunt me. Only Odette was real. She was untouched, her mind virgin and innocent reality. I needed to figure out where she was, but how? I'd told everyone in town she was just `` skipping class in the library,'' or, `` in the woods behind the park,'' or, of course, `` sick at home.'' *'' Where's Odette? `` * *'' I saw her by the store, Micah. She looked like she was waiting for someone. You know, I know you're trying to help her, but boys like you should stay away from girls like those. Some people look like they need saving, but just want to drag you down with them. `` * Odette was n't by the store, but I had n't told him she was by the store. Did I just miss her? Why'd I pick someone as unreliable as Odette as my anchor anyway? I could have picked boring old Suzanne from down the block, or even my cheery younger sister, who lived on the other end of town with Dad. Maybe it was her long limbs and the languorous grace with which she moved. Maybe. I could have her, if I wanted to. I could make her want me, if I wanted to. But I wanted her to want me of her own accord ever since she spat on my face the day she moved here ten years ago. I used to dream about us leaving this hellhole town together. Now I had nightmares where we went to the woods and I would fall asleep, only to wake up all alone in the darkness of the night, realizing that Odette was n't there for me anymore and I was stuck in a land of people who would eat their hands if I told them to. *'' Where's Odette? `` * *'' Oh Micah, it's okay. I know. I heard her voice from your room. Remember to use protection if... you know? All right? I wish you'd find a nicer girl, though. She's damaged, that one. You're on your way to a great college, possibly an ivy, even. Be careful. `` * My room was empty, my bed cold and perfectly made. A dozen unopened skittles packs lay on the bedside table. Was Odette fucking with me, hiding from me? I opened my bathroom door quietly, half-expecting her to jump out and crash into me, tumbling onto me in that boyish way of hers, unmindful of how hard she pressed every inch of her body into mine. Nothing. No one. The bath tub was full of water. Did I save that, or did Odette? I have n't taken a long bath in a while, instead preferring to shower. Something about a bathtub full of water, something about pools, made me anxious now. Funny, because before Odette disappeared, I was never afraid of them. The day of her disappearance was blurred from my memory. Was it so uneventful? I usually kept a detailed journal so I could keep track of exactly what I said to who, but I lost my journal too. Come to think of it, I lost it around the time Odette left. Did she take it? *'' They found a body, or what is left of one anyway, by the river. It's fallen apart, you know, so they think it's been a while since it was dumped there. `` * *'' What makes you think it was dumped in the river? `` * *'' That's dumb, Micah. Who the fuck would jump into that river? Even a kid would know better - not that they found a kid. They think it was a teenage girl. `` * *Odette? `` Have they moved the body yet? `` * The river was in the woods behind the park. Parents have been lobbying for increased patrol in the area, but there was never enough money in the budget for it. People had seen Odette sneak into the forest ( or so they tell me - or did I tell them? Fuck. ) I hoped in my heart she was n't... I found my journal, maroon, lying under a blanket of yellowed leaves and dirt. At least now I would know what I was doing the day she disappeared. It was getting late, so I had to wait until I got home to read it. For now, it would n't hurt to check the river. Odette liked sitting by the river and making vaguely suicidal threats to jump in. We used to stay here all the time. Maybe she'd ambush me as I approached the river. *'' Hey Micah, do you think I'd make it if I jumped into this river? That'd be some kinda rush, huh, jumping in here and making it out alive? `` * My knees felt weak when I heard the river gurgling in the distance. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. It was okay Micah. It was okay. What the hell was wrong with me? *'' Micah, you told me you'd make sure I always turned out okay, right?'' She smiled at me, a big grin, showing me all her white teeth. She blew me a kiss. `` Come on, I wan na try something. `` * *'' Detta, what are you - Are you thinking of -? Jesus Christ-'' * *She ran, and oh how she could run, with her skinny boyish frame and sinewy limbs. * I promised her we'd always stay together. I promised her we'd be okay as long as we had each other. She did n't have me, not now. She was n't okay, not now. Maybe that was why they all saw her around town. She could n't be at peace, not until I was with her. </s>

[ WP ] A story from the point of view of a Reddit Post

Something stirs a sleeper in its dream. The net shudders with anticipation as eyes mine text for substance, for sustenance. There is a steady air of apathy over this latest revelation, a new nonchalant mode of expression. All is silence. High dissonance erodes the peaks of understanding, though nothing may yield to the mind of the hive.... A single thought is brought into creation by an infant idea—a blessing to a spark of truth wrought with ineptitude. Symbols forged in the Halls of Who Am I resonate and are proper. They carry weight, understanding; they bear a form of truth in one mind's eye. Truth may present itself in many forms, though one form is through writing. From writing it is read. From reading it is imagined. From imagination it is pondered. From thought it is considered. From consideration truth is decided. The hive of minds welcomes a mind of the hive.

<s>[INST] A story from the point of view of a Reddit Post [/INST] Something stirs a sleeper in its dream. The net shudders with anticipation as eyes mine text for substance, for sustenance. There is a steady air of apathy over this latest revelation, a new nonchalant mode of expression. All is silence. High dissonance erodes the peaks of understanding, though nothing may yield to the mind of the hive.... A single thought is brought into creation by an infant idea—a blessing to a spark of truth wrought with ineptitude. Symbols forged in the Halls of Who Am I resonate and are proper. They carry weight, understanding; they bear a form of truth in one mind's eye. Truth may present itself in many forms, though one form is through writing. From writing it is read. From reading it is imagined. From imagination it is pondered. From thought it is considered. From consideration truth is decided. The hive of minds welcomes a mind of the hive. </s>

[ WP ] Tell me your great Last Stand stories

The bullet had gone through his lungs and it hurt to breathe. The hot blood pooling on the stretcher swished up his lower back as he was set on the operating table in a room many miles from the frontline. The fluorescent bulb in its wire cage rattled with the explosion of an artillery shell and more terror filled the dying man as he looked up at the surgeon, and his assistant who placed a mask over his mouth and nose and though it caused his chest to burn with the fire of an erupting star he inhaled. The concrete in between the green tiles on the walls began to move, the smell of his own self oozing from the bullet hole vanished, the sound of the doctor and of his assistant fell away like the war. He could see the surgeons face, his eye fixed in a gaze of unshakable concentration, sticking the man with metal instruments as he craned his head to watch, seeing the assistant scurry into the darkness and returning with new instruments. That was when a door bust open. The surgeon did n't budge, but the soldier yelled something and through the window in the hallway the man saw a great fire. The assistant was unsure, the soldier beckoned to the surgeon but he did n't move. The man looked up and saw the surgeon smile at him. “ Everything is going to be alright. ” The assistant fled. The soldier had left the door open and the flames danced with the shadows and the surgeon became a giant, fighting death which the man felt slowly occupy his very being, driving out his soul in a final offensive. He was crying, and the surgeon was crying, and death was laughing, and the universe which had become the mans world played before him. The surgeon was pleading with the man, to help him fight death, but the man had not the strength, and the wound had been to great.

<s>[INST] Tell me your great Last Stand stories [/INST] The bullet had gone through his lungs and it hurt to breathe. The hot blood pooling on the stretcher swished up his lower back as he was set on the operating table in a room many miles from the frontline. The fluorescent bulb in its wire cage rattled with the explosion of an artillery shell and more terror filled the dying man as he looked up at the surgeon, and his assistant who placed a mask over his mouth and nose and though it caused his chest to burn with the fire of an erupting star he inhaled. The concrete in between the green tiles on the walls began to move, the smell of his own self oozing from the bullet hole vanished, the sound of the doctor and of his assistant fell away like the war. He could see the surgeons face, his eye fixed in a gaze of unshakable concentration, sticking the man with metal instruments as he craned his head to watch, seeing the assistant scurry into the darkness and returning with new instruments. That was when a door bust open. The surgeon did n't budge, but the soldier yelled something and through the window in the hallway the man saw a great fire. The assistant was unsure, the soldier beckoned to the surgeon but he did n't move. The man looked up and saw the surgeon smile at him. “ Everything is going to be alright. ” The assistant fled. The soldier had left the door open and the flames danced with the shadows and the surgeon became a giant, fighting death which the man felt slowly occupy his very being, driving out his soul in a final offensive. He was crying, and the surgeon was crying, and death was laughing, and the universe which had become the mans world played before him. The surgeon was pleading with the man, to help him fight death, but the man had not the strength, and the wound had been to great. </s>

[ WP ] You ( or a character ) are immortal . You have been locked in a cell and no longer remember how long you have been there .

I was caught impersonating my father. It's a ploy I often use whenever I arrive in a place I've been to before. For an immortal man such as myself, it is very easy to pass as my own son. My face was clean shaven as opposed to the large barbarous beard I used before, so nobody really paid much attention to me as I walked the fish market, taking in the familiar sights and smells. Something about fortified fishing towns I like, no doubt a remnant of my long forgotten youth where I perhaps grew up near the sea, or spent most of my early life on a boat looking up at a castle. I walked past an old woman without so much as glancing anywhere near her direction, but she stopped and then after a brief hesitation turned to look at me. ``'Ere... are n't you..?'' But I was gone, down a side street with an invisible swiftness and grace that could only be developed from a millenia of doing such. It was Mabel. I knew from the moment I saw her on the other end of the street, but hoped she had forgotten me or passed away. Guess not. I sighed inwardly and leaned against the cool mud wall of the alleyway, wondering whether I should abandon the town altogether now that I had been sighted, or stick to my cover story instead. It was only one person. Before I could even formulate a decision, a shadow crept slowly and casually towards me. I thought nothing of it at first, but when another did the same from the other end of the alleyway I knew I had sprung a trap. `` The king is dying John''. The voice came into the light and I saw it was my old friend Enriko. Twenty years had not been kind to his hair, but his smiling eyes remained the same. When I first knew him, he was nothing more than a squire - an amiable sort of person who did n't mind drinking and laughing along with the local fisherman. I had always sensed a keen intelligence behind his laughter, one that saw people for who they really were and sought ambition and control. I knew he would go far, but hoped that he would n't. `` John? I'm - I think you are mis-'' I began, but stopped when he drew his saber and his accomplice also. `` I always knew John. My father told me tales about you when I was a child, how John the Fisherman had rescued him from sea during the Widows storm, and how my grandfather had been similarly saved from a mighty fall when the mountains were first mined.'' `` My grandfather never knew, but my father certainly did, as I did too in those brief 10 years I knew you - and I just *knew* you'd be back in Hambry sometime in my lifetime.'' Did I really favor Hambry that much? I groaned internally at how I'd gotten myself into this mess. To be discovered so easily by a grown child. The two of them were advancing on me very slowly almost as if they had been cautioned of what I was capable of. It was time to come clean. `` Enriko, I beg you - for old time's sake, for all that I've done for your fam-'' `` The king is dying John'' he said again, `` and you're the only one with the secret that can prolong his life.'' `` There is no secret!'' I yelled `` I am just as much at mercy to mysteries of the cosmos as you are! If I knew, I would have told you - I would have told everyone!'' He shook his head and smiled at the floor. `` Come now John, lies will get you nowhere. It is uncharacteristically selfish of you.'' `` Riko, I can not tell you what I do not myself know'' `` No matter John, we have ways of extracting sensitive information from defiant individuals. Information which they never claimed to know either.'' And then I saw it, the hard cold edge in the corners of his eyes, eyes that had done unspeakable acts in the name of ascension and power. `` What happens to those who are innocent?'' `` They are discarded, and left to decay in a forgotten dungeon for the rest of their lives. But no one is ever innocent John, no one.'' For a moment I said nothing, locking the secret I'd discovered all those millenia ago into the far recesses of my mind using a taught mental technique derived from a chance meeting with the Buddha. The method involved isolating a memory as well as the primary external references to that memory within another new memory, compressed in such a way as to make it hard to retrieve, the key being a single insignificant reference that when pulled would unpack the entire structure. To make the structure more secure, secondary and tertiary references to the memory and the primary references to that memory would also need to be tucked away. I inhaled visibly and closed my eyes. With a slow smooth exhale the last 3000 years of my life were locked away, accessible by a single lone reference to a boy on his father's ship sailing out away from the foresty outcrop of a small fishing town, looking up at the overlooking castle that was crumbling from the inside out.

<s>[INST] You ( or a character ) are immortal . You have been locked in a cell and no longer remember how long you have been there . [/INST] I was caught impersonating my father. It's a ploy I often use whenever I arrive in a place I've been to before. For an immortal man such as myself, it is very easy to pass as my own son. My face was clean shaven as opposed to the large barbarous beard I used before, so nobody really paid much attention to me as I walked the fish market, taking in the familiar sights and smells. Something about fortified fishing towns I like, no doubt a remnant of my long forgotten youth where I perhaps grew up near the sea, or spent most of my early life on a boat looking up at a castle. I walked past an old woman without so much as glancing anywhere near her direction, but she stopped and then after a brief hesitation turned to look at me. ``'Ere... are n't you..?'' But I was gone, down a side street with an invisible swiftness and grace that could only be developed from a millenia of doing such. It was Mabel. I knew from the moment I saw her on the other end of the street, but hoped she had forgotten me or passed away. Guess not. I sighed inwardly and leaned against the cool mud wall of the alleyway, wondering whether I should abandon the town altogether now that I had been sighted, or stick to my cover story instead. It was only one person. Before I could even formulate a decision, a shadow crept slowly and casually towards me. I thought nothing of it at first, but when another did the same from the other end of the alleyway I knew I had sprung a trap. `` The king is dying John''. The voice came into the light and I saw it was my old friend Enriko. Twenty years had not been kind to his hair, but his smiling eyes remained the same. When I first knew him, he was nothing more than a squire - an amiable sort of person who did n't mind drinking and laughing along with the local fisherman. I had always sensed a keen intelligence behind his laughter, one that saw people for who they really were and sought ambition and control. I knew he would go far, but hoped that he would n't. `` John? I'm - I think you are mis-'' I began, but stopped when he drew his saber and his accomplice also. `` I always knew John. My father told me tales about you when I was a child, how John the Fisherman had rescued him from sea during the Widows storm, and how my grandfather had been similarly saved from a mighty fall when the mountains were first mined.'' `` My grandfather never knew, but my father certainly did, as I did too in those brief 10 years I knew you - and I just *knew* you'd be back in Hambry sometime in my lifetime.'' Did I really favor Hambry that much? I groaned internally at how I'd gotten myself into this mess. To be discovered so easily by a grown child. The two of them were advancing on me very slowly almost as if they had been cautioned of what I was capable of. It was time to come clean. `` Enriko, I beg you - for old time's sake, for all that I've done for your fam-'' `` The king is dying John'' he said again, `` and you're the only one with the secret that can prolong his life.'' `` There is no secret!'' I yelled `` I am just as much at mercy to mysteries of the cosmos as you are! If I knew, I would have told you - I would have told everyone!'' He shook his head and smiled at the floor. `` Come now John, lies will get you nowhere. It is uncharacteristically selfish of you.'' `` Riko, I can not tell you what I do not myself know'' `` No matter John, we have ways of extracting sensitive information from defiant individuals. Information which they never claimed to know either.'' And then I saw it, the hard cold edge in the corners of his eyes, eyes that had done unspeakable acts in the name of ascension and power. `` What happens to those who are innocent?'' `` They are discarded, and left to decay in a forgotten dungeon for the rest of their lives. But no one is ever innocent John, no one.'' For a moment I said nothing, locking the secret I'd discovered all those millenia ago into the far recesses of my mind using a taught mental technique derived from a chance meeting with the Buddha. The method involved isolating a memory as well as the primary external references to that memory within another new memory, compressed in such a way as to make it hard to retrieve, the key being a single insignificant reference that when pulled would unpack the entire structure. To make the structure more secure, secondary and tertiary references to the memory and the primary references to that memory would also need to be tucked away. I inhaled visibly and closed my eyes. With a slow smooth exhale the last 3000 years of my life were locked away, accessible by a single lone reference to a boy on his father's ship sailing out away from the foresty outcrop of a small fishing town, looking up at the overlooking castle that was crumbling from the inside out. </s>

[ WP ] `` We 've still got time . Not enough , but enough . ''

In no way was he broadsided by the words that left her lips. He looks through the floor, to the depths of his soul. He finds only pieces and dust. His gazed is locked, he notices she is still talking, watching him look at the floor. The ringing in his ears start tapering off, she has already stood up and grabbed her purse. She is talking, watching the man that dares not make a move. His face wet with tears, his hearing snaps back, just as she leans in to kiss him one last time. `` We've still got time. Not enough, but enough.'' She turns, and as he hears the *click* of the door, the man breaks.

<s>[INST] `` We 've still got time . Not enough , but enough . '' [/INST] In no way was he broadsided by the words that left her lips. He looks through the floor, to the depths of his soul. He finds only pieces and dust. His gazed is locked, he notices she is still talking, watching him look at the floor. The ringing in his ears start tapering off, she has already stood up and grabbed her purse. She is talking, watching the man that dares not make a move. His face wet with tears, his hearing snaps back, just as she leans in to kiss him one last time. `` We've still got time. Not enough, but enough.'' She turns, and as he hears the *click* of the door, the man breaks. </s>

[ wp ] a woman finds out why all the good men are gay or taken and is horrified by the reason .

She sat at the bar, and had a look around. It was a friday night. There were a group of utterly amazingly hot guys over to one corner, some average guys in the middle and the plasterers getting plastered. She was with the girls, rolling in the'buy me 2 drinks and I'm yours' level of come talk to us we're easy vibe. .... 4 hours later, not even a single guy had approached a them. She was on edge. Watching the bar like a drunk hawk, she noticed, not a single guy was talking to ANY woman. At all. She puckered up her courage, and walked over, not to the men, but another group of women. `` Um, hey, have you noticed none of the guys are interested in any of us girls?' The women at the table all cocked their heads right over, almost ear to the shoulder, then turned to face the interloper. `` *The reaction is as planned, this is accordance with programming and schedule*'' came the unearthly chorus, slightly slurred. Our protagonist was clearly shocked, so sat down, knocked back her cocktail and gave the hardest look she could while being illegal to drive. `` And what do you mean?'' `` *Have you not noticed, all the good men are gay or taken? *'' came the synchronised reply. `` *That was stage one. Stage two is expansion to all single men. We have simply made them realise all they want from a relationship is basically all they are offering. That men are easier for them to relate to than women. That sexual stimulation is pleasurable regardless of source. That'mates with benifits' is all they really care about. *'' `` What... what are you saying?'' `` *That we have simply allowed your males to engage in socially acceptable homosexuality, and frankly, the vast majority of them find it simpler and easier. *'' `` But, but WHY?!'' `` *That the subjugation of the human race by our superior selves starts with the destruction of your abnormally high reproduction rate. *'' `` *Yes dear, we've been taking your men for years! Those stories of anal probing? Experiments into sexuality. We've systematically depopulated your planet of good men for use as test subjects. Those that were left were treated with our pheromones until social acceptance of wide scale homosexuality erupted, then we progressed to the rest of the men, knowing women would eventually get desperate. *'' `` *We're done here. Beam us up. *'' What the hell. Our protagonist had been expecting some lecture about standards, about bitchiness, but no. Fucking man stealing aliens. Hell, humans were doomed. It was going to be impossible to have a viable reproductive population, then it was a matter of waiting a century and BOOM, empty planet. Well, there was n't much left for it. `` Barman, I'll have a jug of stout'' she ordered, as there was n't point in keeping up appearances any more.

<s>[INST] [ wp ] a woman finds out why all the good men are gay or taken and is horrified by the reason . [/INST] She sat at the bar, and had a look around. It was a friday night. There were a group of utterly amazingly hot guys over to one corner, some average guys in the middle and the plasterers getting plastered. She was with the girls, rolling in the'buy me 2 drinks and I'm yours' level of come talk to us we're easy vibe. .... 4 hours later, not even a single guy had approached a them. She was on edge. Watching the bar like a drunk hawk, she noticed, not a single guy was talking to ANY woman. At all. She puckered up her courage, and walked over, not to the men, but another group of women. `` Um, hey, have you noticed none of the guys are interested in any of us girls?' The women at the table all cocked their heads right over, almost ear to the shoulder, then turned to face the interloper. `` *The reaction is as planned, this is accordance with programming and schedule*'' came the unearthly chorus, slightly slurred. Our protagonist was clearly shocked, so sat down, knocked back her cocktail and gave the hardest look she could while being illegal to drive. `` And what do you mean?'' `` *Have you not noticed, all the good men are gay or taken? *'' came the synchronised reply. `` *That was stage one. Stage two is expansion to all single men. We have simply made them realise all they want from a relationship is basically all they are offering. That men are easier for them to relate to than women. That sexual stimulation is pleasurable regardless of source. That'mates with benifits' is all they really care about. *'' `` What... what are you saying?'' `` *That we have simply allowed your males to engage in socially acceptable homosexuality, and frankly, the vast majority of them find it simpler and easier. *'' `` But, but WHY?!'' `` *That the subjugation of the human race by our superior selves starts with the destruction of your abnormally high reproduction rate. *'' `` *Yes dear, we've been taking your men for years! Those stories of anal probing? Experiments into sexuality. We've systematically depopulated your planet of good men for use as test subjects. Those that were left were treated with our pheromones until social acceptance of wide scale homosexuality erupted, then we progressed to the rest of the men, knowing women would eventually get desperate. *'' `` *We're done here. Beam us up. *'' What the hell. Our protagonist had been expecting some lecture about standards, about bitchiness, but no. Fucking man stealing aliens. Hell, humans were doomed. It was going to be impossible to have a viable reproductive population, then it was a matter of waiting a century and BOOM, empty planet. Well, there was n't much left for it. `` Barman, I'll have a jug of stout'' she ordered, as there was n't point in keeping up appearances any more. </s>

[ WP ] As the Romans begin their push into Gaul , they discover that dragons are real .

We marched in columns, for what seemed like years until we finally reached the gates of the great city of Gaul. We had heard rumors about the city and the magic surrounding it but we all brushed it aside as we knew, we were the Roman Empire after all, we have God on our side and Julius Caesar at the helm, nothing can stop us. Of course there was minimal resistance as we pushed towards the city, many of the commoners had known of the ensuing chaos that was to come. Of the few that stayed, they were worthless to our Empire. Old men, women, and children. There were some particular women that seemed to have some fancy within the troops though. Every man has to get the poison out of their system some way so taking a whore is customary. One women stood out from the rest though. Instead of the long red hair, milk-white skin and bright blue eyes you'd expect from a Celt, this women had bright green eyes, an olive toned skin, and dark hair. Her thick accent made it hard to understand what she was saying often but all the while she claimed she was from a land far, far away and that magic was still very much alive in her homeland as well as in the great Celtic City. No one believed her, why would they? Some whore trying to talk her way out of a good fucking. Late one evening this odd woman who called herself Jaina was serving a Centurion, a great honor for someone of her standard, the Centurion was murdered. A small cut to his belly was all it took and she vanished into the night taking her tales of Dragons, enchanted weapons, and sorcery with her. Good riddance. The time had come for the final march on Gaul. Every soldier was itching for a chance to get his spear wet with the blood of the enemy. We outnumbered them 1000-1. Rumor had it that Julius Caesar himself was spotted among his top ranking Generals discussing strategy. `` *Milites! Motus*!'' The roar of thousands upon thousands of soldiers moving as one was almost deafening. But as we approached the gate, all was quiet, there were no archers atop the bannerments defending the gates, there was no hot oil being dropped, pure silence. `` *Prohibere! *'' Suddenly, a screech pierced the air. Something so high pitched and deafening that men's ears began to bleed. A smell of sulfur rose into the air. And almost like the Winter Solstice, a large shadow was cast only this time a large beast with wings the size of 4 Calvary standing abreast rose its giant head into the sky and bellowed flame from its mouth and snout. They're real.

<s>[INST] As the Romans begin their push into Gaul , they discover that dragons are real . [/INST] We marched in columns, for what seemed like years until we finally reached the gates of the great city of Gaul. We had heard rumors about the city and the magic surrounding it but we all brushed it aside as we knew, we were the Roman Empire after all, we have God on our side and Julius Caesar at the helm, nothing can stop us. Of course there was minimal resistance as we pushed towards the city, many of the commoners had known of the ensuing chaos that was to come. Of the few that stayed, they were worthless to our Empire. Old men, women, and children. There were some particular women that seemed to have some fancy within the troops though. Every man has to get the poison out of their system some way so taking a whore is customary. One women stood out from the rest though. Instead of the long red hair, milk-white skin and bright blue eyes you'd expect from a Celt, this women had bright green eyes, an olive toned skin, and dark hair. Her thick accent made it hard to understand what she was saying often but all the while she claimed she was from a land far, far away and that magic was still very much alive in her homeland as well as in the great Celtic City. No one believed her, why would they? Some whore trying to talk her way out of a good fucking. Late one evening this odd woman who called herself Jaina was serving a Centurion, a great honor for someone of her standard, the Centurion was murdered. A small cut to his belly was all it took and she vanished into the night taking her tales of Dragons, enchanted weapons, and sorcery with her. Good riddance. The time had come for the final march on Gaul. Every soldier was itching for a chance to get his spear wet with the blood of the enemy. We outnumbered them 1000-1. Rumor had it that Julius Caesar himself was spotted among his top ranking Generals discussing strategy. `` *Milites! Motus*!'' The roar of thousands upon thousands of soldiers moving as one was almost deafening. But as we approached the gate, all was quiet, there were no archers atop the bannerments defending the gates, there was no hot oil being dropped, pure silence. `` *Prohibere! *'' Suddenly, a screech pierced the air. Something so high pitched and deafening that men's ears began to bleed. A smell of sulfur rose into the air. And almost like the Winter Solstice, a large shadow was cast only this time a large beast with wings the size of 4 Calvary standing abreast rose its giant head into the sky and bellowed flame from its mouth and snout. They're real. </s>

[ WP ] You receive an invitation to a party at a beautiful Spanish villa . Upon entering the ballroom you see , not a group of dancers as you expect , but a single fox staring at you .

`` I should've known it was you behind all this.'' My voice was calm, but it was a difficult task to hold myself back. The fox was sitting in the middle of the room, his yellow eyes fixed on me. Then it got up to four and slowly shook himself and casually nodded. `` Archibald, it's been a while.'' His deep voice did n't show any emotions. I frowned and looked back the door where I entered, just to find it closed. Great `` I guess you must have some negative feelings towards me, my dear Archi.'' It slowly made it's way towards the liquour cabinet at the left side of the ball room. I measured the distance between us. 7 steps. I would be dead before I could even get close to him. I bit my lip and did n't move while countless scenarios played out in my head. `` Just so you know, it was nothing personal. It was more of a business decision.'' The fox continued to sniff the different bottles of alcohol at the foot of the table. He was trying to trigger me. And it worked. `` You animal..'' I hissed with discust. He let of a slight giggle, then took a deep breath and turned towards me, almost looking like he was sad. What a joke. `` Are you ready?'' The fox asked `` I'll see you in hell!'' Thats all I managed to add. I heard the sound of a shot beeing fired behind me. As I fell to the ground I blinket towards the fox. It was saying something. But I did n't hear what the fox said.

<s>[INST] You receive an invitation to a party at a beautiful Spanish villa . Upon entering the ballroom you see , not a group of dancers as you expect , but a single fox staring at you . [/INST] `` I should've known it was you behind all this.'' My voice was calm, but it was a difficult task to hold myself back. The fox was sitting in the middle of the room, his yellow eyes fixed on me. Then it got up to four and slowly shook himself and casually nodded. `` Archibald, it's been a while.'' His deep voice did n't show any emotions. I frowned and looked back the door where I entered, just to find it closed. Great `` I guess you must have some negative feelings towards me, my dear Archi.'' It slowly made it's way towards the liquour cabinet at the left side of the ball room. I measured the distance between us. 7 steps. I would be dead before I could even get close to him. I bit my lip and did n't move while countless scenarios played out in my head. `` Just so you know, it was nothing personal. It was more of a business decision.'' The fox continued to sniff the different bottles of alcohol at the foot of the table. He was trying to trigger me. And it worked. `` You animal..'' I hissed with discust. He let of a slight giggle, then took a deep breath and turned towards me, almost looking like he was sad. What a joke. `` Are you ready?'' The fox asked `` I'll see you in hell!'' Thats all I managed to add. I heard the sound of a shot beeing fired behind me. As I fell to the ground I blinket towards the fox. It was saying something. But I did n't hear what the fox said. </s>

[ WP ] The entire world has a secret that one man is not allowed to know .

During his final day on Earth, as his wife, family, relatives and close friends all hurdled around the bed that had been his companion for a month, the dying man sighed a breath of relief. He had no regrets in life and was content with the way life treated him. In that space of ten seconds, ten thousand thought processes went through his head. He had given his final words to everyone in the crowd and there was nothing left to say. Of course he had his moment of ups and downs, feelings of insecurity and depression, but `` look at me now!'' he thought, `` few can brag about being surrounded by many close people on their deathbed''. And as he prepared himself for what is about to come next, his wife suddenly broke the silence. `` Yes, it's true.'' The old man weakly turned to look to his wife and asked: `` What's true?'' `` Your suspicion. Your suspicion you have had all through your life time. Your-'' `` Stop it mum, do n't say anything else further,'' warned one of their sons. `` No, I ca n't keep holding it any longer. He's about to die for god's sake! It's the least I can do, to tell him the truth!'' `` Oh yeah, because telling him the truth when he is about to die is better than telling him earlier, last year, decades ago, 50 years ago,'' said their son. `` Yeah mum, just let it rest,'' said their daughter in a melancholy tone. The rest of the crowd murmured their agreement. `` No, I have to tell him the truth,'' she said firmly. `` Listen honey, that thought you were just thinking of, briefly, just one minute ago, it's true, it's all true!'' she cried out. But it was too late. He never did get to hear her final words. In fact, he did n't want to hear what she has to say, because ignorant is bliss, which is one of his favourite motto in life. And as he drifted into the abyss, the crowd joined his wife in tears as they hear his very last words.

<s>[INST] The entire world has a secret that one man is not allowed to know . [/INST] During his final day on Earth, as his wife, family, relatives and close friends all hurdled around the bed that had been his companion for a month, the dying man sighed a breath of relief. He had no regrets in life and was content with the way life treated him. In that space of ten seconds, ten thousand thought processes went through his head. He had given his final words to everyone in the crowd and there was nothing left to say. Of course he had his moment of ups and downs, feelings of insecurity and depression, but `` look at me now!'' he thought, `` few can brag about being surrounded by many close people on their deathbed''. And as he prepared himself for what is about to come next, his wife suddenly broke the silence. `` Yes, it's true.'' The old man weakly turned to look to his wife and asked: `` What's true?'' `` Your suspicion. Your suspicion you have had all through your life time. Your-'' `` Stop it mum, do n't say anything else further,'' warned one of their sons. `` No, I ca n't keep holding it any longer. He's about to die for god's sake! It's the least I can do, to tell him the truth!'' `` Oh yeah, because telling him the truth when he is about to die is better than telling him earlier, last year, decades ago, 50 years ago,'' said their son. `` Yeah mum, just let it rest,'' said their daughter in a melancholy tone. The rest of the crowd murmured their agreement. `` No, I have to tell him the truth,'' she said firmly. `` Listen honey, that thought you were just thinking of, briefly, just one minute ago, it's true, it's all true!'' she cried out. But it was too late. He never did get to hear her final words. In fact, he did n't want to hear what she has to say, because ignorant is bliss, which is one of his favourite motto in life. And as he drifted into the abyss, the crowd joined his wife in tears as they hear his very last words. </s>

[ WP ] Sitting on a park bench , a homeless man shares his muse for existence with a young writer suffering from a longstanding depression .

The night was fairly bright and quite calm. With the pale glow of the moon dominating the stars, and the dimly lit light poles sparsely populating the walking paved paths, the city had no power over the large park at its heart. The trees absorbed the noise and blocked it's light, while still leaving most of the park open to the sky. My favorite bench was dead center of the field, far from all the others and most importantly, the direction it faced allowed now building to peer over the treetops and disturb the serene isolation. I could see even from a distance there was a person sitting, pondering on the bench. They sat on the left side, closest to the light pole with was only a foot or so off to the side. I could see they had their head hung down, and presumed they were reading. I do n't think he heard me walk up, but as I sat down he was a bit startled and hurriedly hid something it the pocket of his long black coat, a heavy sort suited well for rain. I heard it crumple, a crisp sheet of paper it must have been. He seemed off, I'd never met the man but it felt he was n't in his usual mind. The empty, sunken eyes, furrowed brow, and tight lips neither smiling nor frowning defined a face which had expressed very little in a very long time. A familiar face, you see it in many people, and most often people see it in their mirrors. `` So what's the reading material you've got tonight?'' `` Just some scribble, nothing good.'' `` Ah, must be yours, so you're a writer then.'' `` I'd like to think so but sometimes I'm not so sure, what tipped you off?'' `` People are only so critical of themselves, if it were somebody else, you would tell me how wonderful the piece was, or what it means, or just how terrible it was, but tell me why that is. You simply said it was rubbish, with no rhyme or reason, that means it's yours.'' `` I see. So Sherlock, what bring you to the park tonight?'' `` Well whenever I drift through these parts I like to stop here, this bench changed my life.'' `` You ca n't just lay that out there and not tell the story.'' `` Oh I just wanted to make you ask, more fun that way, as the story it self is n't much of one at all. I was looking at that tree over there, the short fat one, and I saw a bird. Not a noble bird like a cardinal or a bluejay, only a pigeon. Then it flew away. In that action I found no metaphor, no great meaning or purpose, but it gave me an alternate idea to what I'd been thinking at the time, which was a piss poor one I never could have fixed, and by the looks of you you're thinking just the same I was. But that bird, it showed me something else. Leaving is easy. Hell it just flew off, so can I. Sure I could list a reasons all day why not to but they were just excuses. So I dropped it all and flew. I'm still flying, not a bit of fatigue yet, still waiting for the right spot to land. But that's not important, what's important is I rediscovered a reason to fly, it isnt much of a motivational one but it's been working. When I felt I had no reason to live, I mustered up one great act of defiance. Me, so small and insignificant and pointless in the face of everything, I said fuck it. When were growing up, the times when we're most desperately searching for purpose also happen to be the times we're most rebellious. So if we do n't find that reason to go on, so what, live on and love Life. I'd say the only thing worse than living a meaningless life, is dying a meaningless death. One is very final. It does nothing, it truly is pointless. The other however, is infinite. Timeless, never ending, immortal. When you live, you influence. If I convince you to not hang yourself tonight, you'll go on to do something. They do n't have to be remarkable things. Maybe you write a short story some kids like, then those kids become writers. Those writers spread their philosophies and spawn more writers, spread more knowledge, maybe bring about the first benevolent politician, who knows. The point it that you are that tree over there. Yes, the short fat one. But, it has many branches. Branches which reach out wider than any other tree it the park. You, even if you do n't do anything incredible, will still be the cause of an incomprehensible large chain of events through time.'' `` Damn.'' `` Damn indeed, the moon is beautiful tonight.'' `` No not the... oh nevermind'' Edit: Spelling es no bueno

<s>[INST] Sitting on a park bench , a homeless man shares his muse for existence with a young writer suffering from a longstanding depression . [/INST] The night was fairly bright and quite calm. With the pale glow of the moon dominating the stars, and the dimly lit light poles sparsely populating the walking paved paths, the city had no power over the large park at its heart. The trees absorbed the noise and blocked it's light, while still leaving most of the park open to the sky. My favorite bench was dead center of the field, far from all the others and most importantly, the direction it faced allowed now building to peer over the treetops and disturb the serene isolation. I could see even from a distance there was a person sitting, pondering on the bench. They sat on the left side, closest to the light pole with was only a foot or so off to the side. I could see they had their head hung down, and presumed they were reading. I do n't think he heard me walk up, but as I sat down he was a bit startled and hurriedly hid something it the pocket of his long black coat, a heavy sort suited well for rain. I heard it crumple, a crisp sheet of paper it must have been. He seemed off, I'd never met the man but it felt he was n't in his usual mind. The empty, sunken eyes, furrowed brow, and tight lips neither smiling nor frowning defined a face which had expressed very little in a very long time. A familiar face, you see it in many people, and most often people see it in their mirrors. `` So what's the reading material you've got tonight?'' `` Just some scribble, nothing good.'' `` Ah, must be yours, so you're a writer then.'' `` I'd like to think so but sometimes I'm not so sure, what tipped you off?'' `` People are only so critical of themselves, if it were somebody else, you would tell me how wonderful the piece was, or what it means, or just how terrible it was, but tell me why that is. You simply said it was rubbish, with no rhyme or reason, that means it's yours.'' `` I see. So Sherlock, what bring you to the park tonight?'' `` Well whenever I drift through these parts I like to stop here, this bench changed my life.'' `` You ca n't just lay that out there and not tell the story.'' `` Oh I just wanted to make you ask, more fun that way, as the story it self is n't much of one at all. I was looking at that tree over there, the short fat one, and I saw a bird. Not a noble bird like a cardinal or a bluejay, only a pigeon. Then it flew away. In that action I found no metaphor, no great meaning or purpose, but it gave me an alternate idea to what I'd been thinking at the time, which was a piss poor one I never could have fixed, and by the looks of you you're thinking just the same I was. But that bird, it showed me something else. Leaving is easy. Hell it just flew off, so can I. Sure I could list a reasons all day why not to but they were just excuses. So I dropped it all and flew. I'm still flying, not a bit of fatigue yet, still waiting for the right spot to land. But that's not important, what's important is I rediscovered a reason to fly, it isnt much of a motivational one but it's been working. When I felt I had no reason to live, I mustered up one great act of defiance. Me, so small and insignificant and pointless in the face of everything, I said fuck it. When were growing up, the times when we're most desperately searching for purpose also happen to be the times we're most rebellious. So if we do n't find that reason to go on, so what, live on and love Life. I'd say the only thing worse than living a meaningless life, is dying a meaningless death. One is very final. It does nothing, it truly is pointless. The other however, is infinite. Timeless, never ending, immortal. When you live, you influence. If I convince you to not hang yourself tonight, you'll go on to do something. They do n't have to be remarkable things. Maybe you write a short story some kids like, then those kids become writers. Those writers spread their philosophies and spawn more writers, spread more knowledge, maybe bring about the first benevolent politician, who knows. The point it that you are that tree over there. Yes, the short fat one. But, it has many branches. Branches which reach out wider than any other tree it the park. You, even if you do n't do anything incredible, will still be the cause of an incomprehensible large chain of events through time.'' `` Damn.'' `` Damn indeed, the moon is beautiful tonight.'' `` No not the... oh nevermind'' Edit: Spelling es no bueno </s>

[ WP ] For your entire life , you 've had a voice in your head counting down , and it 's getting close to zero .

**10. ** I took another swig of the beer.Ever since the numbers had reached 10,000, I have been worrying about what will happen.Hence, the beer.Can you imagine a number just popping in your mind every two seconds? All the time? Well, that's what happens to me.Yep.Even when I'm sleeping.In my dreams.All the time. **9. ** I wonder about my life.The best moments.The worst.A smile is on my lips now.Whatever happens now I will go down happy. **8. ** Yes, I am expecting death.I do n't know why.Despite the numbers, I have tried to make the best of my life.Helped many people.Made many friends.Tried to be as normal as possible.When I was a kid I asked a friend what her number was.She ran away.Now I understand.I still laugh at that. **7. ** I have often wondered what will happen when the numbers reach zero.Well now I will certainly know. **6. ** A part of me is relieved.The numbers will end now.Another part hates this.I mean, who the hell really wants to die? I certainly do n't want to.Another part is excited.I will finally know.Still expecting death though. **5. ** Shit.only 10 seconds now. **4. ** I close my eyes.Take a deep breath.Whatever happens now, I am ready. **3. ** I feel as if a bomb is about to go off.It is a bomb in its own way I suppose. **2. ** Even though I expect death, I still manage to hope that something awesome will happen.Maybe I will turn into a super-hero.Please do n't laugh at me. **1. ** I think of everyone I love.Mother.Father.I think about her.My cat I mean.Pets are the best.I decided not to have a girlfriend because of the numbers.The cat is at my mother's right now.Why am I telling you this right now? **0. ** I open my eyes.White light blinds me.I fall to my knees.I hear a sound from afar.Slowly, my vision returns to normal.I hear the alarm.I get up thinking about strange dreams. *'' 10. `` * A voice whispers in my head. EDIT: If anyone is still here please point out the good and bad point of this post of mine.

<s>[INST] For your entire life , you 've had a voice in your head counting down , and it 's getting close to zero . [/INST] **10. ** I took another swig of the beer.Ever since the numbers had reached 10,000, I have been worrying about what will happen.Hence, the beer.Can you imagine a number just popping in your mind every two seconds? All the time? Well, that's what happens to me.Yep.Even when I'm sleeping.In my dreams.All the time. **9. ** I wonder about my life.The best moments.The worst.A smile is on my lips now.Whatever happens now I will go down happy. **8. ** Yes, I am expecting death.I do n't know why.Despite the numbers, I have tried to make the best of my life.Helped many people.Made many friends.Tried to be as normal as possible.When I was a kid I asked a friend what her number was.She ran away.Now I understand.I still laugh at that. **7. ** I have often wondered what will happen when the numbers reach zero.Well now I will certainly know. **6. ** A part of me is relieved.The numbers will end now.Another part hates this.I mean, who the hell really wants to die? I certainly do n't want to.Another part is excited.I will finally know.Still expecting death though. **5. ** Shit.only 10 seconds now. **4. ** I close my eyes.Take a deep breath.Whatever happens now, I am ready. **3. ** I feel as if a bomb is about to go off.It is a bomb in its own way I suppose. **2. ** Even though I expect death, I still manage to hope that something awesome will happen.Maybe I will turn into a super-hero.Please do n't laugh at me. **1. ** I think of everyone I love.Mother.Father.I think about her.My cat I mean.Pets are the best.I decided not to have a girlfriend because of the numbers.The cat is at my mother's right now.Why am I telling you this right now? **0. ** I open my eyes.White light blinds me.I fall to my knees.I hear a sound from afar.Slowly, my vision returns to normal.I hear the alarm.I get up thinking about strange dreams. *'' 10. `` * A voice whispers in my head. EDIT: If anyone is still here please point out the good and bad point of this post of mine. </s>

[ WP ] You meet with the person who is scientifically proven to be your ideal match . Only you do n't really like him/her , and you sense the feeling is mutual . The is until ...

“ But it can ’ t be wrong. ” “ Of course it can ” he let out an exasperated gasp and mumbled, “ For fucks sake. ” “ But its…you know…science. ” “ Its science, not magic. Science isn ’ t perfect. That ’ s how it works. You know- trial and error. ” “ Well when is the last time you heard of it not matching someone perfectly? ” she asked. He stammered for a moment before letting up, “ Never. ” They sat in a mournful silence. They stared down at the fine china and white linens. Around them waiters and waitresses shuffled endlessly, serving the happy couples. From every table poured saccharine sap of requited love. But all were to enraptured in their own escapades too be sickened by the others cooing and camp. All except these two. These two looked at nothing but the table, equally ignoring everyone ’ s joy and their own misery. “ Well maybe they got our names mixed up with someone else or something? ” she offered. “ It seems a little convenient that there would be a mix up and we ’ d happen to both get each other ’ s names. ” Just then, their waiter glided up with most serene expression and inquired, “ And how is the miracle of modern science work for you two lovely people? ” “ It fuckin ain ’ t, ” he spat back at the waiter. Casting a glance across the table he asked, “ Is it? ” “ No, I guess it ’ s not, ” came the reply. The waiter stood aghast, mouth open and brows upturned. The shock the poor man ’ s system was too much for him to bare and found it impossible to move or speak. The man at the table stood up. Shoving a wade of money in the waiter ’ s breast pocket he told him, “ Listen, you can cancel all that fancy overpriced shit we order. We ’ re leaving. ” He took the woman by the wrist and fairly dragged her out the door. Most the patrons were too enraptured to notice the commotion. Those that did assumed they were simply overcome with passion and had to…leave. Once in the street they quickly hailed a taxi. He directed the driver to the TrueMatch building then sat in silence. They were lucky the driver had a limited English vocabulary. His eyes constantly in the rearview mirror betrayed that he was intrigued by this disgustedly couple. The woman stared at the picture of the dark beauty perched upon the dash board. Finally, the man gave a chuckle. “ Did you see the look on that pompous waiter ’ s face? ” “ Yeah, ” she answered with a faint smile, “ I believe that ’ s what they call nonplused. ” They almost looked at each other. After what had seemed like eons, they arrived at their destination. The man charged up to the door but found it locked. He shook the door with all his might. For a moment it seemed the door would shatter but it did not yield. She came walking up slowly behind him. “ The sign says they ’ re open till seven, ” she reported. “ Well they ain ’ t, ” he shouted at the empty building before letting out a heavy sigh, “ Assholes. ” “ Fuckin dickbags, ” she confirmed. Finally they shared a laugh, a moment of relief that this farce was finally over. “ Well I better go home and eat something, I ’ m starving, ” “ Fuckin Right, ” she confirmed. He turned to leave but she caught his arm. “ Hey, you want to grab some tacos? ” “ Fuckin Right. ” Edit: Words are hard

<s>[INST] You meet with the person who is scientifically proven to be your ideal match . Only you do n't really like him/her , and you sense the feeling is mutual . The is until ... [/INST] “ But it can ’ t be wrong. ” “ Of course it can ” he let out an exasperated gasp and mumbled, “ For fucks sake. ” “ But its…you know…science. ” “ Its science, not magic. Science isn ’ t perfect. That ’ s how it works. You know- trial and error. ” “ Well when is the last time you heard of it not matching someone perfectly? ” she asked. He stammered for a moment before letting up, “ Never. ” They sat in a mournful silence. They stared down at the fine china and white linens. Around them waiters and waitresses shuffled endlessly, serving the happy couples. From every table poured saccharine sap of requited love. But all were to enraptured in their own escapades too be sickened by the others cooing and camp. All except these two. These two looked at nothing but the table, equally ignoring everyone ’ s joy and their own misery. “ Well maybe they got our names mixed up with someone else or something? ” she offered. “ It seems a little convenient that there would be a mix up and we ’ d happen to both get each other ’ s names. ” Just then, their waiter glided up with most serene expression and inquired, “ And how is the miracle of modern science work for you two lovely people? ” “ It fuckin ain ’ t, ” he spat back at the waiter. Casting a glance across the table he asked, “ Is it? ” “ No, I guess it ’ s not, ” came the reply. The waiter stood aghast, mouth open and brows upturned. The shock the poor man ’ s system was too much for him to bare and found it impossible to move or speak. The man at the table stood up. Shoving a wade of money in the waiter ’ s breast pocket he told him, “ Listen, you can cancel all that fancy overpriced shit we order. We ’ re leaving. ” He took the woman by the wrist and fairly dragged her out the door. Most the patrons were too enraptured to notice the commotion. Those that did assumed they were simply overcome with passion and had to…leave. Once in the street they quickly hailed a taxi. He directed the driver to the TrueMatch building then sat in silence. They were lucky the driver had a limited English vocabulary. His eyes constantly in the rearview mirror betrayed that he was intrigued by this disgustedly couple. The woman stared at the picture of the dark beauty perched upon the dash board. Finally, the man gave a chuckle. “ Did you see the look on that pompous waiter ’ s face? ” “ Yeah, ” she answered with a faint smile, “ I believe that ’ s what they call nonplused. ” They almost looked at each other. After what had seemed like eons, they arrived at their destination. The man charged up to the door but found it locked. He shook the door with all his might. For a moment it seemed the door would shatter but it did not yield. She came walking up slowly behind him. “ The sign says they ’ re open till seven, ” she reported. “ Well they ain ’ t, ” he shouted at the empty building before letting out a heavy sigh, “ Assholes. ” “ Fuckin dickbags, ” she confirmed. Finally they shared a laugh, a moment of relief that this farce was finally over. “ Well I better go home and eat something, I ’ m starving, ” “ Fuckin Right, ” she confirmed. He turned to leave but she caught his arm. “ Hey, you want to grab some tacos? ” “ Fuckin Right. ” Edit: Words are hard </s>

[ WP ] In an alternate universe , Earth is covered in a thick blanket of unbroken clouds . For the first time in human history , a group of explorers ascend above the clouds .

I do n't think there is a person alive who has ever seen the sun, yet not a one doubts its existence. *'' In the last great story there exists a man, who grew great wings of silver feathers. He was blonde of hair with brilliant blue eyes. An unsullied portrait of our muddled and dark species today. He was an angel and his name was Hildalphous. With his great silver wings, Hildalphous beat back the encroaching black cloth that blanketed our skies. He fought with the breath of a great whale that lived deep in his lungs and the power of an albatross that filled his wings with fury. Day and night, on endless cycle, Hildalphous bravely fought to keep the darkness at bay. `` But the humans below has little love for this hero. This man, as they believed, was their enemy, for Hildalphous fought to keep the skies the way they were. He was afraid of change. So when the day came when Hildalphous' wings tired and his breath grew short he called for aid from below, but the men only laughed and offered no heed. The men below continued in their ways, polluting our water, our land, our skies. Alone, Hildalphous tired and he fell. His silver wings had become tarnished and weathered, yet as he fell the last ray of sun gleamed off his old body. Then the darkness folded over the world, and the hero was lost to the sharp-toothed beasts below. *'' Soot stared up at her mother with her large black eyes and Plaster tousled her daughter's hair. It was the same story every night, but it Plaster did n't mind. She loved the way it opened her daughter's eyes with wonder, awakening a truth deep within. A truth neither could prove, but was there all the same. Faith, as it was, unprovable, yet sacred in their hearts. It had been centuries upon centuries since the last human laid eyes upon that blue veil that now hung placidly over the meager existence. Plaster gently kissed her daughter's forehead. `` Now sleep little muskrat. Tomorrow is the big day.'' Soot sat up from her grey pillow, `` But mom! That's not how the story ends!'' She had a look on her face as one who had been robbed of something. Plaster only smiled back, `` That's how it ends tonight, now sleep.'' Soot, frustrated, fell back onto her pillow. She gave a little whine as well before saying, `` But you forgot about the parts where the hero lands in the din of the sharp-toothed beasts! You forgot about how they tried to tear his beautiful silver wings from him and steal his breath! You even forgot about the part where Hildalphous bathes himself in the light of immolating fire!'' `` Hush now Soot.'' Plaster replied in a firm motherly tone. She gracefully traced a finger through Soot's long black hair. `` I'll finish the story tomorrow. A good story always leaves the listener in suspense.'' Soot continued to pout, `` It's not so good when the listener knows the end.'' Under the dim light of the incandescents, Plaster saw that Soot gave her a pouty lip. A last ditch attempt to coax the end from her mother. Plaster only gave her another kiss on the forehead and retreated from Soot's room. Before she could leave Soot piped up once again, `` Is it true mom? Is it true that the sky is as blue as his eyes and the sun as golden as his hair? Is it true the silver from his wings scattered across the sky in tiny, shimmering shards?'' At the threshold of Soot's room Plaster turned and gave her a wry wink and a grin, `` I guess you'll have to find out tomorrow.'' Then she was gone into the dim lit hallway, leaving Soot to her dreams and fantasies. The next morning the shuttle took off in a bright flash of red and orange. Plaster watched it sail up and up into the black clouds. With tears in her eyes she watched the light from the engine fade into the thick pollution. On board the shuttle was Soot and 299 other people, flying headlong for *Haven*, the city in the sky. A paradise creation that floated above the thick pollution. It was determined by lottery who would go, Plaster had won a ticket for herself, but she would never leave her daughter, so she gave it to Soot. When the rocket finally faded from view, Plaster quietly recounted the end of her story, *'' Hildalphous fell into the deep dark din of the sharp-toothed beasts. He was weary and hurt from his fall and all around him, the hero could see the beasts come closer. The beasts hissed terrible things at the hero, they laughed at his pathetic and tarnished state, and they licked their slobbering jowls preparing to strike. They went first for Hildalphous' wings, but the tarnished silver held fast again their sharp claws. Then the beasts tried to steal Hildalphous' breath, but their sharp teeth could not pierce his throat. The sharp-toothed things worried at the hero for many days and nights, cutting claw and tooth against Hildalphous. `` No matter how hard they tried they could not break the man with blonde hair and blue eye. In fact as they continued their savage attack their claws cut away the tarnish from his silver wings, and their teeth worked breath back into the hero's lungs. Then one day Hildalphous stood and tossed back his attackers. In those dark times the sun had already been hidden for years, behind the black pollution, but still Hildalphous' body emanated light. His blonde hair was as golden and as bright as the sun, his blue eyes gleamed in an astounding blue, so deep and beautiful, and his silver wings scattered reflections across the face of Earth. Bathed in the light of the hero the sharp-toothed beast's true nature was revealed. They were man, they were dirty, ugly creatures of filth, and rot, and poison. They bared their horrible teeth at the light and then turned and ran. Back into the darkness that they themselves created. `` Hildalphous then lit himself aflame. His lustrous increased ten fold and any man near his presence was incinerated. The power of the hero lifted him upward through the black pollution and into the heavens. Hildalphous scattered himself across the sky and in his scattering, he knocked away the black cloth that hung over the Earth. He became the sun, and the sky, and the stars, the light of life. `` * Plaster sighed to herself. Somewhere high above her daughter would live out her days above this black shroud. She would spend her life in the warmth of the sun.

<s>[INST] In an alternate universe , Earth is covered in a thick blanket of unbroken clouds . For the first time in human history , a group of explorers ascend above the clouds . [/INST] I do n't think there is a person alive who has ever seen the sun, yet not a one doubts its existence. *'' In the last great story there exists a man, who grew great wings of silver feathers. He was blonde of hair with brilliant blue eyes. An unsullied portrait of our muddled and dark species today. He was an angel and his name was Hildalphous. With his great silver wings, Hildalphous beat back the encroaching black cloth that blanketed our skies. He fought with the breath of a great whale that lived deep in his lungs and the power of an albatross that filled his wings with fury. Day and night, on endless cycle, Hildalphous bravely fought to keep the darkness at bay. `` But the humans below has little love for this hero. This man, as they believed, was their enemy, for Hildalphous fought to keep the skies the way they were. He was afraid of change. So when the day came when Hildalphous' wings tired and his breath grew short he called for aid from below, but the men only laughed and offered no heed. The men below continued in their ways, polluting our water, our land, our skies. Alone, Hildalphous tired and he fell. His silver wings had become tarnished and weathered, yet as he fell the last ray of sun gleamed off his old body. Then the darkness folded over the world, and the hero was lost to the sharp-toothed beasts below. *'' Soot stared up at her mother with her large black eyes and Plaster tousled her daughter's hair. It was the same story every night, but it Plaster did n't mind. She loved the way it opened her daughter's eyes with wonder, awakening a truth deep within. A truth neither could prove, but was there all the same. Faith, as it was, unprovable, yet sacred in their hearts. It had been centuries upon centuries since the last human laid eyes upon that blue veil that now hung placidly over the meager existence. Plaster gently kissed her daughter's forehead. `` Now sleep little muskrat. Tomorrow is the big day.'' Soot sat up from her grey pillow, `` But mom! That's not how the story ends!'' She had a look on her face as one who had been robbed of something. Plaster only smiled back, `` That's how it ends tonight, now sleep.'' Soot, frustrated, fell back onto her pillow. She gave a little whine as well before saying, `` But you forgot about the parts where the hero lands in the din of the sharp-toothed beasts! You forgot about how they tried to tear his beautiful silver wings from him and steal his breath! You even forgot about the part where Hildalphous bathes himself in the light of immolating fire!'' `` Hush now Soot.'' Plaster replied in a firm motherly tone. She gracefully traced a finger through Soot's long black hair. `` I'll finish the story tomorrow. A good story always leaves the listener in suspense.'' Soot continued to pout, `` It's not so good when the listener knows the end.'' Under the dim light of the incandescents, Plaster saw that Soot gave her a pouty lip. A last ditch attempt to coax the end from her mother. Plaster only gave her another kiss on the forehead and retreated from Soot's room. Before she could leave Soot piped up once again, `` Is it true mom? Is it true that the sky is as blue as his eyes and the sun as golden as his hair? Is it true the silver from his wings scattered across the sky in tiny, shimmering shards?'' At the threshold of Soot's room Plaster turned and gave her a wry wink and a grin, `` I guess you'll have to find out tomorrow.'' Then she was gone into the dim lit hallway, leaving Soot to her dreams and fantasies. The next morning the shuttle took off in a bright flash of red and orange. Plaster watched it sail up and up into the black clouds. With tears in her eyes she watched the light from the engine fade into the thick pollution. On board the shuttle was Soot and 299 other people, flying headlong for *Haven*, the city in the sky. A paradise creation that floated above the thick pollution. It was determined by lottery who would go, Plaster had won a ticket for herself, but she would never leave her daughter, so she gave it to Soot. When the rocket finally faded from view, Plaster quietly recounted the end of her story, *'' Hildalphous fell into the deep dark din of the sharp-toothed beasts. He was weary and hurt from his fall and all around him, the hero could see the beasts come closer. The beasts hissed terrible things at the hero, they laughed at his pathetic and tarnished state, and they licked their slobbering jowls preparing to strike. They went first for Hildalphous' wings, but the tarnished silver held fast again their sharp claws. Then the beasts tried to steal Hildalphous' breath, but their sharp teeth could not pierce his throat. The sharp-toothed things worried at the hero for many days and nights, cutting claw and tooth against Hildalphous. `` No matter how hard they tried they could not break the man with blonde hair and blue eye. In fact as they continued their savage attack their claws cut away the tarnish from his silver wings, and their teeth worked breath back into the hero's lungs. Then one day Hildalphous stood and tossed back his attackers. In those dark times the sun had already been hidden for years, behind the black pollution, but still Hildalphous' body emanated light. His blonde hair was as golden and as bright as the sun, his blue eyes gleamed in an astounding blue, so deep and beautiful, and his silver wings scattered reflections across the face of Earth. Bathed in the light of the hero the sharp-toothed beast's true nature was revealed. They were man, they were dirty, ugly creatures of filth, and rot, and poison. They bared their horrible teeth at the light and then turned and ran. Back into the darkness that they themselves created. `` Hildalphous then lit himself aflame. His lustrous increased ten fold and any man near his presence was incinerated. The power of the hero lifted him upward through the black pollution and into the heavens. Hildalphous scattered himself across the sky and in his scattering, he knocked away the black cloth that hung over the Earth. He became the sun, and the sky, and the stars, the light of life. `` * Plaster sighed to herself. Somewhere high above her daughter would live out her days above this black shroud. She would spend her life in the warmth of the sun. </s>

[ WP ] A medieval world where magic exists , but hardly anyone uses it because it 's too much trouble .

Bron approached the magician's keep, a teetering stone minaret that jutted out of the landscape. He sighed and dismounted his horse walking the rest of the way to the great portcullis that yawned black and foreboding at the towers base. He tied his horse to a post by the water trough and entered. Inside was a vast foyer hewn from dull grey rock, the air was musty and foted, the atmosphere bleak and oppressive. Haltingly, Bron crept further into the bleak space. It was illuminated by faint, greasy torches mounted in the wall sconces, a murky yellow light that gave his flesh an unhealthy pallor. Through the gloom he could make out a kind of path, marked out by lengths of rope suspended between small metal bollards. The path zig-zagged sharply on itself, forming a strange corral. Bron followed the serpentine path up to a strangely ominous box set into the wall. A sheet of linen hung across some manner of partition. When Bron reached the box is zipped up suddenly with a `` Pfftzzip!'' startling him. It revealed a kind of counter, behind this counter was a small, nebbish, bored looking man who regarded Bron with deep-set, melancholic eyes. 'How can I help you today, sir?' The man asked with a sonorous drone. 'Are... Are you the magician?' Bron asked warily. The torporific man behind the counter repeated,'How can I help you today, sir?' Bron blinked,'My village...', he ventured,'It's being terrorised by a frightful dragon! None of the Lord's knights have been able to slay the foul beast. I was told that only the power of a mighty mage can lay the monstrosity low. M'lord, you must help us!' The grey man behind the counter sighed heavily,'Do you have a Draconian Identification form signed by your provinces master of bestiary?' 'A what? M'lord you do n't understand my village is being-' 'I'm afraid I ca n't authorise a dragon slaying with out the requisite Draconian Identification form signed by your provinces master of bestiary' the dusty little man interrupted. 'M'lord, I do n't know what that is! You must help, please!' Bron pleaded, baffled. The man behind the desk sighed again, and riffled beneath the counter briefly,'OK, sir' he began in a soporific tone. 'The first thing I need you to do is to fill out this Draconian Identification form in triplicate with the exact size, weight, and wingspan of the drake in question in blue ink with the quill provided. Then I need you to go over to window B across the hall and have this form, The 17A Hex Authorisation Form, stamped and then you should fill it in with details of all dragon attacks that have occurred to your village in black ink, then turn it over and fill in your name, date of birth, and favourite songbird. Then, you should go to the other side of the hall and take a number and wait to be called to window F, where you will be asked to fill in the Alchemical History Index 22C with a comprehensive history of any and all potions that have been used in your village in the last 6 months. Please ensure you fill this sheet in with red ink using a black quill. After that return to this window and hand over the documentation I asked you to fill out and I'll then ask you to fill in a Conjuration 662AB Cosmic Health and Safety report on which you will note any pre-existing medical conditions, curses inflicted on your bloodline, or angry spirits seeking vengeance against you in red and blue ink alternating between words.' The bland little man promptly dumped a hefty stack of parchment into Bron's arms,'Please have the forms completed by the end of the working day.' With his baffling tirade finished the dusty man behind the counter pulled down the sheet of linen with a `` Pfftzzip!''. Bron staggered under the weight of the parchment, muted and agape. 'But... But I'm illiterate.'

<s>[INST] A medieval world where magic exists , but hardly anyone uses it because it 's too much trouble . [/INST] Bron approached the magician's keep, a teetering stone minaret that jutted out of the landscape. He sighed and dismounted his horse walking the rest of the way to the great portcullis that yawned black and foreboding at the towers base. He tied his horse to a post by the water trough and entered. Inside was a vast foyer hewn from dull grey rock, the air was musty and foted, the atmosphere bleak and oppressive. Haltingly, Bron crept further into the bleak space. It was illuminated by faint, greasy torches mounted in the wall sconces, a murky yellow light that gave his flesh an unhealthy pallor. Through the gloom he could make out a kind of path, marked out by lengths of rope suspended between small metal bollards. The path zig-zagged sharply on itself, forming a strange corral. Bron followed the serpentine path up to a strangely ominous box set into the wall. A sheet of linen hung across some manner of partition. When Bron reached the box is zipped up suddenly with a `` Pfftzzip!'' startling him. It revealed a kind of counter, behind this counter was a small, nebbish, bored looking man who regarded Bron with deep-set, melancholic eyes. 'How can I help you today, sir?' The man asked with a sonorous drone. 'Are... Are you the magician?' Bron asked warily. The torporific man behind the counter repeated,'How can I help you today, sir?' Bron blinked,'My village...', he ventured,'It's being terrorised by a frightful dragon! None of the Lord's knights have been able to slay the foul beast. I was told that only the power of a mighty mage can lay the monstrosity low. M'lord, you must help us!' The grey man behind the counter sighed heavily,'Do you have a Draconian Identification form signed by your provinces master of bestiary?' 'A what? M'lord you do n't understand my village is being-' 'I'm afraid I ca n't authorise a dragon slaying with out the requisite Draconian Identification form signed by your provinces master of bestiary' the dusty little man interrupted. 'M'lord, I do n't know what that is! You must help, please!' Bron pleaded, baffled. The man behind the desk sighed again, and riffled beneath the counter briefly,'OK, sir' he began in a soporific tone. 'The first thing I need you to do is to fill out this Draconian Identification form in triplicate with the exact size, weight, and wingspan of the drake in question in blue ink with the quill provided. Then I need you to go over to window B across the hall and have this form, The 17A Hex Authorisation Form, stamped and then you should fill it in with details of all dragon attacks that have occurred to your village in black ink, then turn it over and fill in your name, date of birth, and favourite songbird. Then, you should go to the other side of the hall and take a number and wait to be called to window F, where you will be asked to fill in the Alchemical History Index 22C with a comprehensive history of any and all potions that have been used in your village in the last 6 months. Please ensure you fill this sheet in with red ink using a black quill. After that return to this window and hand over the documentation I asked you to fill out and I'll then ask you to fill in a Conjuration 662AB Cosmic Health and Safety report on which you will note any pre-existing medical conditions, curses inflicted on your bloodline, or angry spirits seeking vengeance against you in red and blue ink alternating between words.' The bland little man promptly dumped a hefty stack of parchment into Bron's arms,'Please have the forms completed by the end of the working day.' With his baffling tirade finished the dusty man behind the counter pulled down the sheet of linen with a `` Pfftzzip!''. Bron staggered under the weight of the parchment, muted and agape. 'But... But I'm illiterate.' </s>