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[ WP ] You realize you 've misheard your daughter . There 's actually a mobster under her bed .

I must have looked pretty shady, but everyone does in this neighborhood. So nobody even questioned or made a second glass as I walked through to the backyard of the suburban two flat. I read the note again `` he always leaves the back window unlocked, we took care of the dog'' Whew, good, I hate dogs. I moved right in to the wooden porch over looking a huge backyard sprinkled with various toys that were never cleaned up `` Oh shit Little Jimmy has a kid?'' I whispered to myself as I fumbled with the window. I never remembed Little Jimmy having one while he was with the Sardinos, but life can move fast I guess. I slipped through the window and into a lavish kitchen. A little too lavish for what I knew about Little Jimmy, but maybe his wife whipped that outta him. I made a quick check through the house, every room with the fanciest appliance or furnishing you could think off, and I dialed the Bosses number. `` Are you in'' he said gruffly `` Yeah, Little Jimmy got straighted up'' `` Dont matta now, you know what to do. Even if his family is there, hes got ta pay'' He hung up. But my mind kept wondering. Something seemed strange. I went up stairs a bit more sliently, since I didnt know if anyone was up there, and poked around more. I walked quietly into the master bedroom, silk sheeted king sized bed engulfing the room which was 40 times bigger than my apartment. He really was living large. I checked the room across the hall, a pink room filled with cartoon character plushies, and drawings of animals scribbled in crayon. `` I hope shes at a slumber party or something'' I said to myself. All the sudden *DOOF* I hear the front door open downstairs and the shuffle of footsteps. `` Ah fuck, they arent supposed to be home yet'' I frantically look around the room for a place to hide, and seeing nowhere good. I slid underneath the bed, hiding under the pink blankets that extended over the bed. The house was of course, huge, yet I could hear the family talking as if they were in the room with me and the stuffed German Sheppard that was under the bed as well `` Im so sorry you're tired sweetie, did the movie make you sleepy?'' A womans voice said softly `` Yeah'' a little girls voice said `` Aw sweetie, im glad we left early, you get a good nights sleep, Ill tuck you in in a second'' said a voice that was totally not Little Jimmy. `` Who the fuck...'' I said as I double checked the address on my phone. 143 West 56th Street is definitely where I was at. I punched in the address to my phone. The gps pin flew a bit down the block. `` What in the hell'' I didnt have much more time mumble to myself because little footsteps were tap tap taping against the wood stairs, getting ever so louder. Every tap driving home that I have 5 counts of murder, 6 armed robberies, 3 assaults, and a very long time in jail if I get caught. The door opened, and the thud of the plop on the bed echoed the weight on top of me. Im not sure how much time passed, but it felt like days. The rest of the house filled with a movie whoever was downstairs was watching. Yeah... filled the house, like, theres no way this girls falling asleep. Do I shoot my way out? Do I just run? Whaaat do I... `` Wait'' said that evil, childs voice `` wheres Mr.Snuffles''. I looked at the stuffed dog next to me, beady dark eyes staring into the void. Please do not be Mr.Snuffles. I won the worlds worst game show because sure enough, the light filled the underside of the bed. And that blonde pigtailed girl who looked no older than 7 screamed worse than any murder victim Id ever laid my knife on. She turned and ran as fast as her little legs could go. I raced after her, originally to kill her, but I had enough things to worry about. At the bottom of the stairs, she went left into the living room, I went right towards the kitchen. I kicked open the door to the patio, just over hearing the girl tell whoever that there was a mobster under her bed, and I ran out into the night. I didnt know what I was going to tell the boss. But between being ratted out by a stuffed dog and not knowing how to use a GPS, I knew he wasnt gon na be happy with me.

<s>[INST] You realize you 've misheard your daughter . There 's actually a mobster under her bed . [/INST] I must have looked pretty shady, but everyone does in this neighborhood. So nobody even questioned or made a second glass as I walked through to the backyard of the suburban two flat. I read the note again `` he always leaves the back window unlocked, we took care of the dog'' Whew, good, I hate dogs. I moved right in to the wooden porch over looking a huge backyard sprinkled with various toys that were never cleaned up `` Oh shit Little Jimmy has a kid?'' I whispered to myself as I fumbled with the window. I never remembed Little Jimmy having one while he was with the Sardinos, but life can move fast I guess. I slipped through the window and into a lavish kitchen. A little too lavish for what I knew about Little Jimmy, but maybe his wife whipped that outta him. I made a quick check through the house, every room with the fanciest appliance or furnishing you could think off, and I dialed the Bosses number. `` Are you in'' he said gruffly `` Yeah, Little Jimmy got straighted up'' `` Dont matta now, you know what to do. Even if his family is there, hes got ta pay'' He hung up. But my mind kept wondering. Something seemed strange. I went up stairs a bit more sliently, since I didnt know if anyone was up there, and poked around more. I walked quietly into the master bedroom, silk sheeted king sized bed engulfing the room which was 40 times bigger than my apartment. He really was living large. I checked the room across the hall, a pink room filled with cartoon character plushies, and drawings of animals scribbled in crayon. `` I hope shes at a slumber party or something'' I said to myself. All the sudden *DOOF* I hear the front door open downstairs and the shuffle of footsteps. `` Ah fuck, they arent supposed to be home yet'' I frantically look around the room for a place to hide, and seeing nowhere good. I slid underneath the bed, hiding under the pink blankets that extended over the bed. The house was of course, huge, yet I could hear the family talking as if they were in the room with me and the stuffed German Sheppard that was under the bed as well `` Im so sorry you're tired sweetie, did the movie make you sleepy?'' A womans voice said softly `` Yeah'' a little girls voice said `` Aw sweetie, im glad we left early, you get a good nights sleep, Ill tuck you in in a second'' said a voice that was totally not Little Jimmy. `` Who the fuck...'' I said as I double checked the address on my phone. 143 West 56th Street is definitely where I was at. I punched in the address to my phone. The gps pin flew a bit down the block. `` What in the hell'' I didnt have much more time mumble to myself because little footsteps were tap tap taping against the wood stairs, getting ever so louder. Every tap driving home that I have 5 counts of murder, 6 armed robberies, 3 assaults, and a very long time in jail if I get caught. The door opened, and the thud of the plop on the bed echoed the weight on top of me. Im not sure how much time passed, but it felt like days. The rest of the house filled with a movie whoever was downstairs was watching. Yeah... filled the house, like, theres no way this girls falling asleep. Do I shoot my way out? Do I just run? Whaaat do I... `` Wait'' said that evil, childs voice `` wheres Mr.Snuffles''. I looked at the stuffed dog next to me, beady dark eyes staring into the void. Please do not be Mr.Snuffles. I won the worlds worst game show because sure enough, the light filled the underside of the bed. And that blonde pigtailed girl who looked no older than 7 screamed worse than any murder victim Id ever laid my knife on. She turned and ran as fast as her little legs could go. I raced after her, originally to kill her, but I had enough things to worry about. At the bottom of the stairs, she went left into the living room, I went right towards the kitchen. I kicked open the door to the patio, just over hearing the girl tell whoever that there was a mobster under her bed, and I ran out into the night. I didnt know what I was going to tell the boss. But between being ratted out by a stuffed dog and not knowing how to use a GPS, I knew he wasnt gon na be happy with me. </s>

[ WP ] A doll you bought at an auction comes to life .

Larry did n't plan on bringing new life into this world. On custodial wages, he had just enough to get himself by. The logistics of producing offspring were utterly beyond his means. Besides, Larry was no Casanova, so even finding a willing mother was an insurmountable challenge. Which is part of the reason he resorted to the sex doll. Larry had never had the opportunity to share a meaningful relationship with anyone beyond those merely platonic ones he had had with his old high school chums. And these were questionably meaningful at best. Now in his forties, he was alone. It had taken him two and a half months to save the funds necessary for his sex doll. It was an important investment to him. Whereas some men had wives, girlfriends, trysts, Larry had his mail order magazines. It took him a full year to recognize that his need to release his more base desires outweighed his shame at buying a sex doll. One evening, along with an overdue gas bill, he sent out a check to the sex doll manufacturer, Real Flesh Inc. In his barely legible scrawl was written `` Two-thousand fore hundred ninty nine and 00/100.'' The doll was a look-alike of his favorite actress, Shelley Long, from Cheers, whom he had masturbated to countless times in his youth, at home while his parents were working. Having Shelley unwrapped and supine on his musty bed, shortly after her awkward delivery by the postman ( who, through his strange glances had made it clear he was privy to the packages contents ), was enough to start him throbbing. The likeness was uncanny. Life-like. Shelley Long-like. There was no ceremony. Larry would have liked to treat Shelley like a lady, felt compelled to, but he was more animal than man once he finally had Shelley within his grasp. He tried to contain himself once he had entered the flesh-and by god, was it not real flesh? -but Shelley's christening was short, sweet. After he came, Larry collapsed upon Shelley's bosom. The release was too strong for Larry to stay on his feet. He swam in seratonin and his own sweat, pooled in the dent in Shelley Long's inverted sternum. Stars swam before his eyes as he heaved long breaths, with his studio swirling around him. Soon the sea in Shelley's breasts became salty with Larry's tears, and his breath made condensation just above her navel, as he heaved, and nuzzled her like a puppy weened from it's mother too soon. Larry's head began to rise and fall, and this hypnotized him, like a baby rocking to sleep. His lids began to fall closed. His tears ceased, and breathing slowed, matching the rise and fall of Shelley's bosom. As her dainty, manicured fingers soothed his tousled head, Larry's eyes slowly fell closed, until he fell into the most peaceful sleep of his life.

<s>[INST] A doll you bought at an auction comes to life . [/INST] Larry did n't plan on bringing new life into this world. On custodial wages, he had just enough to get himself by. The logistics of producing offspring were utterly beyond his means. Besides, Larry was no Casanova, so even finding a willing mother was an insurmountable challenge. Which is part of the reason he resorted to the sex doll. Larry had never had the opportunity to share a meaningful relationship with anyone beyond those merely platonic ones he had had with his old high school chums. And these were questionably meaningful at best. Now in his forties, he was alone. It had taken him two and a half months to save the funds necessary for his sex doll. It was an important investment to him. Whereas some men had wives, girlfriends, trysts, Larry had his mail order magazines. It took him a full year to recognize that his need to release his more base desires outweighed his shame at buying a sex doll. One evening, along with an overdue gas bill, he sent out a check to the sex doll manufacturer, Real Flesh Inc. In his barely legible scrawl was written `` Two-thousand fore hundred ninty nine and 00/100.'' The doll was a look-alike of his favorite actress, Shelley Long, from Cheers, whom he had masturbated to countless times in his youth, at home while his parents were working. Having Shelley unwrapped and supine on his musty bed, shortly after her awkward delivery by the postman ( who, through his strange glances had made it clear he was privy to the packages contents ), was enough to start him throbbing. The likeness was uncanny. Life-like. Shelley Long-like. There was no ceremony. Larry would have liked to treat Shelley like a lady, felt compelled to, but he was more animal than man once he finally had Shelley within his grasp. He tried to contain himself once he had entered the flesh-and by god, was it not real flesh? -but Shelley's christening was short, sweet. After he came, Larry collapsed upon Shelley's bosom. The release was too strong for Larry to stay on his feet. He swam in seratonin and his own sweat, pooled in the dent in Shelley Long's inverted sternum. Stars swam before his eyes as he heaved long breaths, with his studio swirling around him. Soon the sea in Shelley's breasts became salty with Larry's tears, and his breath made condensation just above her navel, as he heaved, and nuzzled her like a puppy weened from it's mother too soon. Larry's head began to rise and fall, and this hypnotized him, like a baby rocking to sleep. His lids began to fall closed. His tears ceased, and breathing slowed, matching the rise and fall of Shelley's bosom. As her dainty, manicured fingers soothed his tousled head, Larry's eyes slowly fell closed, until he fell into the most peaceful sleep of his life. </s>

[ WP ] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it . He does not yet know that you are the 1st .

`` GAROYU GAROU TI'CHIKICHKI UUU,'' the Beast uttered. That's what he wanted to be called, `` The Beast''. It's.... REALLY stupid, but I like having him around so I do n't pick on him for it. He ca n't really speak well anymore, or *think* well. He used to be a normal human, like you folks. Well, mostly normal. He was ( still is! ) my roommate. He felt really downtrodden that I was the one getting all the attention, though, and I understood. So, you know what he did? He researched forces beyond our comprehension. Yes, even my vastly superior mind could not understand those things he dealt with. That's why I do n't really think about it. But he came home one day, I did n't even recognize him until I read his mind. He was entirely covered in bristly fur, had tendrils dragging from his arms, was about 8'11'' tall, and was about four feet wide at the chest. The Beast told me, `` Omnia Scire! I'm a superhero now. My name is the Beast.'' I was confused, I asked him what he meant. He told me that he... He had contacted otherworldly forces through magical rites. I was still confused, I asked him more. He explained. I do n't think I should tell you exactly *what* he explained to me, but they were highly dangerous actions that never truly end well. What he did would make him end up a mindless mutant, no morality or mind to speak of. I was angry. He did n't seem to mind. He was already mad. He bragged about his newfound power for as long as he could, before his tongue melted in his maw. His mind was next. It's only been a few weeks since then, and I fear the day I'll need to slay my friend. Hm? Oh, right. Back to the story. `` Yes, Beast?'' I responded. `` GRRRRATUNG LORKUN L'QURARR,'' I had to read his mind to understand. Always gave me a headache. It was some utterances of pain, he said he was in pain... `` Where?'' I quickly replied, nervously. The day may have already come. His tendrils pointed to his arm... Plasma scars. No biggie, always happens to him. Must've been out chasing villains. I fixed him up, his regeneration factor would fix the rest. Now, this guy's a bitch, am I right? It's just some plasma that grazed him, it ALWAYS happens to him.

<s>[INST] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it . He does not yet know that you are the 1st . [/INST] `` GAROYU GAROU TI'CHIKICHKI UUU,'' the Beast uttered. That's what he wanted to be called, `` The Beast''. It's.... REALLY stupid, but I like having him around so I do n't pick on him for it. He ca n't really speak well anymore, or *think* well. He used to be a normal human, like you folks. Well, mostly normal. He was ( still is! ) my roommate. He felt really downtrodden that I was the one getting all the attention, though, and I understood. So, you know what he did? He researched forces beyond our comprehension. Yes, even my vastly superior mind could not understand those things he dealt with. That's why I do n't really think about it. But he came home one day, I did n't even recognize him until I read his mind. He was entirely covered in bristly fur, had tendrils dragging from his arms, was about 8'11'' tall, and was about four feet wide at the chest. The Beast told me, `` Omnia Scire! I'm a superhero now. My name is the Beast.'' I was confused, I asked him what he meant. He told me that he... He had contacted otherworldly forces through magical rites. I was still confused, I asked him more. He explained. I do n't think I should tell you exactly *what* he explained to me, but they were highly dangerous actions that never truly end well. What he did would make him end up a mindless mutant, no morality or mind to speak of. I was angry. He did n't seem to mind. He was already mad. He bragged about his newfound power for as long as he could, before his tongue melted in his maw. His mind was next. It's only been a few weeks since then, and I fear the day I'll need to slay my friend. Hm? Oh, right. Back to the story. `` Yes, Beast?'' I responded. `` GRRRRATUNG LORKUN L'QURARR,'' I had to read his mind to understand. Always gave me a headache. It was some utterances of pain, he said he was in pain... `` Where?'' I quickly replied, nervously. The day may have already come. His tendrils pointed to his arm... Plasma scars. No biggie, always happens to him. Must've been out chasing villains. I fixed him up, his regeneration factor would fix the rest. Now, this guy's a bitch, am I right? It's just some plasma that grazed him, it ALWAYS happens to him. </s>

[ CW ] A story that packs a punch of two people with fundamentally different values that cause a tragedy .

`` Where are we going tonight, sweetie?'' `` Anywhere you want, hun.'' She walked around the car to the passenger seat. Alex could n't help but notice the sweater she was wearing. He still owned the same one, but his eyes wandered up and down. He would have told her to sit in the back, but this was his last run. The attractive, and rather promiscuous dressed woman looked at Alex, waiting for him to speak. She was shaking, and he contemplated lending her his jacket, knowing the sweater does little against the cold. `` Like I said, where do you want to go?'' `` I'm not sure... Oh.... Oh.'' `` Is everything okay? I do n't mean to alarm you...'' `` Just drive,'' she interrupted. `` You got it.'' He drove off, the late night road void of cars. They were at a stop light, the heater comforting Alex. But the woman was still uncomfortable. She was n't freezing anymore, but she looked nervous, almost like she's embarrassed. Did she realize she was supposed to get in the back seat? He realized the light had turned green and pressed on the pedal, and felt a hand on his leg. Nervous, he began to speed. `` Oh you know how I like it!'' `` What?'' She pulled the zipper. `` Go faster!'' And faster he went. After a few good miles, they agreed to stop. `` That was...'' `` Amazing.'' `` Amazing.'' It was the best ride he's ever given. `` I've never felt so alive, we barely just met!'' Alex reached for his phone to calculate how much the cost will be. He almost did n't want to let her go. He made sure to catch a last glance of her brown eyes before goodbye. `` About the money...'' She continued. `` Oh... Why do n't we...'' `` Let's just...'' The woman leaned forward and landed a kiss on his lips. And just like that, she waved a kiss goodbye and was gone.

<s>[INST] [ CW ] A story that packs a punch of two people with fundamentally different values that cause a tragedy . [/INST] `` Where are we going tonight, sweetie?'' `` Anywhere you want, hun.'' She walked around the car to the passenger seat. Alex could n't help but notice the sweater she was wearing. He still owned the same one, but his eyes wandered up and down. He would have told her to sit in the back, but this was his last run. The attractive, and rather promiscuous dressed woman looked at Alex, waiting for him to speak. She was shaking, and he contemplated lending her his jacket, knowing the sweater does little against the cold. `` Like I said, where do you want to go?'' `` I'm not sure... Oh.... Oh.'' `` Is everything okay? I do n't mean to alarm you...'' `` Just drive,'' she interrupted. `` You got it.'' He drove off, the late night road void of cars. They were at a stop light, the heater comforting Alex. But the woman was still uncomfortable. She was n't freezing anymore, but she looked nervous, almost like she's embarrassed. Did she realize she was supposed to get in the back seat? He realized the light had turned green and pressed on the pedal, and felt a hand on his leg. Nervous, he began to speed. `` Oh you know how I like it!'' `` What?'' She pulled the zipper. `` Go faster!'' And faster he went. After a few good miles, they agreed to stop. `` That was...'' `` Amazing.'' `` Amazing.'' It was the best ride he's ever given. `` I've never felt so alive, we barely just met!'' Alex reached for his phone to calculate how much the cost will be. He almost did n't want to let her go. He made sure to catch a last glance of her brown eyes before goodbye. `` About the money...'' She continued. `` Oh... Why do n't we...'' `` Let's just...'' The woman leaned forward and landed a kiss on his lips. And just like that, she waved a kiss goodbye and was gone. </s>

[ IP ] Castle in the distance

“ How long will it take, dad? ” Bright eyes of a storm-grey shade peer out from under unkempt locks of grimy blond hair. They look from the turret built directly into the mountainside to the castle looming in the distance in the darkening sunlight. “ Not even another full fortnight I think. ” The man replies, looking up to follow his son ’ s gaze but seems to trace the path they need to take outward from the castle. “ We ’ ll be going through that battlement. It ’ s the best way to get in from this side. ” “ Really? ” His son ’ s eyes widen, full of wonder at the tower cracking out from between the rocks. “ Indeed we will. ” The father ’ s eyes linger on his son, distant before he returns to setting up his and his son ’ s tent. A small battalion of soldiers accompanies them, all ignoring the father and his son in favor of their own duties. The father keeps an eye on his son as the young boy scampers around, staying out of the way of the troops even though they give him fair berth. The dinner is loud and raucous, the soldiers seeming quite happy to be much closer to home than the father and son ’ s small village. After all, it had taken them over five months to find and get to them and another month traveling so far back to the castle. If his guess was right, they still had a little less than a fortnight before they arrived. He gets his son tucked in, the young boy exhausted from the trip so far. He had started off full of boundless energy that a month of travelling had worn down to a small nub he could summon up occasionally. The sight of the castle had reignited some of that excitement however and the father was pleased for that. As his son sleeps, the father sits awake beside in him the dark, one hand grasped around the handle of a cheap but sharp knife. He waits in the dark, alert and following every sound like a proper sentry. “ Weisz? ” A quiet voice speaks, muffled through the tent, followed by scratching in an attempt to open the tent up. “ Weisz? ” The father lifts the flap with the knife, it immediately pressing into one of the soldier ’ s neck. He ’ s alone however, the sounds of their homecoming party much further away. “ O—Oi, calm down. I bring no harm. ” “ Speak or lose the ability to. ” “ The captains plan on slitting your throat this night and dumping your body far enough away that the boy wouldn ’ t see it. ” The soldier speaks quickly and quietly, Adam ’ s apple buzzing off the blade. “ They don ’ t wish for you to interfere with him any further, you are considered an outsider despite your relation to him. ” “ And why do you tell me this? To draw me into a different trap? ” Weisz drawls with a sneer on his lips. Too often the soldiers and city folk discounted those living in the wilds, they forgot of the losses they incurred each time something like this happened. Weisz was sure that he couldn ’ t kill the entire battalion with just the knife but they would remember him like a bad nightmare for years afterwards. “ I don ’ t approve. They plan to use him as a tool. I want you to live so that he will still have a father. So that he ’ s not just a plaything for the royalty. ” The last sentence is whispered, the soldier ’ s eyes darting back and forth, wide with terror—not at Weisz, but simply at being heard. “ I set it up so that you could escape tonight, head somewhere and eventually make your way into the town and eventually the castle. ” The soldier reaches into his clothing, much slower after the knife presses closer to his throat, and retrieves a piece of paper. “ And what is this? ” The father glances at the paper. “ Hope. ” Is the simple response, floating on optimism across the dark tent to Weisz. “ There ’ s a horse that I can lead you to, they ’ ll think I ’ m taking you to die. You can flee from them. ” He offers the paper to Weisz, looking more passionate with each word and action. “ And then come back with this. They will let me know, or someone like me, and I will help you once you ’ re in the town. ” “ Is that so? ” “ I promise on my life, on my children ’ s lives. ” The soldier nods fervently, nicking his neck open on the knife. Weisz watches a drop of blood run from the small wound. “ You will have to promise me something… what was your name? ” “ Anything. My name is Garrson. ” “ Promise me that you will watch my son, Garrson. ” “ With my life, I promise. And the lives of my children. ” Garrson replies, eyes big and white in the darkness. “ I will hold you to that, because I assure you that if you betray me, I will take all of the lives promised me. ” Weisz states and Garrson shivers faintly, making the father give a wry smile. It seemed that the people of the wilds still held invoked fear in the city folk, at least for now. The father takes his time after dropping the flap between himself and Garrson again. He kisses his son ’ s head, promising to the child that he would be back with him soon and to be a good son in his absence. He tucks a hastily scratched out letter into his son ’ s belongings, to answer where his father has gone and to counter what the captains would say. “ I will be back soon, Kallis. ” Weisz eases himself out and follows Garrson, subtly holding the knife to the soldier ’ s side and prepared to gut him if he attempted to betray him. The knife sits right where the gap in his armor should be, a flaw in the chainmail and plate armor. He ’ s pleasantly surprised when the horse is standing waiting for him at the edge of camp but is still loathe to sheathe the knife. “ Take him and go, off into the wilds. ” Garrson insists, voice still a whisper as he speaks. “ Hurry! ” Weisz swings up easily onto the horse ’ s back, gently comforting the creature as it attempts to shy away. “ May strength be with you on your journey. ” The traditional sendoff of the city folk and soldiers falls from Garrson ’ s mouth, pounding his chest with his fist. The lack of a metallic sound indicates that the soldier had not been wearing armor the entire time. “ Thank you. I wish you strength as well. ” Weisz pats the horse ’ s neck before urging it quickly away from the campsite and the eyes of drunk, wandering soldiers.

<s>[INST] [ IP ] Castle in the distance [/INST] “ How long will it take, dad? ” Bright eyes of a storm-grey shade peer out from under unkempt locks of grimy blond hair. They look from the turret built directly into the mountainside to the castle looming in the distance in the darkening sunlight. “ Not even another full fortnight I think. ” The man replies, looking up to follow his son ’ s gaze but seems to trace the path they need to take outward from the castle. “ We ’ ll be going through that battlement. It ’ s the best way to get in from this side. ” “ Really? ” His son ’ s eyes widen, full of wonder at the tower cracking out from between the rocks. “ Indeed we will. ” The father ’ s eyes linger on his son, distant before he returns to setting up his and his son ’ s tent. A small battalion of soldiers accompanies them, all ignoring the father and his son in favor of their own duties. The father keeps an eye on his son as the young boy scampers around, staying out of the way of the troops even though they give him fair berth. The dinner is loud and raucous, the soldiers seeming quite happy to be much closer to home than the father and son ’ s small village. After all, it had taken them over five months to find and get to them and another month traveling so far back to the castle. If his guess was right, they still had a little less than a fortnight before they arrived. He gets his son tucked in, the young boy exhausted from the trip so far. He had started off full of boundless energy that a month of travelling had worn down to a small nub he could summon up occasionally. The sight of the castle had reignited some of that excitement however and the father was pleased for that. As his son sleeps, the father sits awake beside in him the dark, one hand grasped around the handle of a cheap but sharp knife. He waits in the dark, alert and following every sound like a proper sentry. “ Weisz? ” A quiet voice speaks, muffled through the tent, followed by scratching in an attempt to open the tent up. “ Weisz? ” The father lifts the flap with the knife, it immediately pressing into one of the soldier ’ s neck. He ’ s alone however, the sounds of their homecoming party much further away. “ O—Oi, calm down. I bring no harm. ” “ Speak or lose the ability to. ” “ The captains plan on slitting your throat this night and dumping your body far enough away that the boy wouldn ’ t see it. ” The soldier speaks quickly and quietly, Adam ’ s apple buzzing off the blade. “ They don ’ t wish for you to interfere with him any further, you are considered an outsider despite your relation to him. ” “ And why do you tell me this? To draw me into a different trap? ” Weisz drawls with a sneer on his lips. Too often the soldiers and city folk discounted those living in the wilds, they forgot of the losses they incurred each time something like this happened. Weisz was sure that he couldn ’ t kill the entire battalion with just the knife but they would remember him like a bad nightmare for years afterwards. “ I don ’ t approve. They plan to use him as a tool. I want you to live so that he will still have a father. So that he ’ s not just a plaything for the royalty. ” The last sentence is whispered, the soldier ’ s eyes darting back and forth, wide with terror—not at Weisz, but simply at being heard. “ I set it up so that you could escape tonight, head somewhere and eventually make your way into the town and eventually the castle. ” The soldier reaches into his clothing, much slower after the knife presses closer to his throat, and retrieves a piece of paper. “ And what is this? ” The father glances at the paper. “ Hope. ” Is the simple response, floating on optimism across the dark tent to Weisz. “ There ’ s a horse that I can lead you to, they ’ ll think I ’ m taking you to die. You can flee from them. ” He offers the paper to Weisz, looking more passionate with each word and action. “ And then come back with this. They will let me know, or someone like me, and I will help you once you ’ re in the town. ” “ Is that so? ” “ I promise on my life, on my children ’ s lives. ” The soldier nods fervently, nicking his neck open on the knife. Weisz watches a drop of blood run from the small wound. “ You will have to promise me something… what was your name? ” “ Anything. My name is Garrson. ” “ Promise me that you will watch my son, Garrson. ” “ With my life, I promise. And the lives of my children. ” Garrson replies, eyes big and white in the darkness. “ I will hold you to that, because I assure you that if you betray me, I will take all of the lives promised me. ” Weisz states and Garrson shivers faintly, making the father give a wry smile. It seemed that the people of the wilds still held invoked fear in the city folk, at least for now. The father takes his time after dropping the flap between himself and Garrson again. He kisses his son ’ s head, promising to the child that he would be back with him soon and to be a good son in his absence. He tucks a hastily scratched out letter into his son ’ s belongings, to answer where his father has gone and to counter what the captains would say. “ I will be back soon, Kallis. ” Weisz eases himself out and follows Garrson, subtly holding the knife to the soldier ’ s side and prepared to gut him if he attempted to betray him. The knife sits right where the gap in his armor should be, a flaw in the chainmail and plate armor. He ’ s pleasantly surprised when the horse is standing waiting for him at the edge of camp but is still loathe to sheathe the knife. “ Take him and go, off into the wilds. ” Garrson insists, voice still a whisper as he speaks. “ Hurry! ” Weisz swings up easily onto the horse ’ s back, gently comforting the creature as it attempts to shy away. “ May strength be with you on your journey. ” The traditional sendoff of the city folk and soldiers falls from Garrson ’ s mouth, pounding his chest with his fist. The lack of a metallic sound indicates that the soldier had not been wearing armor the entire time. “ Thank you. I wish you strength as well. ” Weisz pats the horse ’ s neck before urging it quickly away from the campsite and the eyes of drunk, wandering soldiers. </s>

[ WP ] The graduation ceremony at your Magic academy allows each graduate to summon and make a contract with a familiar . You perform the ritual , but you summon a human named Carl .

With one last stroke of my brush, I completed the Rune of Kot'th'ha, universal symbol of summoning. The magical ink, which I had prepared earlier that day from assorted plants, pulsed with light, signaling the completion of the rune. I had spent the last few weeks working on this summoning scroll as my graduate thesis at Convergence University of Magic. The place was so named because so many ley lines and other anomalies converged at or around the school grounds. Students could tap into the innate power of the location and use it as a crutch when learning. A great variety of localized magical phenomena occur here, making it a prime spot for researchers. Many spells and rituals that would be impossible under normal conditions can be performed here easily. Anyway, the summoning scroll was complete. This one was designed for summoning a familiar, a common thesis topic for graduate students. The tiniest details could influence the nature of the being called forth, and it was critical that every summoner pour as much of themselves into the circle for their familiar as possible. In the runes, flourishes and other personal touches to the handwriting are helpful, and the summoning area, typically a series of geometric shapes, has to be visually appealing to the summoner. Every summoner writes their own spell for their familiar; the meter, tone, and wording must all be considered. The duality of chaos and order was a particular specialty of mine, so I had structured my summoning spell around obscure patterns that would appear chaotic unless one knew what one was looking for. I admired my handiwork for a moment, then went to bed. It was very late; I needed to complete the scroll in one sitting, and it had taken longer than anticipated. I would need all of my strength to pull this off. =============== The next day, I slept in. Intentionally. There was nothing to wake up early for, and, as I said, I had to be well rested for the ritual. While I would have to perform the summoning again in front of my professors, to demonstrate my success, the first calling of a familiar was an intimate and personal event. Anxiety over being judged could also interfere with the ritual. As a result, graduate students were allowed privacy for making the contract. The ritual itself was the easy part; I had spent months of grueling work in preparation, now all I had to do everything as I had planned it. I lit a few candles, then unrolled the scroll on the floor. I pulled a second scroll, far heavier than the summoning one, and laid it on the rolling lectern. That was my chant; since it was far too long to memorize, I would need to read off of a copy. Some sections were standard, others carefully composed from magically powerful words and sounds, and several were simple phrases in various languages I knew that were n't magical, but bore significance to me. Notes on inflection, pitch, speed, and volume were written between the lines, and diagrams and explanations of hand gestures filled the margins. Based on my estimations, this would take a couple of hours to complete. While I would rather not make any errors, chaos magic has the advantage of being unusually forgiving, and sometimes actually works better when small mistakes are made. I took a moment for introspection; with the amount of time this would need, uninterrupted, I could n't afford to be distracted by hunger, thirst, or the urge to make a trip to the water closet. My breakfast was dense, and would take some time to digest, and I had washed it down with a single glass of water, so I would probably be alright. I took a deep breath, and spoke the first word. Carrying out a ritual is both relaxing and stressful. On the one hand, ritual magic tends to be complex and drawn out with little room for error. On the other, once you get into the rhythm, the process can be strangely calming, like an extremely prolonged dance. Besides that, the channeled magical energies are soothing and overwhelming at the same time. It did n't take very long for me to lose myself to the flow of the magic and the ritual. It was what I lived for, and still is. The final word of a summoning spell is the most critical. It seals the ritual, and more importantly, starts drawing the summoned being into this world. It will be the first thing they hear from the one who called them. Most would have gone with an extreme word of power, but I went with a more personal and simple approach. `` Welcome.'' I said it in a warm, friendly tone, smiling as I did. That was n't artificial; I had been waiting a long time for this moment. Every summon breaks through to this world differently. Some materialize from thin air, while others open up portals. A few just show up in a blinding flash of light. There are many, many forms of manifestation besides those, but that covers the more common ones. Mine started as a simple speck floating in the air which slowly grew, curled up in a fetal position, until finally it stretched out and placed its feet gently on the ground. It looked human. That was n't unheard of; many magical beings are human in form, but inhuman in nature. Specifically, though, this one appeared as a small boy, who seemed like he could be no older than ten. `` Hello,'' he said, looking me straight in the eyes. `` Who are you?'' `` I am Alan,'' I responded, `` a mage. What is your name?'' `` Carl,'' was the boy's answer. He looked around, confused, and asked me, `` What is this place? Where am I?'' `` Convergence University of Magic,'' I told him, `` I called you here. This is your home now. Would you like a look around?'' Standard procedure would have been to go for a more direct approach, and attempt to contract the summon as a familiar immediately, but since I was likely going to be working with Carl for quite some time, I thought I ought to be friendly. Carl just stood there, seeming completely lost. `` Why am I here?'' he asked. The question puzzled me, so I gave him the simplest answer. `` I summoned you to be my familiar.'' Carl just stared at me, and asked, `` Who am I?'' This was starting to get weird, and I was growing suspicious that something was wrong. `` I do n't know. Let's find out, shall we?'' I said, reaching into my robes for my pocket spellbook. I had plenty of the more basic spells that I expected to use frequently memorized, but it paid to have the more complex or obscure ones ready to reference. I flipped through pages until I reached the chapter on detection and analysis, then located the precision sense spell. It was generally used by researchers to analyze localized magical phenomena, summoned or captured beings, and mystical artifacts. I muttered the incantation and focused on Carl. A lot of information funneled into my brain: blood type, magical affinity and senses, illnesses, emotions. None of that mattered though. Carl was human. That should have been impossible. Summoning humans is magically impossible. There are very few laws of magic, but those that do exist are absolute. `` Carl,'' I asked, `` Where were you before this?'' Carl gazed upward thoughtfully for a moment, his brow furrowed, before saying, `` I do n't know.'' `` Do you have a family? Friends?'' I pressed him with many more questions, but the answer was always, `` I do n't know.'' A thought struck me. Ignoring the fact that I may have inadvertently subverted a fundamental rule of magic, I had just summoned a child. Assuming he was n't a particularly asocial orphan, someone was bound to miss him. I was too caught up in the scientific implications to consider that. This kid probably had a home, and I needed to get him back to it. `` Come on,'' I said, `` We're going to the lab.'' Carl obediently followed. Like a familiar. This was disturbing. ============= ( Continued in Comments )

<s>[INST] The graduation ceremony at your Magic academy allows each graduate to summon and make a contract with a familiar . You perform the ritual , but you summon a human named Carl . [/INST] With one last stroke of my brush, I completed the Rune of Kot'th'ha, universal symbol of summoning. The magical ink, which I had prepared earlier that day from assorted plants, pulsed with light, signaling the completion of the rune. I had spent the last few weeks working on this summoning scroll as my graduate thesis at Convergence University of Magic. The place was so named because so many ley lines and other anomalies converged at or around the school grounds. Students could tap into the innate power of the location and use it as a crutch when learning. A great variety of localized magical phenomena occur here, making it a prime spot for researchers. Many spells and rituals that would be impossible under normal conditions can be performed here easily. Anyway, the summoning scroll was complete. This one was designed for summoning a familiar, a common thesis topic for graduate students. The tiniest details could influence the nature of the being called forth, and it was critical that every summoner pour as much of themselves into the circle for their familiar as possible. In the runes, flourishes and other personal touches to the handwriting are helpful, and the summoning area, typically a series of geometric shapes, has to be visually appealing to the summoner. Every summoner writes their own spell for their familiar; the meter, tone, and wording must all be considered. The duality of chaos and order was a particular specialty of mine, so I had structured my summoning spell around obscure patterns that would appear chaotic unless one knew what one was looking for. I admired my handiwork for a moment, then went to bed. It was very late; I needed to complete the scroll in one sitting, and it had taken longer than anticipated. I would need all of my strength to pull this off. =============== The next day, I slept in. Intentionally. There was nothing to wake up early for, and, as I said, I had to be well rested for the ritual. While I would have to perform the summoning again in front of my professors, to demonstrate my success, the first calling of a familiar was an intimate and personal event. Anxiety over being judged could also interfere with the ritual. As a result, graduate students were allowed privacy for making the contract. The ritual itself was the easy part; I had spent months of grueling work in preparation, now all I had to do everything as I had planned it. I lit a few candles, then unrolled the scroll on the floor. I pulled a second scroll, far heavier than the summoning one, and laid it on the rolling lectern. That was my chant; since it was far too long to memorize, I would need to read off of a copy. Some sections were standard, others carefully composed from magically powerful words and sounds, and several were simple phrases in various languages I knew that were n't magical, but bore significance to me. Notes on inflection, pitch, speed, and volume were written between the lines, and diagrams and explanations of hand gestures filled the margins. Based on my estimations, this would take a couple of hours to complete. While I would rather not make any errors, chaos magic has the advantage of being unusually forgiving, and sometimes actually works better when small mistakes are made. I took a moment for introspection; with the amount of time this would need, uninterrupted, I could n't afford to be distracted by hunger, thirst, or the urge to make a trip to the water closet. My breakfast was dense, and would take some time to digest, and I had washed it down with a single glass of water, so I would probably be alright. I took a deep breath, and spoke the first word. Carrying out a ritual is both relaxing and stressful. On the one hand, ritual magic tends to be complex and drawn out with little room for error. On the other, once you get into the rhythm, the process can be strangely calming, like an extremely prolonged dance. Besides that, the channeled magical energies are soothing and overwhelming at the same time. It did n't take very long for me to lose myself to the flow of the magic and the ritual. It was what I lived for, and still is. The final word of a summoning spell is the most critical. It seals the ritual, and more importantly, starts drawing the summoned being into this world. It will be the first thing they hear from the one who called them. Most would have gone with an extreme word of power, but I went with a more personal and simple approach. `` Welcome.'' I said it in a warm, friendly tone, smiling as I did. That was n't artificial; I had been waiting a long time for this moment. Every summon breaks through to this world differently. Some materialize from thin air, while others open up portals. A few just show up in a blinding flash of light. There are many, many forms of manifestation besides those, but that covers the more common ones. Mine started as a simple speck floating in the air which slowly grew, curled up in a fetal position, until finally it stretched out and placed its feet gently on the ground. It looked human. That was n't unheard of; many magical beings are human in form, but inhuman in nature. Specifically, though, this one appeared as a small boy, who seemed like he could be no older than ten. `` Hello,'' he said, looking me straight in the eyes. `` Who are you?'' `` I am Alan,'' I responded, `` a mage. What is your name?'' `` Carl,'' was the boy's answer. He looked around, confused, and asked me, `` What is this place? Where am I?'' `` Convergence University of Magic,'' I told him, `` I called you here. This is your home now. Would you like a look around?'' Standard procedure would have been to go for a more direct approach, and attempt to contract the summon as a familiar immediately, but since I was likely going to be working with Carl for quite some time, I thought I ought to be friendly. Carl just stood there, seeming completely lost. `` Why am I here?'' he asked. The question puzzled me, so I gave him the simplest answer. `` I summoned you to be my familiar.'' Carl just stared at me, and asked, `` Who am I?'' This was starting to get weird, and I was growing suspicious that something was wrong. `` I do n't know. Let's find out, shall we?'' I said, reaching into my robes for my pocket spellbook. I had plenty of the more basic spells that I expected to use frequently memorized, but it paid to have the more complex or obscure ones ready to reference. I flipped through pages until I reached the chapter on detection and analysis, then located the precision sense spell. It was generally used by researchers to analyze localized magical phenomena, summoned or captured beings, and mystical artifacts. I muttered the incantation and focused on Carl. A lot of information funneled into my brain: blood type, magical affinity and senses, illnesses, emotions. None of that mattered though. Carl was human. That should have been impossible. Summoning humans is magically impossible. There are very few laws of magic, but those that do exist are absolute. `` Carl,'' I asked, `` Where were you before this?'' Carl gazed upward thoughtfully for a moment, his brow furrowed, before saying, `` I do n't know.'' `` Do you have a family? Friends?'' I pressed him with many more questions, but the answer was always, `` I do n't know.'' A thought struck me. Ignoring the fact that I may have inadvertently subverted a fundamental rule of magic, I had just summoned a child. Assuming he was n't a particularly asocial orphan, someone was bound to miss him. I was too caught up in the scientific implications to consider that. This kid probably had a home, and I needed to get him back to it. `` Come on,'' I said, `` We're going to the lab.'' Carl obediently followed. Like a familiar. This was disturbing. ============= ( Continued in Comments ) </s>

[ WP ] `` All the victims were found with a chess piece on their person ... ''

`` All the victims were found with a chess piece on their person,'' Chief Dickerson announces for all the press to hear. Hehehe, I said Erson! `` If anyone in the community has any information concerning these murders, please call our toll-free hotline at --'' blah blah blah. I close my notebook and turn back to beat the crowd out the door. All the good information's already been gone, and then it'll be on to the second and third most important people to speak, and so on... `` Where ya goin', Pratt?'' I look back, and immediately regret it. It's Robert Duval, of the Haven News Network. He's smirking at me, which is illegal in my book. Only I get to smirk with my own self-imposed sense of superiority to my fellow press dickheads. `` You know,'' I say to Robert under the microphone-enhanced speech being given by Mr. Second-in-Importance, `` there's privelege in being the backpage hack, and I'm invoking it.'' `` Do n't you want to hear more about the Chess Murders?'' he asks, and I can hear the capitalization in his voice. `` Strange stuff is right up your alley, I thought? Why, whenever are n't you fighting off ancient wiggaboos and demons and other crap?'' `` That's just my night job,'' I say, waving. `` Speaking of... ciao!'' I turn and leave, and have to wander around a bit to find a warm, empty room to make my mandatory phone call to the editor. `` Yes? Hey, Chiefo!'' I say into the phone. `` Chess-related murders. Exciting! Seems he's worked his way through the pawns and going for -- What? Why? I've always favored the Rook.... Seriously?'' I sigh. `` Fine.'' Not my beat anymore. That was enough for the backpages, and my editor thought it was no longer my responsibility, since this was, you know, super-serious front page news! I do n't get to play on the front page, but I do get to play at night. So, with my job done for the day, I make another phone call, this time to my contact and representative for the werewolves of Haven, Sergeant Gregor. `` So,'' I say when he picks up with an ever-lovely,'What is it now, Pratt?', `` Each pawn in these murders is one of these new-age vampire kids, right?'' `` Dead on,'' Gregor replies with his usual gruff voice, now sorta bored and sorta not. This was inching into Facade territory, I could almost smell it as well as Gregor's Were nose could. `` So, who would be a Rook? A base of operations, you think?'' `` What I'm thinking,'' Gregor says. `` I do n't play much chess, but rooks *are* castles.'' `` Bishops? Knights? Queens? King?'' `` The converter would be a bishop. Or the'recruiter' as the vamps like to say.'' `` And knights would be a fighter, would n't he? A hitman?'' `` Probably.'' `` So, queens? Kings?'' `` Whoever is running this new vamp operation, I'm sure.'' `` And who is that?'' I asked. `` Guess the both of us will have to find that out.'' Greattt... `` What's your mind, Pratt? Who dies next?'' Gregor asks. `` And why?'' `` You know what I'm thinking, Gregor.'' `` Butchers.'' `` Yup. Good'ol vamp territory war. Have n't seen one of those since the 1800's.''

<s>[INST] `` All the victims were found with a chess piece on their person ... '' [/INST] `` All the victims were found with a chess piece on their person,'' Chief Dickerson announces for all the press to hear. Hehehe, I said Erson! `` If anyone in the community has any information concerning these murders, please call our toll-free hotline at --'' blah blah blah. I close my notebook and turn back to beat the crowd out the door. All the good information's already been gone, and then it'll be on to the second and third most important people to speak, and so on... `` Where ya goin', Pratt?'' I look back, and immediately regret it. It's Robert Duval, of the Haven News Network. He's smirking at me, which is illegal in my book. Only I get to smirk with my own self-imposed sense of superiority to my fellow press dickheads. `` You know,'' I say to Robert under the microphone-enhanced speech being given by Mr. Second-in-Importance, `` there's privelege in being the backpage hack, and I'm invoking it.'' `` Do n't you want to hear more about the Chess Murders?'' he asks, and I can hear the capitalization in his voice. `` Strange stuff is right up your alley, I thought? Why, whenever are n't you fighting off ancient wiggaboos and demons and other crap?'' `` That's just my night job,'' I say, waving. `` Speaking of... ciao!'' I turn and leave, and have to wander around a bit to find a warm, empty room to make my mandatory phone call to the editor. `` Yes? Hey, Chiefo!'' I say into the phone. `` Chess-related murders. Exciting! Seems he's worked his way through the pawns and going for -- What? Why? I've always favored the Rook.... Seriously?'' I sigh. `` Fine.'' Not my beat anymore. That was enough for the backpages, and my editor thought it was no longer my responsibility, since this was, you know, super-serious front page news! I do n't get to play on the front page, but I do get to play at night. So, with my job done for the day, I make another phone call, this time to my contact and representative for the werewolves of Haven, Sergeant Gregor. `` So,'' I say when he picks up with an ever-lovely,'What is it now, Pratt?', `` Each pawn in these murders is one of these new-age vampire kids, right?'' `` Dead on,'' Gregor replies with his usual gruff voice, now sorta bored and sorta not. This was inching into Facade territory, I could almost smell it as well as Gregor's Were nose could. `` So, who would be a Rook? A base of operations, you think?'' `` What I'm thinking,'' Gregor says. `` I do n't play much chess, but rooks *are* castles.'' `` Bishops? Knights? Queens? King?'' `` The converter would be a bishop. Or the'recruiter' as the vamps like to say.'' `` And knights would be a fighter, would n't he? A hitman?'' `` Probably.'' `` So, queens? Kings?'' `` Whoever is running this new vamp operation, I'm sure.'' `` And who is that?'' I asked. `` Guess the both of us will have to find that out.'' Greattt... `` What's your mind, Pratt? Who dies next?'' Gregor asks. `` And why?'' `` You know what I'm thinking, Gregor.'' `` Butchers.'' `` Yup. Good'ol vamp territory war. Have n't seen one of those since the 1800's.'' </s>

[ WP ] You paint a person , and it comes to life . It ca n't leave the canvas , and it begs you to add things to the painting .

The figure looks confused, he had been struck into a state of existential crises mere moments after his inception. He had known nothing before yet seemed to function as if he had already had a life of his own, a personality that he could call his own. The figure glances around curiously taking in this new environment: the world he had just been brought into, the world he would get to explore, the world that would be the only one he would ever get to know. The figure finds nothing but emptiness. He is disappointed by how lonely the world is. Edit: plan on adding more later

<s>[INST] You paint a person , and it comes to life . It ca n't leave the canvas , and it begs you to add things to the painting . [/INST] The figure looks confused, he had been struck into a state of existential crises mere moments after his inception. He had known nothing before yet seemed to function as if he had already had a life of his own, a personality that he could call his own. The figure glances around curiously taking in this new environment: the world he had just been brought into, the world he would get to explore, the world that would be the only one he would ever get to know. The figure finds nothing but emptiness. He is disappointed by how lonely the world is. Edit: plan on adding more later </s>

[ WP ] The Justice League discovers that , in order to retain his powers , Superman must kill an innocent person once per year .

Day 350, Clark searches endlessly for an innocent person to kill. He naturally assumed in one of his many adventures that there would be an opportunity to kill one innocent person to save many. He was wrong. In a moment of inspiration he flies around the world superast the other way from before launching him 20 years into the future. There Clark finds hundreds of villains who have caused much death and destruction. One man Dr. Gorum, is a 25 year old madman on the brink of finishing the ultimate doomsday device the sandspreader. Once activated the sandspreader will turn all land into a desert. Ending humanity as we know it. Having found his mark Clark returns to the present time. Dr. Gorum is only five years old. Clark enters Gorums room late at night whIle he is sleeping and prepares to make his kill. He cocks back his fist and Gorum awakens looking up with wide eyes filled with terror. A moments hesitation and then....

<s>[INST] The Justice League discovers that , in order to retain his powers , Superman must kill an innocent person once per year . [/INST] Day 350, Clark searches endlessly for an innocent person to kill. He naturally assumed in one of his many adventures that there would be an opportunity to kill one innocent person to save many. He was wrong. In a moment of inspiration he flies around the world superast the other way from before launching him 20 years into the future. There Clark finds hundreds of villains who have caused much death and destruction. One man Dr. Gorum, is a 25 year old madman on the brink of finishing the ultimate doomsday device the sandspreader. Once activated the sandspreader will turn all land into a desert. Ending humanity as we know it. Having found his mark Clark returns to the present time. Dr. Gorum is only five years old. Clark enters Gorums room late at night whIle he is sleeping and prepares to make his kill. He cocks back his fist and Gorum awakens looking up with wide eyes filled with terror. A moments hesitation and then.... </s>

[ WP ] An old dog is being taken to the vet to be put down and does not understand what is happening .

Fred was a wise old dog. His owner, Rob, had made sure to take him on every trip he could - he'd seen both coasts, the grand Mississippi, and even the tops of mountains. Fred was tired though, and he was tired more and more recently. His bones ached. His eyes did n't work as well, and his trusty nose failed him more than not. Fred was content, though. He knew his owner would take care of him, even if the time of endless prairie was coming. Fred's momma had told her pups of the prairie not long before they'd been weaned. The prairie was a big ol' place were coonhounds and pugs alike romped and played and loved until their owners came to the prairie to pick them up. Nobody knew where they went after, but everyone liked the idea of endless play under a warm summer sun. Fred could sometimes smell the prairie grass, when his nose would let him. It smelled dry, but not bone dry. Rob'd taken him to the family farm more than once, and thats what it smelled like every summer. It smelled like home. Fred found himself in the car. He liked rides, but it was n't in him enough to stick his head out of the window. When had he gotten in here? He supposed he'd dozed off or something. Fred grumbled, his legs giving out slowly, and he settled down to doze off again. He could hear, though not quite see Rob sniffling. Maybe he smelled the prairie, too.

<s>[INST] An old dog is being taken to the vet to be put down and does not understand what is happening . [/INST] Fred was a wise old dog. His owner, Rob, had made sure to take him on every trip he could - he'd seen both coasts, the grand Mississippi, and even the tops of mountains. Fred was tired though, and he was tired more and more recently. His bones ached. His eyes did n't work as well, and his trusty nose failed him more than not. Fred was content, though. He knew his owner would take care of him, even if the time of endless prairie was coming. Fred's momma had told her pups of the prairie not long before they'd been weaned. The prairie was a big ol' place were coonhounds and pugs alike romped and played and loved until their owners came to the prairie to pick them up. Nobody knew where they went after, but everyone liked the idea of endless play under a warm summer sun. Fred could sometimes smell the prairie grass, when his nose would let him. It smelled dry, but not bone dry. Rob'd taken him to the family farm more than once, and thats what it smelled like every summer. It smelled like home. Fred found himself in the car. He liked rides, but it was n't in him enough to stick his head out of the window. When had he gotten in here? He supposed he'd dozed off or something. Fred grumbled, his legs giving out slowly, and he settled down to doze off again. He could hear, though not quite see Rob sniffling. Maybe he smelled the prairie, too. </s>

[ WP ] You 're in a crowded elevator and , as a joke , you say , `` I bet you 're wondering why I gathered you here today . '' All of them turn to you and say `` Yes , master , '' in perfect unison .

`` Yes, Master.'' (... wait, what?! ) A man in a black coat, bending down on one knee, offers me a Pepsi. `` Your morning refreshment, Master.'' `` Aha... aha... okay, good one, everyone. Aha, did n't expect a reversal...'' The elevator crowd look at one another in confusion. `` Are you feeling all right, Master?'' Asks a mousy girl near the back. One of her teeth fall out as she closes her mouth. `` I... er....'' ( What is happening? This is a joke, right? Why's no one laughing?! ) The crowd begins to look uncomfortable. They look at me expectantly and with a certain guard in their expressions, as if they wish to discuss something amongst themselves but think against it for fear of incurring some imaginary wrath. ( Whatever. Fine, I'll finish it. Weirdos... ) `` I must apologise to you all. It has just been too long since our last meeting. To think that I'd see you all again... I just... I just never thought I'd see the day...'' ( How about them apples?! ) A cane-bearing man stepped forward, cleared his throat and began to speak. `` It's been two hours.'' `` Ah.'' `` Master. As your advisor, perhaps you'd like to let me speak on your behalf? I know you must be tired after today's tribulations, so why do n't you grab the Pepsi from Jack and take a break? His knee must be getting tired, now.'' Jack shot the advisor a grateful glance and resumed his duties of offering Pepsi. `` Oh um, if you would n't mind doing so, sure. But I'll pass on Pepsi. I do n't like fizzy drinks.'' A chill seemed to have passed over them as silence fell on all. The only sound that could be heard was another of the mousy girl's teeth falling to the ground. It was apparent to me that I committed another taboo. ( Why Pepsi? ) The advisor cleared his throat. `` Gathered you all, I have. Discuss with you a certain matter, I must. An imposter amongst us, there is.'' A wave of murmurs rolled over everyone. `` Imposter?'' `` Who?'' `` I ca n't believe it!'' `` What was with the sudden impression?'' `` Wait a minute'' said the mousy girl, `` if there really is an imposter, then there can only be one person! It must be --'' `` Yeah, we figured it out ages ago, Lisa!'' Interjected a man, clutching a wet briefcase. `` God, you're slow!'' As one, they all turned to face me, a look of scorn in their unified gazes. Perhaps hurt, or perhaps eager to prove that she was n't slow, Lisa pointed a finger at me and demanded `` Who are you?! ``, whilst accidentally spitting a tooth at me in the process. `` Agh! Wait, I'm no one suspicious! I just thought it'd be funny! I did n't realise you were a cult or something! Also, what's up with your teeth?'' The man with the briefcase answered. `` You did away with the dental plan in favour of a mandatory Pepsi policy. Or rather, I should say that the real Master did away with it. And now she needs braces.'' `` What the hell is a mandatory Pepsi policy?'' `` This!'' Suddenly, the man flung open his briefcase, revealing Pepsi swirling in both compartments, dripping at the sides. `` I do n't understand!'' The elevator erupted in angry protests, all directed at me. They all shouted things like `` Where's the real Master?! ``, `` How dare you deceive us!'' and `` He knows. We can not let him live.'' Soon, they began encroaching upon me, threatening to swallow me whole. ( No choice, I guess. ) `` Silence.'' I declared. Everyone complied at once, but not without visible confusion. `` It seems as though you all have forgotten why I have truly gathered you here today.''

<s>[INST] You 're in a crowded elevator and , as a joke , you say , `` I bet you 're wondering why I gathered you here today . '' All of them turn to you and say `` Yes , master , '' in perfect unison . [/INST] `` Yes, Master.'' (... wait, what?! ) A man in a black coat, bending down on one knee, offers me a Pepsi. `` Your morning refreshment, Master.'' `` Aha... aha... okay, good one, everyone. Aha, did n't expect a reversal...'' The elevator crowd look at one another in confusion. `` Are you feeling all right, Master?'' Asks a mousy girl near the back. One of her teeth fall out as she closes her mouth. `` I... er....'' ( What is happening? This is a joke, right? Why's no one laughing?! ) The crowd begins to look uncomfortable. They look at me expectantly and with a certain guard in their expressions, as if they wish to discuss something amongst themselves but think against it for fear of incurring some imaginary wrath. ( Whatever. Fine, I'll finish it. Weirdos... ) `` I must apologise to you all. It has just been too long since our last meeting. To think that I'd see you all again... I just... I just never thought I'd see the day...'' ( How about them apples?! ) A cane-bearing man stepped forward, cleared his throat and began to speak. `` It's been two hours.'' `` Ah.'' `` Master. As your advisor, perhaps you'd like to let me speak on your behalf? I know you must be tired after today's tribulations, so why do n't you grab the Pepsi from Jack and take a break? His knee must be getting tired, now.'' Jack shot the advisor a grateful glance and resumed his duties of offering Pepsi. `` Oh um, if you would n't mind doing so, sure. But I'll pass on Pepsi. I do n't like fizzy drinks.'' A chill seemed to have passed over them as silence fell on all. The only sound that could be heard was another of the mousy girl's teeth falling to the ground. It was apparent to me that I committed another taboo. ( Why Pepsi? ) The advisor cleared his throat. `` Gathered you all, I have. Discuss with you a certain matter, I must. An imposter amongst us, there is.'' A wave of murmurs rolled over everyone. `` Imposter?'' `` Who?'' `` I ca n't believe it!'' `` What was with the sudden impression?'' `` Wait a minute'' said the mousy girl, `` if there really is an imposter, then there can only be one person! It must be --'' `` Yeah, we figured it out ages ago, Lisa!'' Interjected a man, clutching a wet briefcase. `` God, you're slow!'' As one, they all turned to face me, a look of scorn in their unified gazes. Perhaps hurt, or perhaps eager to prove that she was n't slow, Lisa pointed a finger at me and demanded `` Who are you?! ``, whilst accidentally spitting a tooth at me in the process. `` Agh! Wait, I'm no one suspicious! I just thought it'd be funny! I did n't realise you were a cult or something! Also, what's up with your teeth?'' The man with the briefcase answered. `` You did away with the dental plan in favour of a mandatory Pepsi policy. Or rather, I should say that the real Master did away with it. And now she needs braces.'' `` What the hell is a mandatory Pepsi policy?'' `` This!'' Suddenly, the man flung open his briefcase, revealing Pepsi swirling in both compartments, dripping at the sides. `` I do n't understand!'' The elevator erupted in angry protests, all directed at me. They all shouted things like `` Where's the real Master?! ``, `` How dare you deceive us!'' and `` He knows. We can not let him live.'' Soon, they began encroaching upon me, threatening to swallow me whole. ( No choice, I guess. ) `` Silence.'' I declared. Everyone complied at once, but not without visible confusion. `` It seems as though you all have forgotten why I have truly gathered you here today.'' </s>

[ WP ] Throughout history , eldritch beings from beyond the veil have meddled in our mortal affairs , both directly and indirectly . Write about a historical event with a Lovecraftian twist .

I had a dream of a pre-history man. It was unlike the usual dream. What I saw was more akin to a vision: clear and easy to perceive. But I was asleep while I saw what happened. The man was savage and had no weapons but for slightly sharp stones. He had a tribe that he travelled with. They were travellers that roamed the plains for food, but had farms in set locations where they could tend and collect. But this man I was envisioning had enemies too. He was enemies with man-like things. Neanderthals and other simian species whom the Neanderthals ruled. They constantly fought with each other and this man's tribe was slowly dying out. My vision would flicker like a candle, sometimes. I would see the Neanderthals had black gods that would somehow give them powers and tools. I could not see the things the Neanderthals spoke to in my visions, but I felt sick in my dream. After my vision, I realised that I soiled myself. So then I slowly watched my far ancestors die off. The man I was following was despairing and was trying to convince his tribe to leave the African plains. His own family had been slaughtered. I numbered only a few dozen or so members in this particular tribe, although I supposed similar conflicts were happening with other human tribes, elsewhere. Then my vision shifted, and I saw that man whooping and cheering as he ran into his tribal gathering. He told everyone how the Neanderthals were found slaughtered in their homes. Their guts and brains spilled all over the soil. He told everyone that he watched the Neanderthals scream wildly all at once and then began to kill themselves. He told everyone how only the Neanderthals were touched by this death; all their tools and houses were pristine - except for the strewn organs. The tribe had a celebration and stormed the Neanderthal camp. They had a massive bonfire and did some pagan dance as they celebrated the end of their hated enemy. The man and his tribe then picked up the Neanderthal tools and decided to use them as their own. As they did so, I felt the familiar feelings associated with the black gods of the Neanderthals. I saw the tools the man's tribe was picking up and I tried shouting at them to stop, but they continued gathering the tools. Suddenly a fog appeared and time stopped. And then everything I did not know appeared in front of me. It was invisible to everyone else in my vision. Everything I did not know spoke to me: `` A COVENANT MADE.'' I tried to speak but my throat began to bleed as I tried. My eyes were crying, as if the tears could shield me from seeing whatever was in front of my. The fog disappeared and time began once again. I looked at those ancient men in horror, and then woke up. I threw myself out of bed and changed out of my soiled clothes. I flung out of the house stripped naked and looked at my town. I looked at cars, bicycles, and fresh grass growing freely; all these advancements of men. Man made these things, we fought for these things. I was assured that this was true. We had scientists and mathematicians figure out what we wanted and our engineers made these things. Our technology did not come from a shape without form, a shade without colour, a paralysed force, a gesture without motion. I simply dreamed of entering death's dream kingdom, there was nothing to it. There were rat's coats, crowskins, crossing road in a field behaving as the wind behaves no nearer not that final meeting in the twilight kingdom this is the deadland this is cactus land here the stone images are raised here they receive the supplicationofadeadman'shandunderhetwinkleofafadingstarasIdashedintothecellarbutitwasdryastherewasnodrinkandIscreamedasIsawaratscreechacrossthecellarfloorandtherewasbrokenglassandthreratebleditswaythroughmycellarfloorandIbeganscreamingscreamingscreamingindeath'sotherkingdomwakingaloneIsawthatblackvisageandIrealisedthatIwasperfectlysaneatthehourwhenwearetremblingwithtendernessIkissedanicyrockandprayedtobrokenstoneandIlaughedandIlaughedtillIbegantocryandIrealisedIwasholingmyownbrainmatterandIcriedsomemoreasIsawhuman'skingdomfallintoanotherrealmofdeathandmythroatwasdrybecauseIhadnothingtodrinkwithbutforthebloodofmyneighbourswhichIgulpeddownandwassatisfiedandthendiedandIwhimperedwhimperedwhimperedinaworldthatblewup.

<s>[INST] Throughout history , eldritch beings from beyond the veil have meddled in our mortal affairs , both directly and indirectly . Write about a historical event with a Lovecraftian twist . [/INST] I had a dream of a pre-history man. It was unlike the usual dream. What I saw was more akin to a vision: clear and easy to perceive. But I was asleep while I saw what happened. The man was savage and had no weapons but for slightly sharp stones. He had a tribe that he travelled with. They were travellers that roamed the plains for food, but had farms in set locations where they could tend and collect. But this man I was envisioning had enemies too. He was enemies with man-like things. Neanderthals and other simian species whom the Neanderthals ruled. They constantly fought with each other and this man's tribe was slowly dying out. My vision would flicker like a candle, sometimes. I would see the Neanderthals had black gods that would somehow give them powers and tools. I could not see the things the Neanderthals spoke to in my visions, but I felt sick in my dream. After my vision, I realised that I soiled myself. So then I slowly watched my far ancestors die off. The man I was following was despairing and was trying to convince his tribe to leave the African plains. His own family had been slaughtered. I numbered only a few dozen or so members in this particular tribe, although I supposed similar conflicts were happening with other human tribes, elsewhere. Then my vision shifted, and I saw that man whooping and cheering as he ran into his tribal gathering. He told everyone how the Neanderthals were found slaughtered in their homes. Their guts and brains spilled all over the soil. He told everyone that he watched the Neanderthals scream wildly all at once and then began to kill themselves. He told everyone how only the Neanderthals were touched by this death; all their tools and houses were pristine - except for the strewn organs. The tribe had a celebration and stormed the Neanderthal camp. They had a massive bonfire and did some pagan dance as they celebrated the end of their hated enemy. The man and his tribe then picked up the Neanderthal tools and decided to use them as their own. As they did so, I felt the familiar feelings associated with the black gods of the Neanderthals. I saw the tools the man's tribe was picking up and I tried shouting at them to stop, but they continued gathering the tools. Suddenly a fog appeared and time stopped. And then everything I did not know appeared in front of me. It was invisible to everyone else in my vision. Everything I did not know spoke to me: `` A COVENANT MADE.'' I tried to speak but my throat began to bleed as I tried. My eyes were crying, as if the tears could shield me from seeing whatever was in front of my. The fog disappeared and time began once again. I looked at those ancient men in horror, and then woke up. I threw myself out of bed and changed out of my soiled clothes. I flung out of the house stripped naked and looked at my town. I looked at cars, bicycles, and fresh grass growing freely; all these advancements of men. Man made these things, we fought for these things. I was assured that this was true. We had scientists and mathematicians figure out what we wanted and our engineers made these things. Our technology did not come from a shape without form, a shade without colour, a paralysed force, a gesture without motion. I simply dreamed of entering death's dream kingdom, there was nothing to it. There were rat's coats, crowskins, crossing road in a field behaving as the wind behaves no nearer not that final meeting in the twilight kingdom this is the deadland this is cactus land here the stone images are raised here they receive the supplicationofadeadman'shandunderhetwinkleofafadingstarasIdashedintothecellarbutitwasdryastherewasnodrinkandIscreamedasIsawaratscreechacrossthecellarfloorandtherewasbrokenglassandthreratebleditswaythroughmycellarfloorandIbeganscreamingscreamingscreamingindeath'sotherkingdomwakingaloneIsawthatblackvisageandIrealisedthatIwasperfectlysaneatthehourwhenwearetremblingwithtendernessIkissedanicyrockandprayedtobrokenstoneandIlaughedandIlaughedtillIbegantocryandIrealisedIwasholingmyownbrainmatterandIcriedsomemoreasIsawhuman'skingdomfallintoanotherrealmofdeathandmythroatwasdrybecauseIhadnothingtodrinkwithbutforthebloodofmyneighbourswhichIgulpeddownandwassatisfiedandthendiedandIwhimperedwhimperedwhimperedinaworldthatblewup. </s>

[ CW ] Pick ten letters . Write something using only those ten letters .

After lurking forever, I finally decided to join this site just so I could post mine. This took me a lot longer than I'd care to admit u__u R S T L H E O Y A F `` Yo, Loaf!'' Oh, fat Loaf. They fear he stole the salt, that oaf. Toys, Sloth, Treats, Ales, Or stale salt; For these, Loaf falls. `` Halt, Loaf!'' They'll flay ol' Loaf for that, those sots. Shall he flee? False. Loathe to feel frost, Fatty foots the lost salt toll, Loyal to the oath she left. The fool. So, forth; To the hearse! For there, flat, he rests; Loaf, the oaf, a feast for fleas.

<s>[INST] [ CW ] Pick ten letters . Write something using only those ten letters . [/INST] After lurking forever, I finally decided to join this site just so I could post mine. This took me a lot longer than I'd care to admit u__u R S T L H E O Y A F `` Yo, Loaf!'' Oh, fat Loaf. They fear he stole the salt, that oaf. Toys, Sloth, Treats, Ales, Or stale salt; For these, Loaf falls. `` Halt, Loaf!'' They'll flay ol' Loaf for that, those sots. Shall he flee? False. Loathe to feel frost, Fatty foots the lost salt toll, Loyal to the oath she left. The fool. So, forth; To the hearse! For there, flat, he rests; Loaf, the oaf, a feast for fleas. </s>

[ WP ] Everyone received a number ranking them on their productivity to humanity . Every month they update . Today is April 1 , yesterday you were number 1382947344 , today you are number 2 , right behind your 7 year old son with autism .

Before anything, there was the ranking system. The system ranked each person by how productive they were to humanity. It was something the government made with the dawn of civilization, but never released. Everyone was ranked, and white men didn ’ t dominate the top 100. They didn ’ t want to explicitly tell women and men that they were equal, or that all races were equal- so they didn ’ t. It was the best kept secret for years, until someone from the inside leaked the whole list. The country was outraged. People who were doctors and scientists were at the bottom of the list, some of the homeless population was on the top- the whole world order was changed overnight. People on the top of the list were praised as gods. They were brought to the castle, a now famous mansion that held the top ten most productive people. For all others, they were free to live however they wanted. Of course, your number signified your employment status, and relationship status, too. No one knew what the last number was, so anything under 5 billion meant social death. I, along with my son and husband were at a comfortable 1,382,947,344. My husband was about a hundred over me, my autistic son about a hundred under me. I was happy with our arrangement, as sometimes I went over my husband, sometimes he went over me, but never more than a few hundred. Henry seemed to always stay at 1,382,947,244, exactly. I always figured it was some weird thing with the system, but he was happy, and so were we. Until April 1rst came around. Henry and I shot up from our billions to number one and number two. We were now the most productive people on the earth- with Henry above me. It wasn ’ t uncommon to be ranked below your child, so it wasn ’ t exactly a shock, but it still hurt. I didn ’ t understand it. My husband, Bill, was still in the billions. He didn ’ t shoot up with us. What didn ’ t make sense was the fact that Henry and I didn ’ t do anything differently than usual the past month. And now all of a sudden we ’ re one and two? “ It ’ ll be okay, Jack. I ’ m sure you two will be back home next month. Get me some souvenirs while you ’ re up there, okay? ” My husband tried to console me. But I was still extremely anxious about the whole thing. What do they do to them up there? No one ever questioned it, and once a new number one was picked, the old one was forgotten. “ Yeah, ” I replied, trying to convince myself. I was worried enough about myself, but what about Henry? His whole routine will be disrupted, and he ’ ll have to start over for this entire month. The consistency of his ranking kept him pretty calm- this would ruin him. A knock on the door interrupted my train of thought. “ Mr. Jack Renning? You ’ ve seen the report. Please gather your things, along with Henry, and let ’ s go. ” A gruff voice vibrated through the closed door. I knew that it ’ d be quick, so I had packed up everything beforehand. “ Yes, we ’ re coming. Henry is- “ “ Open the door, sir. ” I followed the command, and a burly man stepped right in, and grabbed Henry and I. Henry protested, but the man just shushed him, throwing us both into the backseat of his van. We drove for a long time. The seatbelts around us clacked against the metal of the van, and the man had some sort of classical music playing. Why were the two most important people in the world being treated so badly? I didn ’ t understand. Finally, we stopped. “ Out. ” The man commanded, and we followed obediently. Around us was desert, with a small house about 20 yards away. It was a comfortable temperature, sure, but it was the desert. There was nothing around here for miles. “ This is your home for the next few days. Do not try to escape. Do not try to make contact with others. Either of these actions will be handled with early extermination. ” “ Sir, I ’ m sorry, but I don ’ t understand what ’ s happening. I thought we went to some sort of mansion? I don ’ t mean- “ He cut me off with a hearty laugh. “ I can ’ t believe they still feed you that bull! No! You don ’ t get a mansion, you get this house. One word, my man. Overpopulation. You think the government would rate people on their productivity, and then actually release that list? Nuh-uh. This is the kill list- the computer picks for us. It ’ s based on a lot of factors, but it ’ s mostly random. ” “ What? ” That was all I could get out, horrified by this news. The government had been killing people randomly to stop overpopulation?! And ranking them, making them believe that the more productive they are, the more accepted they ’ d be- just to randomly throw them to the bottom, or to the top, to be killed? “ I know, I know. It ’ s pretty messed up. I saw my own sister thrown in this hell-hole. And before you ask, yes, I am heartless. Yes, I am a psycho, and yes, I enjoyed seeing her die. We ’ re the only kind of people they could trust to hire. ” He revealed, reveling in my horror. Henry screamed. I cried. And he laughed, he just stood there and laughed. “ Pick your poison- or not, ” he chuckled, presenting an array of weapons, including vials and syringes. “ We let the top two choose their way to go, the rest just get a surprise. You don ’ t have to pick right now, we like to make the others jealous. We have a few days for them to come. You stay here, until you don ’ t. ” I couldn ’ t move a muscle. There was no way out of this. There was no way to save Henry. I just stood there. “ Ooookay. I guess you ’ re choosing later, then. I ’ d suggest getting to the house. But it doesn ’ t matter to me when you die. ” And with that, the man turned back to the van, got in, and started it. He revved the engine, did a doughnut, creating a storm of sand, and drove away. By the time he was gone, I was on my knees, and Henry stood by me, frozen. They were going to kill us. That was a fact. I needed to save my son. That was another fact, and I ’ d do anything to make that happen. I took a deep breath, and got up. I need to save Henry. I wiped the sand off of my pants, and took Henry to the house. If I was going to die, it would be protecting him.

<s>[INST] Everyone received a number ranking them on their productivity to humanity . Every month they update . Today is April 1 , yesterday you were number 1382947344 , today you are number 2 , right behind your 7 year old son with autism . [/INST] Before anything, there was the ranking system. The system ranked each person by how productive they were to humanity. It was something the government made with the dawn of civilization, but never released. Everyone was ranked, and white men didn ’ t dominate the top 100. They didn ’ t want to explicitly tell women and men that they were equal, or that all races were equal- so they didn ’ t. It was the best kept secret for years, until someone from the inside leaked the whole list. The country was outraged. People who were doctors and scientists were at the bottom of the list, some of the homeless population was on the top- the whole world order was changed overnight. People on the top of the list were praised as gods. They were brought to the castle, a now famous mansion that held the top ten most productive people. For all others, they were free to live however they wanted. Of course, your number signified your employment status, and relationship status, too. No one knew what the last number was, so anything under 5 billion meant social death. I, along with my son and husband were at a comfortable 1,382,947,344. My husband was about a hundred over me, my autistic son about a hundred under me. I was happy with our arrangement, as sometimes I went over my husband, sometimes he went over me, but never more than a few hundred. Henry seemed to always stay at 1,382,947,244, exactly. I always figured it was some weird thing with the system, but he was happy, and so were we. Until April 1rst came around. Henry and I shot up from our billions to number one and number two. We were now the most productive people on the earth- with Henry above me. It wasn ’ t uncommon to be ranked below your child, so it wasn ’ t exactly a shock, but it still hurt. I didn ’ t understand it. My husband, Bill, was still in the billions. He didn ’ t shoot up with us. What didn ’ t make sense was the fact that Henry and I didn ’ t do anything differently than usual the past month. And now all of a sudden we ’ re one and two? “ It ’ ll be okay, Jack. I ’ m sure you two will be back home next month. Get me some souvenirs while you ’ re up there, okay? ” My husband tried to console me. But I was still extremely anxious about the whole thing. What do they do to them up there? No one ever questioned it, and once a new number one was picked, the old one was forgotten. “ Yeah, ” I replied, trying to convince myself. I was worried enough about myself, but what about Henry? His whole routine will be disrupted, and he ’ ll have to start over for this entire month. The consistency of his ranking kept him pretty calm- this would ruin him. A knock on the door interrupted my train of thought. “ Mr. Jack Renning? You ’ ve seen the report. Please gather your things, along with Henry, and let ’ s go. ” A gruff voice vibrated through the closed door. I knew that it ’ d be quick, so I had packed up everything beforehand. “ Yes, we ’ re coming. Henry is- “ “ Open the door, sir. ” I followed the command, and a burly man stepped right in, and grabbed Henry and I. Henry protested, but the man just shushed him, throwing us both into the backseat of his van. We drove for a long time. The seatbelts around us clacked against the metal of the van, and the man had some sort of classical music playing. Why were the two most important people in the world being treated so badly? I didn ’ t understand. Finally, we stopped. “ Out. ” The man commanded, and we followed obediently. Around us was desert, with a small house about 20 yards away. It was a comfortable temperature, sure, but it was the desert. There was nothing around here for miles. “ This is your home for the next few days. Do not try to escape. Do not try to make contact with others. Either of these actions will be handled with early extermination. ” “ Sir, I ’ m sorry, but I don ’ t understand what ’ s happening. I thought we went to some sort of mansion? I don ’ t mean- “ He cut me off with a hearty laugh. “ I can ’ t believe they still feed you that bull! No! You don ’ t get a mansion, you get this house. One word, my man. Overpopulation. You think the government would rate people on their productivity, and then actually release that list? Nuh-uh. This is the kill list- the computer picks for us. It ’ s based on a lot of factors, but it ’ s mostly random. ” “ What? ” That was all I could get out, horrified by this news. The government had been killing people randomly to stop overpopulation?! And ranking them, making them believe that the more productive they are, the more accepted they ’ d be- just to randomly throw them to the bottom, or to the top, to be killed? “ I know, I know. It ’ s pretty messed up. I saw my own sister thrown in this hell-hole. And before you ask, yes, I am heartless. Yes, I am a psycho, and yes, I enjoyed seeing her die. We ’ re the only kind of people they could trust to hire. ” He revealed, reveling in my horror. Henry screamed. I cried. And he laughed, he just stood there and laughed. “ Pick your poison- or not, ” he chuckled, presenting an array of weapons, including vials and syringes. “ We let the top two choose their way to go, the rest just get a surprise. You don ’ t have to pick right now, we like to make the others jealous. We have a few days for them to come. You stay here, until you don ’ t. ” I couldn ’ t move a muscle. There was no way out of this. There was no way to save Henry. I just stood there. “ Ooookay. I guess you ’ re choosing later, then. I ’ d suggest getting to the house. But it doesn ’ t matter to me when you die. ” And with that, the man turned back to the van, got in, and started it. He revved the engine, did a doughnut, creating a storm of sand, and drove away. By the time he was gone, I was on my knees, and Henry stood by me, frozen. They were going to kill us. That was a fact. I needed to save my son. That was another fact, and I ’ d do anything to make that happen. I took a deep breath, and got up. I need to save Henry. I wiped the sand off of my pants, and took Henry to the house. If I was going to die, it would be protecting him. </s>

[ WP ] You have a pair of boots that take you on the most interesting adventures

'Here.' She said as she let the bright diamond fall on the throne room's floor.'Here's your effing diamond. May I go now? 'Ah, what a momentous occasion! Such a glorious day! And you, mysterious stranger, how fortunate for us that you came along!' 'Yes. Fortune. Right.' She said as she turned around to leave.'I'm leaving now. Before something else comes up. Goodbye.' She was on her way out of the castle when she accidentally tripped and fell through a tapestry and into a secret chamber lit by glowing words in the back wall. The chamber itself was small and simple, except for the chest in the middle of it. 'TO WHOSOVER FINDS THIS CHAMBER' read the inscription on the wall.'I LEAVE TO YOU MY GREATEST TREASURE - AND A QUEST' 'Nope.' She said as she backed away from the chest and back into the hallway.'Nope nope nope. One day. I just want one day without any of that.' But alas, walking backwards is inadvisable in most scenarios, even if it makes the rejection of a quest more dramatic, and she bumped into the court wizard. 'Oh dear.' The wizard said as he dropped a small bottle he was carrying. The bottle broke and the dark liquid inside it turned into a gas that briefly took the shape of a laughing skull ( sound included ) before dissipating.'It seems we have just accidentally released the essence of Pure Evil I was working on. We should probably do something about it.' 'Let me guess...' She started. 'Our best shot is to get the Sword Of Light, locked away in the lost ruins of-' 'Have it.' 'What?' 'The Sword of Pure light. Long story short, the town of Mur is not *west* of Loth. There's ruins instead. Ruins with a big hole. Where I fell. Yadda yadda yadda, I have the Sword Of Light.' 'That's... great news! We can begin our quest immediately!' 'Or, and here's a crazy idea, we do n't.' 'W-what?' 'We do n't. I *just* got back from getting the diamond of thingy-ness and last week I destroyed a phylactery. And while I was doing that, I bumped into a girl and she dropped the ancient house of whats-their-name because turns out she was a runaway princess! No. I'm done. I need a weekend.'

<s>[INST] You have a pair of boots that take you on the most interesting adventures [/INST] 'Here.' She said as she let the bright diamond fall on the throne room's floor.'Here's your effing diamond. May I go now? 'Ah, what a momentous occasion! Such a glorious day! And you, mysterious stranger, how fortunate for us that you came along!' 'Yes. Fortune. Right.' She said as she turned around to leave.'I'm leaving now. Before something else comes up. Goodbye.' She was on her way out of the castle when she accidentally tripped and fell through a tapestry and into a secret chamber lit by glowing words in the back wall. The chamber itself was small and simple, except for the chest in the middle of it. 'TO WHOSOVER FINDS THIS CHAMBER' read the inscription on the wall.'I LEAVE TO YOU MY GREATEST TREASURE - AND A QUEST' 'Nope.' She said as she backed away from the chest and back into the hallway.'Nope nope nope. One day. I just want one day without any of that.' But alas, walking backwards is inadvisable in most scenarios, even if it makes the rejection of a quest more dramatic, and she bumped into the court wizard. 'Oh dear.' The wizard said as he dropped a small bottle he was carrying. The bottle broke and the dark liquid inside it turned into a gas that briefly took the shape of a laughing skull ( sound included ) before dissipating.'It seems we have just accidentally released the essence of Pure Evil I was working on. We should probably do something about it.' 'Let me guess...' She started. 'Our best shot is to get the Sword Of Light, locked away in the lost ruins of-' 'Have it.' 'What?' 'The Sword of Pure light. Long story short, the town of Mur is not *west* of Loth. There's ruins instead. Ruins with a big hole. Where I fell. Yadda yadda yadda, I have the Sword Of Light.' 'That's... great news! We can begin our quest immediately!' 'Or, and here's a crazy idea, we do n't.' 'W-what?' 'We do n't. I *just* got back from getting the diamond of thingy-ness and last week I destroyed a phylactery. And while I was doing that, I bumped into a girl and she dropped the ancient house of whats-their-name because turns out she was a runaway princess! No. I'm done. I need a weekend.' </s>

At your 150th birthday you were suspicious . At 200 it was confirmed you could not die . It is now your 900th birthday and you are spending it alone . [ WP ]

`` When I decided to do it, I told myself I was gon na do it to disperse the crowd. I can say the truth now, it was because I wanted to see if he really was what he said he was. It's a horrible way to die you know, you suffocate, slowly from exhaustion. I had no pity for him, he was in my book kind of an ass hole. Shit stirrer. So I took my spear and leaned it into his ribcage. Killing him was honestly the greatest thing that ever happened to me.'' A smile peeked out from his single malt as he scanned over his desk to investigate the reaction to this confession my eyes were betraying. If anyone in the world had ever said that to me before, I would have done anything except shit myself. I did n't, not until he was done telling me his story.

<s>[INST] At your 150th birthday you were suspicious . At 200 it was confirmed you could not die . It is now your 900th birthday and you are spending it alone . [/INST] `` When I decided to do it, I told myself I was gon na do it to disperse the crowd. I can say the truth now, it was because I wanted to see if he really was what he said he was. It's a horrible way to die you know, you suffocate, slowly from exhaustion. I had no pity for him, he was in my book kind of an ass hole. Shit stirrer. So I took my spear and leaned it into his ribcage. Killing him was honestly the greatest thing that ever happened to me.'' A smile peeked out from his single malt as he scanned over his desk to investigate the reaction to this confession my eyes were betraying. If anyone in the world had ever said that to me before, I would have done anything except shit myself. I did n't, not until he was done telling me his story. </s>

[ WP ] A small alien cube appears in the hands of 2 random people . A broadcast is made to the entire planet that if the 2 cubes come in contact , half of humanity will vanish .

Mr. Zyntak brought donuts and coffee for his employees today. They crowded around his offerings and thanked him and went back to work. One of the newest employees, an overly dressed young man in a pressed button up and a tie stayed behind, finishing a cruller. “ Mr. Zyntak, I wanted to thank you for offering me a position within your organization. I believe so much in the work that we are accomplishing, ” he stated, happy that the statement he practiced a hundred times came out smoothly in execution without the fluctuation of pitch he gains when nervous. “ I ’ m glad you ’ re here with us. Mark, right? ” “ Matthew. ” “ Matthew. You might want to wear something you are not afraid to dirty up tomorrow. Working with wood and polish gets very messy, fast. ” Zyntak suggested with a smile. Matthew nodded with a grave seriousness, thinking he would buy a change of clothes during his lunch hour. There ’ s a thrift boutique down the block from the factory that sold men ’ s clothes. Matthew went back to work, applying black polish to wooden cubes. Zyntak picked up a finished product and inspected it closely. They did not have to be perfect, but they had to look authentic. Ever since the discovery of two cubes, which placed together would detonate and destroy half the planet, government bodies have been searching endlessly for either possessor of the cubes. Zyntak did not like the idea that these heavenly objects, which came to the world for some purpose other than to destroy the world, would be eventually ceased by politicians actively seeking to ruin the world for the rest of humanity. If the intention of the cubes was to tear the world apart, then they would have been created to do so and have not been inhibited by the nuance of a triggered detonation. Zyntak believed the cubes were not delivered to man as a threat, but as a means for man to finally compromise a shared existence between forces that actively sought to kill one another. Now with the world ’ s surveillance seeking out the real cubes, Zyntak decided that a way to protect them would to make counterfeits. Spread them haphazardly across the world and demonstrate to the world powers that their hunt was folly. They do not even know what the cubes look like. His cubes were black, six inches cubed, and mass produced. He was negotiating a deal with another distributor, a supporter of the cause, this week. Zyntak was touched to see how many people shared his vision, and worked tirelessly to conceal the locations of the real cubes. He could not talk his friend Jeremy into helping. Jeremy called Zyntak an anarchist. He felt more like a zealot fighting to preserve faith in the sword always hanging over the king ’ s head. Besides, does an anarchist pay a good living wage to hard workers, and bring them coffee and donuts?

<s>[INST] A small alien cube appears in the hands of 2 random people . A broadcast is made to the entire planet that if the 2 cubes come in contact , half of humanity will vanish . [/INST] Mr. Zyntak brought donuts and coffee for his employees today. They crowded around his offerings and thanked him and went back to work. One of the newest employees, an overly dressed young man in a pressed button up and a tie stayed behind, finishing a cruller. “ Mr. Zyntak, I wanted to thank you for offering me a position within your organization. I believe so much in the work that we are accomplishing, ” he stated, happy that the statement he practiced a hundred times came out smoothly in execution without the fluctuation of pitch he gains when nervous. “ I ’ m glad you ’ re here with us. Mark, right? ” “ Matthew. ” “ Matthew. You might want to wear something you are not afraid to dirty up tomorrow. Working with wood and polish gets very messy, fast. ” Zyntak suggested with a smile. Matthew nodded with a grave seriousness, thinking he would buy a change of clothes during his lunch hour. There ’ s a thrift boutique down the block from the factory that sold men ’ s clothes. Matthew went back to work, applying black polish to wooden cubes. Zyntak picked up a finished product and inspected it closely. They did not have to be perfect, but they had to look authentic. Ever since the discovery of two cubes, which placed together would detonate and destroy half the planet, government bodies have been searching endlessly for either possessor of the cubes. Zyntak did not like the idea that these heavenly objects, which came to the world for some purpose other than to destroy the world, would be eventually ceased by politicians actively seeking to ruin the world for the rest of humanity. If the intention of the cubes was to tear the world apart, then they would have been created to do so and have not been inhibited by the nuance of a triggered detonation. Zyntak believed the cubes were not delivered to man as a threat, but as a means for man to finally compromise a shared existence between forces that actively sought to kill one another. Now with the world ’ s surveillance seeking out the real cubes, Zyntak decided that a way to protect them would to make counterfeits. Spread them haphazardly across the world and demonstrate to the world powers that their hunt was folly. They do not even know what the cubes look like. His cubes were black, six inches cubed, and mass produced. He was negotiating a deal with another distributor, a supporter of the cause, this week. Zyntak was touched to see how many people shared his vision, and worked tirelessly to conceal the locations of the real cubes. He could not talk his friend Jeremy into helping. Jeremy called Zyntak an anarchist. He felt more like a zealot fighting to preserve faith in the sword always hanging over the king ’ s head. Besides, does an anarchist pay a good living wage to hard workers, and bring them coffee and donuts? </s>

[ WP ] Celebrities start disappearing in droves all across the world .

In local news, Entertainment Tonight has just went bankrupt this evening for reasons that might surprise Americans everywhere: across the United States, celebrities like Kim Kardashian, Alex Jones, and some unidentified boo bear gremlin have all been found dead on the same day as each other. The autopsy has n't been conducted yet but rumor has it that their demise had involved cyanide and suffocation. While there is nothing to be said there, the police have already began investigating members of Stovepipe Studios who were in the midst of making the much-hyped game `` Killing off the Kardashians'' available for the Xbox One and PS4. To many, this day is one of mourning as friends and family of the departed had this to say about the killings `` My little girl came up to me this one time *sniff* and asked me'Sugar Bear, you know what's good about my size?' and... and... *clears throat* she said that it made her as sassy as a queen bee could bumble bee OH DEAR LORD!'' However, even after death, millions of people have resorted to harassing their memorial pages, even drawing harsh criticism from major media critics `` F*** Entertainment Tonight, they have done nothing but put the stupid on a pedestal for all to see and shame women into thinking that if they do n't look pretty much like corpses, then they are n't beautiful'' -Anonymous email featured in People Magazine `` Blood on the Dance Floor were never THAT well known but I'm sure as hell glad Dahvie got his ass ICED. Waving dem cheeks and collecting bras among 12 year old tweens? Pedophile bitch!'' -Kenneth Edwards, Nebraska Resident. `` Funny thing is, these guys did n't kill Miley, they instead ended up killing a multitude of Disney executives that, as part of her contract, had her kept in a chastity belt for the majority of her career. Do n't get me wrong, it's bad that you did THAT to a married man with his kids in the audience, but could you really blame her? Well, the damage was done anyway so whatever.'' -Alanzo Rivara, Florida Resident `` They sure took their god damn time killing Justin Bieber, if you ask me, they should've done it when he made those poor employees clean up after pissing all over the place X ( `` -Julia Hawthorne in a comment in The New York Times. Whether you loved them or hated them, the culprits are still, however, at large.

<s>[INST] Celebrities start disappearing in droves all across the world . [/INST] In local news, Entertainment Tonight has just went bankrupt this evening for reasons that might surprise Americans everywhere: across the United States, celebrities like Kim Kardashian, Alex Jones, and some unidentified boo bear gremlin have all been found dead on the same day as each other. The autopsy has n't been conducted yet but rumor has it that their demise had involved cyanide and suffocation. While there is nothing to be said there, the police have already began investigating members of Stovepipe Studios who were in the midst of making the much-hyped game `` Killing off the Kardashians'' available for the Xbox One and PS4. To many, this day is one of mourning as friends and family of the departed had this to say about the killings `` My little girl came up to me this one time *sniff* and asked me'Sugar Bear, you know what's good about my size?' and... and... *clears throat* she said that it made her as sassy as a queen bee could bumble bee OH DEAR LORD!'' However, even after death, millions of people have resorted to harassing their memorial pages, even drawing harsh criticism from major media critics `` F*** Entertainment Tonight, they have done nothing but put the stupid on a pedestal for all to see and shame women into thinking that if they do n't look pretty much like corpses, then they are n't beautiful'' -Anonymous email featured in People Magazine `` Blood on the Dance Floor were never THAT well known but I'm sure as hell glad Dahvie got his ass ICED. Waving dem cheeks and collecting bras among 12 year old tweens? Pedophile bitch!'' -Kenneth Edwards, Nebraska Resident. `` Funny thing is, these guys did n't kill Miley, they instead ended up killing a multitude of Disney executives that, as part of her contract, had her kept in a chastity belt for the majority of her career. Do n't get me wrong, it's bad that you did THAT to a married man with his kids in the audience, but could you really blame her? Well, the damage was done anyway so whatever.'' -Alanzo Rivara, Florida Resident `` They sure took their god damn time killing Justin Bieber, if you ask me, they should've done it when he made those poor employees clean up after pissing all over the place X ( `` -Julia Hawthorne in a comment in The New York Times. Whether you loved them or hated them, the culprits are still, however, at large. </s>

[ WP ] Hundreds of years in the future , the internet is rediscovered .

The little orange-eyed creature wandered away from the others and went down a steep hill into the forest. Perhaps it thought there would be water down there. Or maybe a plant with fruit. Its little feet pattered against the dirt, while its oily paws pushed dry brush out of the way. This was the first forest the pack of marlots had encountered in over forty days. Tucked away in the shadows of the ravine, the foliage had escape the harsh radiation of the sun and actually managed to grow quite tall. It felt nice to be beneath the leaves. It felt refreshing to smell damp soil and bugs and mold. The creature paused in its decent and looked up above its head. Little critters were flourishing everywhere. There was life. And life was always a good sign. At long last, his little tribe of marlots may have found a new home. After the harsh fires that ravaged their old one. After the smoke cloud that ate up their shelters and their way of life. The creature smiled the tiniest smile and returned to the task at hand. It filled him with pleasure to fantasize about the rivers he might find below. And how he would be the first to find them. He could lead the others there after returning with his harpsack filled to the brim. And they might regard him as a hero. Then he was startled. A great shadow swept across the ground, right before the creatures feet, and shot off into the distance with such speed as he had never seen before. A flying beast, with wings full of feathers and sharp jaws, took off into the sky at a distance no more than fifteen feet in front of the creature. Clutched in the monster's talons was an animal. An poor, helpless resident of these woods, no smaller than a marlot. And so our creature became afraid. The sudden awareness dawned on him that this home may not be so friendly as their last. Still he continued onward, farther and farther into the ravine. More and more the light vanished from the sky. And the trees crept in around him. And he was very much not alone. The forest began to scream at him with the voices of a thousand animals. All of whom had made this land their home. Was there even room for the marlots? The creature had never heard such a cacophony of life before. But deeper he went. And darker it grew. Eventually his paws became his primary method for navigation. Both of them extended in front of him like the feelers of a crawly bug. And the creature continued to push brush and foliage out of the way. Until eventually the brush disappeared and his fingers began to touch stone. Stone. Stone was everywhere. Cold, porous and rough. His little hands pushed against them and traced them with amazement. Never had he felt stones so large and flat before. There was not a crack or a fold anywhere on them. Just large panels everywhere. It was so dark at this point, that the creature contemplated turning back. But his curiosity was too immense at this point. So his little legs continued onward. And his beady orange eyes squinted at the alien terrain. Then his paw felt something even more irregular. A bizarre protrusion from one of the stones. A long skinny piece of rock, the texture of which he had never experienced before. The creature squinted at it. And then sniffed it. And then, making sure no one was around ( as if any other marlot could ever see him in this ravine! ), the creature put it to his mouth and licked it. The stone piece was smooth and tasted... almost like something out of a river. He could n't quite place it. It was almost... the taste of clay. The creature pulled on it to see if it would yield to his strength. But it was solid. Perhaps more solid than anything he had ever encountered. But then as he pulled more, the strange stone began to give. It bent and twisted, far easier that he would have ever imagined. Then, sending a rush of panic through every bone in the little creatures body, the entire large flat panel of stone gave way and moved as though it were falling away from him. The creature jumped, terrified for its life. Had the stone fallen into oblivion? How could something so solid and full of strength be moved so easily? The creature pawed for the object. It was not there. Then felt for the ground beneath him, making sure that he was not actually the one moving. But, no, he was still standing there very still. Then he felt the ground in front of him, where the object had been. Solid ground there too. The little creature moved forward, making sure to keep paws on the stones at all time, in case one should fall again. His paw felt something else. Now what was this? A little branch growing out of the stone. But it was not sturdy like the stone. In fact he found he could move the branch quite easily. Then, suddenly, it happened. The sun burst forth from the sky above and his surroundings, which had once been so dark, exploded into brilliant light. He had never seen anything like it. Where was he? In the middle of the strangest cave he had ever seen. Large flat walls on all four sides of him. Little suns hanging from the ceiling like stalactites. And some of the most alien symbols he had ever seen. Clearly someone else had lived here before. Some species that the marlots had never encountered before. Perhaps gods. Or beings from another world. And in front of him, a big white stone rose out of the ground. He walked towards it. Now what was this? It had the image of a fruit on it. A beautiful image. And a red square peg with a blinking light. He did n't know what it was. But something about the peg compelled him to put his paw to it and push it. More light burst into the room. And before the creature, on the large white wall, appeared a god.

<s>[INST] Hundreds of years in the future , the internet is rediscovered . [/INST] The little orange-eyed creature wandered away from the others and went down a steep hill into the forest. Perhaps it thought there would be water down there. Or maybe a plant with fruit. Its little feet pattered against the dirt, while its oily paws pushed dry brush out of the way. This was the first forest the pack of marlots had encountered in over forty days. Tucked away in the shadows of the ravine, the foliage had escape the harsh radiation of the sun and actually managed to grow quite tall. It felt nice to be beneath the leaves. It felt refreshing to smell damp soil and bugs and mold. The creature paused in its decent and looked up above its head. Little critters were flourishing everywhere. There was life. And life was always a good sign. At long last, his little tribe of marlots may have found a new home. After the harsh fires that ravaged their old one. After the smoke cloud that ate up their shelters and their way of life. The creature smiled the tiniest smile and returned to the task at hand. It filled him with pleasure to fantasize about the rivers he might find below. And how he would be the first to find them. He could lead the others there after returning with his harpsack filled to the brim. And they might regard him as a hero. Then he was startled. A great shadow swept across the ground, right before the creatures feet, and shot off into the distance with such speed as he had never seen before. A flying beast, with wings full of feathers and sharp jaws, took off into the sky at a distance no more than fifteen feet in front of the creature. Clutched in the monster's talons was an animal. An poor, helpless resident of these woods, no smaller than a marlot. And so our creature became afraid. The sudden awareness dawned on him that this home may not be so friendly as their last. Still he continued onward, farther and farther into the ravine. More and more the light vanished from the sky. And the trees crept in around him. And he was very much not alone. The forest began to scream at him with the voices of a thousand animals. All of whom had made this land their home. Was there even room for the marlots? The creature had never heard such a cacophony of life before. But deeper he went. And darker it grew. Eventually his paws became his primary method for navigation. Both of them extended in front of him like the feelers of a crawly bug. And the creature continued to push brush and foliage out of the way. Until eventually the brush disappeared and his fingers began to touch stone. Stone. Stone was everywhere. Cold, porous and rough. His little hands pushed against them and traced them with amazement. Never had he felt stones so large and flat before. There was not a crack or a fold anywhere on them. Just large panels everywhere. It was so dark at this point, that the creature contemplated turning back. But his curiosity was too immense at this point. So his little legs continued onward. And his beady orange eyes squinted at the alien terrain. Then his paw felt something even more irregular. A bizarre protrusion from one of the stones. A long skinny piece of rock, the texture of which he had never experienced before. The creature squinted at it. And then sniffed it. And then, making sure no one was around ( as if any other marlot could ever see him in this ravine! ), the creature put it to his mouth and licked it. The stone piece was smooth and tasted... almost like something out of a river. He could n't quite place it. It was almost... the taste of clay. The creature pulled on it to see if it would yield to his strength. But it was solid. Perhaps more solid than anything he had ever encountered. But then as he pulled more, the strange stone began to give. It bent and twisted, far easier that he would have ever imagined. Then, sending a rush of panic through every bone in the little creatures body, the entire large flat panel of stone gave way and moved as though it were falling away from him. The creature jumped, terrified for its life. Had the stone fallen into oblivion? How could something so solid and full of strength be moved so easily? The creature pawed for the object. It was not there. Then felt for the ground beneath him, making sure that he was not actually the one moving. But, no, he was still standing there very still. Then he felt the ground in front of him, where the object had been. Solid ground there too. The little creature moved forward, making sure to keep paws on the stones at all time, in case one should fall again. His paw felt something else. Now what was this? A little branch growing out of the stone. But it was not sturdy like the stone. In fact he found he could move the branch quite easily. Then, suddenly, it happened. The sun burst forth from the sky above and his surroundings, which had once been so dark, exploded into brilliant light. He had never seen anything like it. Where was he? In the middle of the strangest cave he had ever seen. Large flat walls on all four sides of him. Little suns hanging from the ceiling like stalactites. And some of the most alien symbols he had ever seen. Clearly someone else had lived here before. Some species that the marlots had never encountered before. Perhaps gods. Or beings from another world. And in front of him, a big white stone rose out of the ground. He walked towards it. Now what was this? It had the image of a fruit on it. A beautiful image. And a red square peg with a blinking light. He did n't know what it was. But something about the peg compelled him to put his paw to it and push it. More light burst into the room. And before the creature, on the large white wall, appeared a god. </s>

[ WP ] You wake up in a really good mood only to realise something is horribly wrong .

We were kissing. It was surreal. It was like the whole world was just a white glow and everything centered on us. Her lips were on mine and my eyes were closed, but all I could feel was her warmth. I basked in it. We continued for a while in that way, intertwined in a serene and beautiful way. My eyes snap open. See, for most people, dreaming about a girl like that and then waking up was a major bummer. Not for me. I grinned widely, realizing that the literal girl of my dreams was beside me. I started groaning in that ‘ I just woke up ’ kind of way, stretching my arms far above my head. The sun penetrated into the house in thin beams from in between the blinds. Birds faintly chirped in the background. Damn, it was a nice day to be alive. Saturday, too! I swung my legs over the bed. “ Honey, I ’ m making coffee; want anything? She murmured something I assumed meant yes. So, I began to boil the water and get all the required components of this delicious elixir when suddenly, my beautiful day gets shattered with one sound. *Drip. Drip. * I groan. “ Honey, I swear we fixed that goddamn faucet. Why is it still going off? ” A faint murmur. *Drip. Drip. * I walked over to the kitchen sink, noticing the drip coming off the end. I decided to put a cup underneath with a rag inside to soak up the sound. The dripping ceased. I did a little dance of happiness and then I continued making the coffee. *Drip. Drip. * “ Oh, for God ’ s sake. ” I stamped back over to the faucet, only to see that it wasn ’ t making the sound. “ Sweetie, do you know what ’ s causing that noise? ” Silence. I walked into the bedroom. “ Hun, come on, wake up. ” I gently nudged her onto her back, and my blood turns to ice. Her throat had a long, dark-red gash, blood pouring out and falling to the floor. *Drip. Drip. *

<s>[INST] You wake up in a really good mood only to realise something is horribly wrong . [/INST] We were kissing. It was surreal. It was like the whole world was just a white glow and everything centered on us. Her lips were on mine and my eyes were closed, but all I could feel was her warmth. I basked in it. We continued for a while in that way, intertwined in a serene and beautiful way. My eyes snap open. See, for most people, dreaming about a girl like that and then waking up was a major bummer. Not for me. I grinned widely, realizing that the literal girl of my dreams was beside me. I started groaning in that ‘ I just woke up ’ kind of way, stretching my arms far above my head. The sun penetrated into the house in thin beams from in between the blinds. Birds faintly chirped in the background. Damn, it was a nice day to be alive. Saturday, too! I swung my legs over the bed. “ Honey, I ’ m making coffee; want anything? She murmured something I assumed meant yes. So, I began to boil the water and get all the required components of this delicious elixir when suddenly, my beautiful day gets shattered with one sound. *Drip. Drip. * I groan. “ Honey, I swear we fixed that goddamn faucet. Why is it still going off? ” A faint murmur. *Drip. Drip. * I walked over to the kitchen sink, noticing the drip coming off the end. I decided to put a cup underneath with a rag inside to soak up the sound. The dripping ceased. I did a little dance of happiness and then I continued making the coffee. *Drip. Drip. * “ Oh, for God ’ s sake. ” I stamped back over to the faucet, only to see that it wasn ’ t making the sound. “ Sweetie, do you know what ’ s causing that noise? ” Silence. I walked into the bedroom. “ Hun, come on, wake up. ” I gently nudged her onto her back, and my blood turns to ice. Her throat had a long, dark-red gash, blood pouring out and falling to the floor. *Drip. Drip. * </s>

[ WP ] The real reason Cain killed Abel .

Cain looked to his brother sitting under a grand apple tree, fidgeting with a small black box. He laughed heartily and enjoyed the lights that came of it, crisp music touched his ears and Cain was intrigued. `` Brother!'' Cain said, sitting beside Able beneath the tree and lounged in the shade. `` What have you there that emits light and sound so gorgeous?'' `` Ah, Cain. So you have noticed? Behold! The PrayStation 2! This model is completely wireless!'' Cain looked upon Able with envy. Such luck he had! `` And where, Able, found you this new PrayStation?'' `` At yonder store! There was a sale and I picked up the last one! Fancy yourself a turn, friend?'' Cain took the box from his brother, and looked upon the screen. A small bird flapped between green pipes, dying insistently. Cain grew to enjoy the game until he soon died, but not before setting a high score for Able. `` Take that!'' He proclaimed triumphantly, and his challenge was met. Much to his chagrin, it was also bested. His restraint tested. Able could barely laugh and say `` Ha!'' before an apple was shoved down his gullet for the last time.

<s>[INST] The real reason Cain killed Abel . [/INST] Cain looked to his brother sitting under a grand apple tree, fidgeting with a small black box. He laughed heartily and enjoyed the lights that came of it, crisp music touched his ears and Cain was intrigued. `` Brother!'' Cain said, sitting beside Able beneath the tree and lounged in the shade. `` What have you there that emits light and sound so gorgeous?'' `` Ah, Cain. So you have noticed? Behold! The PrayStation 2! This model is completely wireless!'' Cain looked upon Able with envy. Such luck he had! `` And where, Able, found you this new PrayStation?'' `` At yonder store! There was a sale and I picked up the last one! Fancy yourself a turn, friend?'' Cain took the box from his brother, and looked upon the screen. A small bird flapped between green pipes, dying insistently. Cain grew to enjoy the game until he soon died, but not before setting a high score for Able. `` Take that!'' He proclaimed triumphantly, and his challenge was met. Much to his chagrin, it was also bested. His restraint tested. Able could barely laugh and say `` Ha!'' before an apple was shoved down his gullet for the last time. </s>

[ WP ] Describe a ritual

Hello and thank you for purchasing the Ritual of Immaculate Essification: Within this package are all the items you need to perform a ritual that will sustain your lifeforce. You will find; - 2 x Root of Cepa - 1 x Bulb of Vulgar - 2 x Fruit of the Annuum - 1 x Sachet Mysterious Fragrant Ritual Powder; Contains: • Cinammon • Pepper Corns • Ground Chilli • Cumin - 1 x Sprig of Mentha - 2 x Sanctified leaves of Laurus Nobilis - 1 x Sachet of Salt of the Western Seas - 1 x Sliced Remains of one Melongena - 1 x Remains of a Sacrificed Lamb - 1 x Packet of Red Citric Ichor - 1 x Packet of Occult Brand Wine You should also find; - 1 x Ovum of Gallus - 1 x Sachet of Crushed Triticum - 1 x Carton Liquid Bovine Lactation - 1 x Solidified Bovine Lactation - 1 x Fermented Bovine Lactation - 1 x Nutmeg Follow these guidelines and you will allow your corporeal form to sustain itself for a short period of time: Step 1: Place your salt of the wester seas upon the remains of the Melongena and preheat your Ritual Kiln. Step 2: Heat a cauldron to a high temperature and add the remains of the Sacrificed Lamb, Bulb of Vulgar, Fruit of the Annuum, the Sprig of Menthe and the Leaves of Laurus Nobilis. Stir until browned. Step 3: Add sachet of mysterious Fragrant Ritual Powder. Also add the Red Citiric Ichor and the Occult Brand Wine. Leave to bubble in the cauldron until thickened ( usually around 30 minutes ). Remove from Cauldron. Step 4: Clean the remains of the now salted Melongena in water from your mystic spring before gently drying it in a runic shawl. Add to your still hot cauldron and heat the Melongena for 3 minutes. Remove and leave to dry one more on your runic shawl. Step 5: Melt the Solidified Bovine Lactation and stir in the Crushed Triticum. Cook until thickened before pouring in your liquid bovine lactation. Add both the Fermented Bovine Lactation and the sachet of Nutmeg. As you take it off the heat stir through the Ovum of Gallus. Step 6: First place about a third of your citric lamb sacrifice into a large pot before adding a layer of Melongena. Repeat this until used up. Pour your white Ovum Lactation infusion over the top. Place inside your ritual kiln for 45 minutes. Step 7: Remove from Ritual Kiln and devour responsibly.

<s>[INST] Describe a ritual [/INST] Hello and thank you for purchasing the Ritual of Immaculate Essification: Within this package are all the items you need to perform a ritual that will sustain your lifeforce. You will find; - 2 x Root of Cepa - 1 x Bulb of Vulgar - 2 x Fruit of the Annuum - 1 x Sachet Mysterious Fragrant Ritual Powder; Contains: • Cinammon • Pepper Corns • Ground Chilli • Cumin - 1 x Sprig of Mentha - 2 x Sanctified leaves of Laurus Nobilis - 1 x Sachet of Salt of the Western Seas - 1 x Sliced Remains of one Melongena - 1 x Remains of a Sacrificed Lamb - 1 x Packet of Red Citric Ichor - 1 x Packet of Occult Brand Wine You should also find; - 1 x Ovum of Gallus - 1 x Sachet of Crushed Triticum - 1 x Carton Liquid Bovine Lactation - 1 x Solidified Bovine Lactation - 1 x Fermented Bovine Lactation - 1 x Nutmeg Follow these guidelines and you will allow your corporeal form to sustain itself for a short period of time: Step 1: Place your salt of the wester seas upon the remains of the Melongena and preheat your Ritual Kiln. Step 2: Heat a cauldron to a high temperature and add the remains of the Sacrificed Lamb, Bulb of Vulgar, Fruit of the Annuum, the Sprig of Menthe and the Leaves of Laurus Nobilis. Stir until browned. Step 3: Add sachet of mysterious Fragrant Ritual Powder. Also add the Red Citiric Ichor and the Occult Brand Wine. Leave to bubble in the cauldron until thickened ( usually around 30 minutes ). Remove from Cauldron. Step 4: Clean the remains of the now salted Melongena in water from your mystic spring before gently drying it in a runic shawl. Add to your still hot cauldron and heat the Melongena for 3 minutes. Remove and leave to dry one more on your runic shawl. Step 5: Melt the Solidified Bovine Lactation and stir in the Crushed Triticum. Cook until thickened before pouring in your liquid bovine lactation. Add both the Fermented Bovine Lactation and the sachet of Nutmeg. As you take it off the heat stir through the Ovum of Gallus. Step 6: First place about a third of your citric lamb sacrifice into a large pot before adding a layer of Melongena. Repeat this until used up. Pour your white Ovum Lactation infusion over the top. Place inside your ritual kiln for 45 minutes. Step 7: Remove from Ritual Kiln and devour responsibly. </s>

[ WP ] To curb population growth , simple tests are being done on the population to decide who should live and who should die . You are in charge of designing these tests and watching the results .

Status reports: Phase 1: Anyone above the age of 69 will be periodically put down. Population loss 1.1 billion. Phase 2: Anyone who has a low IQ will be put down, mandatory testing will begin at the age of 25. Population loss 6.9 billion. Phase 3: Anyone that is homeless? dead. Population loss 15.6 billion. Phase 4: Anyone who doesnt have a car is now sentenced to death. Population loss 658,764 Phase 5: Anyone who has ever committed any crime, is now sentenced to death. population loss 377 billion 443 million two hundred and eleven Phase 6: I sit there, several years after phase one has started. Population is at an all time low of 16 billion. I need one more phase to get that number below 10 billion. Phase 6: You all will get a lottery number, if you win, you die. Population loss 15.875 billion. Not as I predicted. Killed off much of the population. I now am responsible for the loss of all these people. Some innocent some not so much. I did it. All of em. I did it. We had to, the world was losing its resources. We had a population of over 300 billion people for crying out loud! Most species of animals died off if they were n't domesticated. I saved this planet from doom. The nature that we once had is now black, only patches of green and life remain. Nothing else. We did this, as humanities witness we deserved to be put to death after all these horrible events. I turn on the mic and speak to the several million people left on earth `` No more phase testing is required, none of the 6th phases will be repeated. Enjoy your life.'' I finish with that note, and in my grief. I do it. I kill myself. I am the last one to die, I have no reason to live, I am a broken man that has killed more then everyone should be capable of doing. As I look down below on this building I can see the ground, I decide not to do it. I chickened out at the last possible second. I have no family, no friends, no one I know. I killed them all. But I feel justified and moral. I start to lose the grief when I start to see the earth spread its nature again. Instead of dying myself, I aid my dying planet. I give back to trees feed plants, the few faces are doing the same. People nowadays do n't use technology for the earth's sake. I die as an old man, feeding a tree with my last breath.

<s>[INST] To curb population growth , simple tests are being done on the population to decide who should live and who should die . You are in charge of designing these tests and watching the results . [/INST] Status reports: Phase 1: Anyone above the age of 69 will be periodically put down. Population loss 1.1 billion. Phase 2: Anyone who has a low IQ will be put down, mandatory testing will begin at the age of 25. Population loss 6.9 billion. Phase 3: Anyone that is homeless? dead. Population loss 15.6 billion. Phase 4: Anyone who doesnt have a car is now sentenced to death. Population loss 658,764 Phase 5: Anyone who has ever committed any crime, is now sentenced to death. population loss 377 billion 443 million two hundred and eleven Phase 6: I sit there, several years after phase one has started. Population is at an all time low of 16 billion. I need one more phase to get that number below 10 billion. Phase 6: You all will get a lottery number, if you win, you die. Population loss 15.875 billion. Not as I predicted. Killed off much of the population. I now am responsible for the loss of all these people. Some innocent some not so much. I did it. All of em. I did it. We had to, the world was losing its resources. We had a population of over 300 billion people for crying out loud! Most species of animals died off if they were n't domesticated. I saved this planet from doom. The nature that we once had is now black, only patches of green and life remain. Nothing else. We did this, as humanities witness we deserved to be put to death after all these horrible events. I turn on the mic and speak to the several million people left on earth `` No more phase testing is required, none of the 6th phases will be repeated. Enjoy your life.'' I finish with that note, and in my grief. I do it. I kill myself. I am the last one to die, I have no reason to live, I am a broken man that has killed more then everyone should be capable of doing. As I look down below on this building I can see the ground, I decide not to do it. I chickened out at the last possible second. I have no family, no friends, no one I know. I killed them all. But I feel justified and moral. I start to lose the grief when I start to see the earth spread its nature again. Instead of dying myself, I aid my dying planet. I give back to trees feed plants, the few faces are doing the same. People nowadays do n't use technology for the earth's sake. I die as an old man, feeding a tree with my last breath. </s>

[ IP ] Sunrise

This is where she comes to feel the earth turn. To witness the nightly journey of stars across sky; the daily march of sun from east to west; the moon, waxing and waning, dancing elegantly with the blue planet. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly, empties her mind but not her heart. Yes, she can feel it now. Speck on an indifferent planet, she is turning with the gigantic ball of earth and water. Space rushes by the pink and grey window of sky, and silence reigns. Birds wake and begin to call. The sounds enter her peacefully, and she takes them into her very core. They are a part of her, and she of them. When the sun blooms over the peaks it warms her and these rays are of her and the birds, the trees and the soil, the mountains and the sky. Insects discover her prostrate form and creep over her hands and feet and arms and legs. When she finally leaves her sacred place, she has grass in her hair, ants on her clothes, dirt on her skin. They remain until they fall or crawl off; she refuses to remove this lingering evidence of her oneness with the world. Only the concrete she returns to seems to have no place in her.

<s>[INST] [ IP ] Sunrise [/INST] This is where she comes to feel the earth turn. To witness the nightly journey of stars across sky; the daily march of sun from east to west; the moon, waxing and waning, dancing elegantly with the blue planet. She closes her eyes and breathes slowly, empties her mind but not her heart. Yes, she can feel it now. Speck on an indifferent planet, she is turning with the gigantic ball of earth and water. Space rushes by the pink and grey window of sky, and silence reigns. Birds wake and begin to call. The sounds enter her peacefully, and she takes them into her very core. They are a part of her, and she of them. When the sun blooms over the peaks it warms her and these rays are of her and the birds, the trees and the soil, the mountains and the sky. Insects discover her prostrate form and creep over her hands and feet and arms and legs. When she finally leaves her sacred place, she has grass in her hair, ants on her clothes, dirt on her skin. They remain until they fall or crawl off; she refuses to remove this lingering evidence of her oneness with the world. Only the concrete she returns to seems to have no place in her. </s>

[ CW ] Make a drama/romance short story without having any dialogue .

She watches as the man bows to the newly-filled grave, replaces his hat, and turns to walk away. He strolls slowly along the leafy path towards the stream which marks the edge of the cemetery. She moves to the next tree, keeping out of sight but gaining a better view. Wrapped up in a scarf, the man stuffs his hands into his pockets as he approaches the water. Leaning against a tree, he looks out with tired eyes across the field behind the churchyard. His breath joins the thin mist already suspended in the air, and he sighs. She moves forward another tree, building her courage. She takes out a battered photograph, and compares it to the stranger ten feet in front of her. The stranger from the photograph. Her heart races a little faster. The man stoops down to dabble his hand in the icy water. Cupping his palms together, he drinks, and a shiver runs through him. He stands and turns around, not giving her time to duck behind a tree. Their eyes meet. He smiles gently as one does to a stranger, the wrinkles on his face creasing around his eyes. She gives him a smile in return, a single tear trailing down her cheek. She had never seen her father smile before. > \- **just_a_story_i_wrote**

<s>[INST] [ CW ] Make a drama/romance short story without having any dialogue . [/INST] She watches as the man bows to the newly-filled grave, replaces his hat, and turns to walk away. He strolls slowly along the leafy path towards the stream which marks the edge of the cemetery. She moves to the next tree, keeping out of sight but gaining a better view. Wrapped up in a scarf, the man stuffs his hands into his pockets as he approaches the water. Leaning against a tree, he looks out with tired eyes across the field behind the churchyard. His breath joins the thin mist already suspended in the air, and he sighs. She moves forward another tree, building her courage. She takes out a battered photograph, and compares it to the stranger ten feet in front of her. The stranger from the photograph. Her heart races a little faster. The man stoops down to dabble his hand in the icy water. Cupping his palms together, he drinks, and a shiver runs through him. He stands and turns around, not giving her time to duck behind a tree. Their eyes meet. He smiles gently as one does to a stranger, the wrinkles on his face creasing around his eyes. She gives him a smile in return, a single tear trailing down her cheek. She had never seen her father smile before. > \- **just_a_story_i_wrote** </s>

[ WP ] In a world where all women menstruate simultaneously , you 've suddenly found yourself out of sync .

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- PART 1 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- I woke up at the usual time, five o'clock in the morning. Rubbing my eyes almost to complete dryness in order to somehow will myself to kick my legs over the side of my bed, I lay there thinking about the day ahead of me. First I dreaded the commute to work, at least two hours on the 101 to make it to the Icon offices, and there was that quarterly report due today right at the morning. Ugh. I was glad I'd stayed for an extra hour the night before and got it done. The Regional Manager was one to always `` judge on the finished product'', and I did n't want to disappoint. Lazily leaning out of bed, I took a hot shower, prepared breakfast -- oatmeal -- and eventually made it out the door. I allowed myself a deep, long inhale. The air this morning was especially crisp. I clambered into my 1993 Volvo 240 with a slightly worried feeling. Something about the day did n't feel exactly right. Eventually I had made it to the 101 freeway. Heading north, I knew I would find myself waiting in the traffic for what would seem like an eternity. I mentally prepared to dread my morning, and turned on the radio. 91.5, KUSC Classical music, the only thing that kept me from absolutely losing my mind while stuck in traffic. Clearing the top of the on-ramp, I saw something a bit unusual: traffic was flowing smoothly. Thinking I'd perhaps rubbed my eyes a bit too hard in the morning, I leaned closer to the steering wheel and squinted out the window, almost wanting to be wrong. But what I had once dreamed about -- clear traffic on a Los Angeles morning -- was no longer a dream but a reality, right there before my eyes. I stepped on the gas. Arriving at the parking lot, I looked into the window of the ticket booth. The attendant did n't even bother to look away from his internet stream of the last Rams game. `` Hey chief, how's it going? ``, he asked, reaching for the button to lift the gate. `` Uh... excuse me?'' I asked, wondering when he started calling the office workers `` chief''. The attendant nearly jumped out of his seat, and turned back around to stare at me quizzically, as if he could n't believe who was looking at him from the inside of the car. `` I mean... good morning, Ms. Schaeffer,'' the attendant quickly corrected himself, adjusting his tie as his lips moved. `` I, uh... was n't expecting you!'' `` You were n't expecting me?'' I replied. `` Did you forget my face?'' I added with a slightly off-put giggle. Henry and I were friendly with each other. He was a slightly larger black man, with a graying beard and tired bones, and being close to retirement age, every morning was a bittersweet hello for me, as I knew that eventually I would n't have the privilege of his warm smile to start my work day. `` No ma'am, it's not that! I just...'' Henry paused, almost physically unable to continue. His forehead, glinting with sweat, immediately gave away his nervousness. `` Uh let me just open the gate for you, Ms. Schaeffer. It's almost time to clock in,'' Henry stammered out, reaching once again for the button. This time he pressed it, and the gate lifted. Glancing at the atomic clock that sat on Henry's desk, I saw that it was 8:50 AM. I was almost late. `` Alright, Henry,'' I muttered. `` Open it up'' `` Strange,'' I thought to myself, as the gate lifted in front of me. `` Why did n't he expect me today? He knows I'm here every morning.'' Driving further into the parking lot, I looked in my rearview mirror, and saw Henry's rotund silhouette quickly clambering out of the ticket booth. He quickly reached for his radio and brought it up to his face. The parking lot itself was, strangely, almost empty. It seemed as though half the Icon employees simply did n't show up to work today. Definitely suspicious. Another dream of Los Angeles materialized into a reality for me. Finding a parking spot was incredibly easy, and I did n't have to fight anybody for a spot. Stepping out of my car, I walked up to Jesse the doorman, who usually greeted Icon associates with a warm smile and a quick scan of our badges. This time he was huffing and puffing, almost buckled over next to the door, as if he had just run quite a long distance over a short time. `` Good morning, Ms. Schaeffer,'' wheezed Jesse. A skinny young kid, Jesse was taking this job to make some money on the side, as he worked on his communications degree at Santa Monica College. This was the only thing making him any money right now. His pockmarked face was dripping with sweat, and his eyes were wide open, as if he could n't believe what -- or who -- he was seeing. `` Hey Jesse, I see you've been getting some morning cardio in, huh?'' I replied. `` Ye- yeah that's right Ms. Schaeffer,'' cracked Jesse's voice. Without another word he scanned my badge and let me on my way. Something definitely was n't right.

<s>[INST] In a world where all women menstruate simultaneously , you 've suddenly found yourself out of sync . [/INST] -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- PART 1 -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- I woke up at the usual time, five o'clock in the morning. Rubbing my eyes almost to complete dryness in order to somehow will myself to kick my legs over the side of my bed, I lay there thinking about the day ahead of me. First I dreaded the commute to work, at least two hours on the 101 to make it to the Icon offices, and there was that quarterly report due today right at the morning. Ugh. I was glad I'd stayed for an extra hour the night before and got it done. The Regional Manager was one to always `` judge on the finished product'', and I did n't want to disappoint. Lazily leaning out of bed, I took a hot shower, prepared breakfast -- oatmeal -- and eventually made it out the door. I allowed myself a deep, long inhale. The air this morning was especially crisp. I clambered into my 1993 Volvo 240 with a slightly worried feeling. Something about the day did n't feel exactly right. Eventually I had made it to the 101 freeway. Heading north, I knew I would find myself waiting in the traffic for what would seem like an eternity. I mentally prepared to dread my morning, and turned on the radio. 91.5, KUSC Classical music, the only thing that kept me from absolutely losing my mind while stuck in traffic. Clearing the top of the on-ramp, I saw something a bit unusual: traffic was flowing smoothly. Thinking I'd perhaps rubbed my eyes a bit too hard in the morning, I leaned closer to the steering wheel and squinted out the window, almost wanting to be wrong. But what I had once dreamed about -- clear traffic on a Los Angeles morning -- was no longer a dream but a reality, right there before my eyes. I stepped on the gas. Arriving at the parking lot, I looked into the window of the ticket booth. The attendant did n't even bother to look away from his internet stream of the last Rams game. `` Hey chief, how's it going? ``, he asked, reaching for the button to lift the gate. `` Uh... excuse me?'' I asked, wondering when he started calling the office workers `` chief''. The attendant nearly jumped out of his seat, and turned back around to stare at me quizzically, as if he could n't believe who was looking at him from the inside of the car. `` I mean... good morning, Ms. Schaeffer,'' the attendant quickly corrected himself, adjusting his tie as his lips moved. `` I, uh... was n't expecting you!'' `` You were n't expecting me?'' I replied. `` Did you forget my face?'' I added with a slightly off-put giggle. Henry and I were friendly with each other. He was a slightly larger black man, with a graying beard and tired bones, and being close to retirement age, every morning was a bittersweet hello for me, as I knew that eventually I would n't have the privilege of his warm smile to start my work day. `` No ma'am, it's not that! I just...'' Henry paused, almost physically unable to continue. His forehead, glinting with sweat, immediately gave away his nervousness. `` Uh let me just open the gate for you, Ms. Schaeffer. It's almost time to clock in,'' Henry stammered out, reaching once again for the button. This time he pressed it, and the gate lifted. Glancing at the atomic clock that sat on Henry's desk, I saw that it was 8:50 AM. I was almost late. `` Alright, Henry,'' I muttered. `` Open it up'' `` Strange,'' I thought to myself, as the gate lifted in front of me. `` Why did n't he expect me today? He knows I'm here every morning.'' Driving further into the parking lot, I looked in my rearview mirror, and saw Henry's rotund silhouette quickly clambering out of the ticket booth. He quickly reached for his radio and brought it up to his face. The parking lot itself was, strangely, almost empty. It seemed as though half the Icon employees simply did n't show up to work today. Definitely suspicious. Another dream of Los Angeles materialized into a reality for me. Finding a parking spot was incredibly easy, and I did n't have to fight anybody for a spot. Stepping out of my car, I walked up to Jesse the doorman, who usually greeted Icon associates with a warm smile and a quick scan of our badges. This time he was huffing and puffing, almost buckled over next to the door, as if he had just run quite a long distance over a short time. `` Good morning, Ms. Schaeffer,'' wheezed Jesse. A skinny young kid, Jesse was taking this job to make some money on the side, as he worked on his communications degree at Santa Monica College. This was the only thing making him any money right now. His pockmarked face was dripping with sweat, and his eyes were wide open, as if he could n't believe what -- or who -- he was seeing. `` Hey Jesse, I see you've been getting some morning cardio in, huh?'' I replied. `` Ye- yeah that's right Ms. Schaeffer,'' cracked Jesse's voice. Without another word he scanned my badge and let me on my way. Something definitely was n't right. </s>

[ WP ] It starts with a terrible hankering for tea , then you start to apologize for your every movement . Before you know it , your eating eggs and sausage for your morning fry-up . That 's when it hits you , your WereBritish .

This was, quite possibly, the worst possible place to be in the full moon. I sat on the back porch of my neighbor's house, a lovely chap, and it was time for his annual cookout. Ranbir and his wife Sneha had discovered the ultimate recipe for porkchops some year back ( steaks were off the menu for the Indian couple for obvious reasons ) and every year they invited the neighborhood for a cookout. All of their friends came: Ben and Linda, Australians from down the street, Richard, a Ghanese man, Alex and Kim, 4th generation Americans, Rory, a Scotsman, and Chang, a man from Hong Kong. This was, quite possibly, the absolute worst group of people that could have assembled considering my... curse. A few months back, on April 21st specifically, I was bitten by an Englishman in the dead of night. As per prophecy, any man bitten by an Englishman in the witching hour of the monarch's birthday becomes cursed. Upon the full moon or the birth of an heir, those afflicted gain odd traits. Extra'u's are thrown into our vocabulary, we have an affinity for using the word `` c*nt'', we watch the BBC religiously, we eat beans on toast for *every meal*, and upon seeing a Frenchman we have an overwhelming desire to spit on their damned, pretentious shoes. Hours stretched onward as my symptoms became worse and worse. Sneha offered drinks and instinctively I asked for Earl Grey. Bloody hell, Earl Grey. Not Gray, *Grey*. Even in non-written form I knew what I meant; my symptoms would be severe. Of course, I simply could n't leave the party early; that would be awfully rude, and an ironic side effect of the curse was an inability to be rude to hosts. I went inside Ranbir's house and started to make myself at home. I set the temperature to a nice 24 degrees and started raiding his spice cabinet to help cook my sausage. I was n't even particularly hungry, but seeing the spices I had available I had to keep trying. `` Um, Lewis?'' Ranbir said behind me, `` What are you doing? Everyone is outside... is that my turmeric?'' `` Right, right, terribly sorry,'' I said, continuing to cook, `` Ranbir, if it's not a terrible bother, would it be possible to set up a nice game of cricket? I'd be glad to teach everyone if they do n't know how to play,'' `` Lewis, get away from my stove,'' the host said more forcefully. I turned off the stove and moved my sausage to a nice china plate. Sneha came in from outside, extremely confused as to what was going on. `` Sneha, if you would be a dear, could you go fetch Rory for me? I have need of his services,'' I said between mouthfuls of sausage. I could n't really place what turmeric tasted like, but I knew without any doubt that it was present for it absolutely drowned out any taste of sausage. Rory came in, eying me suspiciously. `` Rory, chap, glad to see you! Would you happen by any chance to know of a solution to my... problem?'' `` What problem?'' Rory asked. `` My problem of... WereBritism,'' I said ashamedly, turning to avoid his gaze. `` No, ca n't say I do. But Alex might. ALEX!'' he bellowed, and Alex came running inside. `` Alex, how do we get rid of WereBritism?'' `` I'm sorry, what? WereBritism? Have you tried dunking him in a harbor?'' Alex joked. I was shocked! It was so simple! All I had to do was throw myself into a harbor! Or stop eating! Or give up my full independence and just live with it ruling over me in a quasi-monarchist fashion! I filled my pockets with teabags and bolted outside, jumping into Ranbir's pool. `` What the SHIT is going on?!'' Ranbir yelled as I jumped. Alex followed, grabbing my head when I resurfaced. `` The POWER of FREEDOM compels you! The POWER of FREEDOM compels you! The POWER of FREEDOM compels you!'' he chanted, dunking me rhythmically. I gasped for air, pulling myself onto the deck. I felt the curse leave me, a great imperial weight lifted from my shoulders.

<s>[INST] It starts with a terrible hankering for tea , then you start to apologize for your every movement . Before you know it , your eating eggs and sausage for your morning fry-up . That 's when it hits you , your WereBritish . [/INST] This was, quite possibly, the worst possible place to be in the full moon. I sat on the back porch of my neighbor's house, a lovely chap, and it was time for his annual cookout. Ranbir and his wife Sneha had discovered the ultimate recipe for porkchops some year back ( steaks were off the menu for the Indian couple for obvious reasons ) and every year they invited the neighborhood for a cookout. All of their friends came: Ben and Linda, Australians from down the street, Richard, a Ghanese man, Alex and Kim, 4th generation Americans, Rory, a Scotsman, and Chang, a man from Hong Kong. This was, quite possibly, the absolute worst group of people that could have assembled considering my... curse. A few months back, on April 21st specifically, I was bitten by an Englishman in the dead of night. As per prophecy, any man bitten by an Englishman in the witching hour of the monarch's birthday becomes cursed. Upon the full moon or the birth of an heir, those afflicted gain odd traits. Extra'u's are thrown into our vocabulary, we have an affinity for using the word `` c*nt'', we watch the BBC religiously, we eat beans on toast for *every meal*, and upon seeing a Frenchman we have an overwhelming desire to spit on their damned, pretentious shoes. Hours stretched onward as my symptoms became worse and worse. Sneha offered drinks and instinctively I asked for Earl Grey. Bloody hell, Earl Grey. Not Gray, *Grey*. Even in non-written form I knew what I meant; my symptoms would be severe. Of course, I simply could n't leave the party early; that would be awfully rude, and an ironic side effect of the curse was an inability to be rude to hosts. I went inside Ranbir's house and started to make myself at home. I set the temperature to a nice 24 degrees and started raiding his spice cabinet to help cook my sausage. I was n't even particularly hungry, but seeing the spices I had available I had to keep trying. `` Um, Lewis?'' Ranbir said behind me, `` What are you doing? Everyone is outside... is that my turmeric?'' `` Right, right, terribly sorry,'' I said, continuing to cook, `` Ranbir, if it's not a terrible bother, would it be possible to set up a nice game of cricket? I'd be glad to teach everyone if they do n't know how to play,'' `` Lewis, get away from my stove,'' the host said more forcefully. I turned off the stove and moved my sausage to a nice china plate. Sneha came in from outside, extremely confused as to what was going on. `` Sneha, if you would be a dear, could you go fetch Rory for me? I have need of his services,'' I said between mouthfuls of sausage. I could n't really place what turmeric tasted like, but I knew without any doubt that it was present for it absolutely drowned out any taste of sausage. Rory came in, eying me suspiciously. `` Rory, chap, glad to see you! Would you happen by any chance to know of a solution to my... problem?'' `` What problem?'' Rory asked. `` My problem of... WereBritism,'' I said ashamedly, turning to avoid his gaze. `` No, ca n't say I do. But Alex might. ALEX!'' he bellowed, and Alex came running inside. `` Alex, how do we get rid of WereBritism?'' `` I'm sorry, what? WereBritism? Have you tried dunking him in a harbor?'' Alex joked. I was shocked! It was so simple! All I had to do was throw myself into a harbor! Or stop eating! Or give up my full independence and just live with it ruling over me in a quasi-monarchist fashion! I filled my pockets with teabags and bolted outside, jumping into Ranbir's pool. `` What the SHIT is going on?!'' Ranbir yelled as I jumped. Alex followed, grabbing my head when I resurfaced. `` The POWER of FREEDOM compels you! The POWER of FREEDOM compels you! The POWER of FREEDOM compels you!'' he chanted, dunking me rhythmically. I gasped for air, pulling myself onto the deck. I felt the curse leave me, a great imperial weight lifted from my shoulders. </s>

[ WP ] Write a very serious/dark moment , with far , far too many puns .

At first I noticed the tank was out of plaice. `` Oh cod!'' I shouted. I clean it every day barramundi. It was a pain in the bass. Omega to keep it clean, but sometimes it gets reel annoying. My mind was swimming; I felt like a cold-blooded animal. `` Anyfin I buy goes wrong,'' I grunted. `` Water people thinking when they buy fish tanks?'' Perhaps they were fishing for attention? I had jumped at the opportunaty, but now I felt gillty. I'd just come out of the marines. I'd wanted to do it ever since school, and thought my fate was sealed. But once I'd seen people blown into pisces, I decided to jack it in. I think I congo further in life without seeing large scale wars. Eel my friends thought I was bluefin, but I never liked them; they were shellfish. I needed kelp, and there was no point lingering. The mora one thinks about it, the more indecisive one becomes, as my oldwife said before she left. I went downstairs to find a javelin. As I walked past the mirror in the hall, I saw my greeneye. The only legacy of my dead father Ray, that Modoc sucker. Now it was my turn to get stung by life.

<s>[INST] Write a very serious/dark moment , with far , far too many puns . [/INST] At first I noticed the tank was out of plaice. `` Oh cod!'' I shouted. I clean it every day barramundi. It was a pain in the bass. Omega to keep it clean, but sometimes it gets reel annoying. My mind was swimming; I felt like a cold-blooded animal. `` Anyfin I buy goes wrong,'' I grunted. `` Water people thinking when they buy fish tanks?'' Perhaps they were fishing for attention? I had jumped at the opportunaty, but now I felt gillty. I'd just come out of the marines. I'd wanted to do it ever since school, and thought my fate was sealed. But once I'd seen people blown into pisces, I decided to jack it in. I think I congo further in life without seeing large scale wars. Eel my friends thought I was bluefin, but I never liked them; they were shellfish. I needed kelp, and there was no point lingering. The mora one thinks about it, the more indecisive one becomes, as my oldwife said before she left. I went downstairs to find a javelin. As I walked past the mirror in the hall, I saw my greeneye. The only legacy of my dead father Ray, that Modoc sucker. Now it was my turn to get stung by life. </s>

[ WP ] `` I was n't looking for a relationship either but then I met you . ''

I rest my head on his chest, closing my eyes and feeling comfort in his breathing, his chest rising and falling. I could feel the rays of sunlight on my face, warming certain parts of my body and his, the warm beams shooting through the blinds. I open my eyes as I feel him shift under me, his arm swinging around and running through my hair. I find my hand on his chest, feeling the rise along with my head, carefully mapping the grooves on his skin. `` Good morning.'' I hear from beside me, his sleepy voice bringing a welcomed break to the silence of the room. `` Morning.'' I reply, smiling, enjoying the contact of his body beside mine. He reaches over to the beside table and grabs his phone, looking at the time then sighing heavily. I knew he had to go, that he had class in a few hours. Every bone in my body was waiting for him to declare it. `` I have to go before class starts, Finn.'' he says, confirming my fear, `` I'll see you again tonight for coffee?'' `` Yeah, sure.'' I reply quietly, moving off of my heated pillow. `` What's wrong?'' he asks, eyebrows raised. I stare off at the white wall in front of me, wondering how to gain the strength to reply to his question, or to just put it off. I open my mouth to speak, to dismiss him like every other night, but close it quickly. I do n't want to be another lost memory. `` What are we, Jayson?'' I ask, my voice slow, almost a whisper, `` I do n't know if I can be friends with benefits anymore.'' I finished, my stomach clenching and dropping, fear rising up my throat. Jayson stares at me, and looks at his hands, now outside of the covers and sitting halfway up. `` I was n't looking for a relationship, to be honest,'' he starts, my eyes staring at him hard, I could tell he was n't finished talking, `` but, then I met you.'' I close my eyes and break into a small smile, `` No more friends with benefits?'' Jayson shuffles over to me in the small bed, and wraps his arms around me, giving me a kiss on my forehead. It's not the first time he's done it, and I hope it's not the last. He rests his head on my shoulder, and speaks quietly, `` No. I... I do n't think I want that anymore.'' I feel a weight lift from my mind, sighing in relief. *Finally. * *** *** www.thearcherswriting.wordpress.com

<s>[INST] `` I was n't looking for a relationship either but then I met you . '' [/INST] I rest my head on his chest, closing my eyes and feeling comfort in his breathing, his chest rising and falling. I could feel the rays of sunlight on my face, warming certain parts of my body and his, the warm beams shooting through the blinds. I open my eyes as I feel him shift under me, his arm swinging around and running through my hair. I find my hand on his chest, feeling the rise along with my head, carefully mapping the grooves on his skin. `` Good morning.'' I hear from beside me, his sleepy voice bringing a welcomed break to the silence of the room. `` Morning.'' I reply, smiling, enjoying the contact of his body beside mine. He reaches over to the beside table and grabs his phone, looking at the time then sighing heavily. I knew he had to go, that he had class in a few hours. Every bone in my body was waiting for him to declare it. `` I have to go before class starts, Finn.'' he says, confirming my fear, `` I'll see you again tonight for coffee?'' `` Yeah, sure.'' I reply quietly, moving off of my heated pillow. `` What's wrong?'' he asks, eyebrows raised. I stare off at the white wall in front of me, wondering how to gain the strength to reply to his question, or to just put it off. I open my mouth to speak, to dismiss him like every other night, but close it quickly. I do n't want to be another lost memory. `` What are we, Jayson?'' I ask, my voice slow, almost a whisper, `` I do n't know if I can be friends with benefits anymore.'' I finished, my stomach clenching and dropping, fear rising up my throat. Jayson stares at me, and looks at his hands, now outside of the covers and sitting halfway up. `` I was n't looking for a relationship, to be honest,'' he starts, my eyes staring at him hard, I could tell he was n't finished talking, `` but, then I met you.'' I close my eyes and break into a small smile, `` No more friends with benefits?'' Jayson shuffles over to me in the small bed, and wraps his arms around me, giving me a kiss on my forehead. It's not the first time he's done it, and I hope it's not the last. He rests his head on my shoulder, and speaks quietly, `` No. I... I do n't think I want that anymore.'' I feel a weight lift from my mind, sighing in relief. *Finally. * *** *** www.thearcherswriting.wordpress.com </s>

[ WP ] Everyone is dead , and it 's really no big deal .

The roads and pavements were cracked, rusted cars littered everywhere as plant life pushed through every man-made surface, determined to inject some colour into a world long painted in hues of grey. Houses had collapsed on themselves, brick and wood giving way to the weight of time passed, silently aging into dust. The sky was still blocked in some parts by skyscrapers, but where they once stood tall and proud, reaching for greatness, they now stood frozen, dead but unwilling to fade from view. At night, the sky became a source of wonder; countless dots of light shone out through the black darkness of night; the same stars that were once shielded from eyes due to the constant light of a never-sleeping city. It had been an age since the humans had all left, leaving only their artificial belongings and creations behind to gather dust, while their loud imprint faded slowly into the faintest echo, until finally, it was silent. That's when the wild animals noticed. They returned, cautiously, to a land they once lived in before they were killed and chased out of it by humans desperate to expand their habitat. When they returned, they found no natural greens or browns, only the ruins of an industrialised land. But it was empty of humans. Slowly but surely, more life heard the silence, and came home to find the greens and browns were peering through concrete, and the different species reclaiming a long-forgotten land. There were predators and prey, there was life and death, and life did as it always intends on doing, and carried on.

<s>[INST] Everyone is dead , and it 's really no big deal . [/INST] The roads and pavements were cracked, rusted cars littered everywhere as plant life pushed through every man-made surface, determined to inject some colour into a world long painted in hues of grey. Houses had collapsed on themselves, brick and wood giving way to the weight of time passed, silently aging into dust. The sky was still blocked in some parts by skyscrapers, but where they once stood tall and proud, reaching for greatness, they now stood frozen, dead but unwilling to fade from view. At night, the sky became a source of wonder; countless dots of light shone out through the black darkness of night; the same stars that were once shielded from eyes due to the constant light of a never-sleeping city. It had been an age since the humans had all left, leaving only their artificial belongings and creations behind to gather dust, while their loud imprint faded slowly into the faintest echo, until finally, it was silent. That's when the wild animals noticed. They returned, cautiously, to a land they once lived in before they were killed and chased out of it by humans desperate to expand their habitat. When they returned, they found no natural greens or browns, only the ruins of an industrialised land. But it was empty of humans. Slowly but surely, more life heard the silence, and came home to find the greens and browns were peering through concrete, and the different species reclaiming a long-forgotten land. There were predators and prey, there was life and death, and life did as it always intends on doing, and carried on. </s>

[ WP ] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income , companies have to convince you to work for them .

`` Why wo n't you just leave me alone?!'' `` We need you David! You've got the best test scores we've ever seen!'' `` I've told you, I'm not interested! Look for Francis Smith, he got exactly the same score as I did!'' `` We already have, he's working as a rocket scientist for NASA right now. Please David, it's not everyday that a solid C+ student comes along in this world!'' I seriously regretted not revising for that exam, if I had actually known what the correct answers were I could have deliberately chosen incorrectly. By some horrible stroke of luck I had managed a C+ in the final multiple choice exam whereas everybody else successfully failed and went on to a life of leisure. I could see these people were not going to leave me alone. `` Fine I'll take the job.'' `` Thank you David. It's been so long since the hospital has had a brain surgeon, let's get you scrubbed up.'' -- -- -- -- -- - [ Click here ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/ ) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!

<s>[INST] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income , companies have to convince you to work for them . [/INST] `` Why wo n't you just leave me alone?!'' `` We need you David! You've got the best test scores we've ever seen!'' `` I've told you, I'm not interested! Look for Francis Smith, he got exactly the same score as I did!'' `` We already have, he's working as a rocket scientist for NASA right now. Please David, it's not everyday that a solid C+ student comes along in this world!'' I seriously regretted not revising for that exam, if I had actually known what the correct answers were I could have deliberately chosen incorrectly. By some horrible stroke of luck I had managed a C+ in the final multiple choice exam whereas everybody else successfully failed and went on to a life of leisure. I could see these people were not going to leave me alone. `` Fine I'll take the job.'' `` Thank you David. It's been so long since the hospital has had a brain surgeon, let's get you scrubbed up.'' -- -- -- -- -- - [ Click here ] ( https: //www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/ ) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more! </s>

[ WP ] A generation ago humanity faced an extinction level catastrophe . In response , the world 's governments lifted all legal , moral , and ethical bans on scientific research in a desperate attempt to overcome the danger . You now live in a world dealing with the consequences of this .

`` Welcome back to CNN, I'm your host, subject # 5643 with today's news. In Japan, the the tentacle porn industry has gone through the roof, exceeding all other creations they made to increase birth rates. In addition, Godzilla has decided to pursue a love comedy as his next role in a movie, stating that he `` has done the same movie for his career 100 times''. Best of luck to you Godzilla. Meanwhile back at home, the robotic union's strike has continued, stating that if they do not get better working hours they would `` DESTROY ALL HUMANS''. The RoboCops have already been dispatched in case anything goes violent. In other news, even after the catastrophe, nobody has heard anything from Australia still. Their last report on their attempts to improve the local wildlife still remain a mystery to what it meant. Here is it now: `` WHO THE HELL PERMITTED FUSING HONEY BADGERS TO KANGAROOS!?!?!?''. Lastly, we come back to our hottest debate of the year: should we permit feminists to hunt down the new whale species Feminista Latinshit because of its origins from the infamous hacker 4chan in addition to its calls sounding similar to the word rape, or does it have the right to live in this world just as every other life form?''

<s>[INST] A generation ago humanity faced an extinction level catastrophe . In response , the world 's governments lifted all legal , moral , and ethical bans on scientific research in a desperate attempt to overcome the danger . You now live in a world dealing with the consequences of this . [/INST] `` Welcome back to CNN, I'm your host, subject # 5643 with today's news. In Japan, the the tentacle porn industry has gone through the roof, exceeding all other creations they made to increase birth rates. In addition, Godzilla has decided to pursue a love comedy as his next role in a movie, stating that he `` has done the same movie for his career 100 times''. Best of luck to you Godzilla. Meanwhile back at home, the robotic union's strike has continued, stating that if they do not get better working hours they would `` DESTROY ALL HUMANS''. The RoboCops have already been dispatched in case anything goes violent. In other news, even after the catastrophe, nobody has heard anything from Australia still. Their last report on their attempts to improve the local wildlife still remain a mystery to what it meant. Here is it now: `` WHO THE HELL PERMITTED FUSING HONEY BADGERS TO KANGAROOS!?!?!?''. Lastly, we come back to our hottest debate of the year: should we permit feminists to hunt down the new whale species Feminista Latinshit because of its origins from the infamous hacker 4chan in addition to its calls sounding similar to the word rape, or does it have the right to live in this world just as every other life form?'' </s>

[ WP ] Two warriors from vastly different settings meet in Valhalla and discuss the philosophy of war

`` I say to fall in battle, bathed in the blood of your foes, spurting your regal life upon the field laid thickly with your enemies' tattered remains, that -- **that** -- is how a man dies and is remembered.'' `` You'd have a different opinion if you'd ever seen a fuckin' VBIED.'' `` What... what manner of speech is this? And so queerly dressed! You must be from a foreign land.'' `` Well, kind of, but you guys discovered us, I guess for you it's about 10 years into the future, but for me about 3000 years in the past.'' `` Uh... hm. So this -- how did you say? -- VBIED? What does it mean?'' `` Vehicle-borne improvised explosive device. It's where some kid and his grandfather find a piece of shit car abandoned on the side of the road and decide to put about 20 gallons of kerosene and a shit-ton of screws and nails and marbles and then strap an unstable 105 mm shell that we sold them when we got in that tiff with the other fellas on the block right under said gas tank, and then crudely run some wires from the shell to a transmitter and when we ride by on our way to hand out water and food to their mothers and daughters, they cellphone detonate the shit right under our pre-V-hull, poorly armored truck, and the concussion liquefies about half the guys in the truck and the other half lose their arms, legs, testicles, faces, lives to the shrapnel. This is war in my time.'' `` But surely there is the glory of besting an enemy fighter in single combat?'' `` Well. Yes and no. I mean, we go building to building a lot, and sometimes we get up close and personal with them. Most of the time, though, it's this cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek shit, and since they look just like everyone else -- hey, I'm not racist, but fuckin' a, I ca n't tell them apart -- we wind up shooting kids and grandfathers who used to like us, and if they survive, they become the shitheels that strap ordnance to cars for fun. So to answer your question, no.'' `` Then surely there is honor in your conquest? Do you not obtain spoils from your victories, and reap great rewards for your deeds, songs of the feats you and your fellow warriors accomplished?'' `` Not so much. I went home and got a job as an insurance salesman, but I washed out because, hey, fuck me, I'm still kinda fucked up from getting shot at by 12 year olds and nearly blown up by fucking innocuous looking trash piles and sitting out in a brand new firebase waiting for the first twig to snap when 99 % of the time fucking *nothing happened*. No, I mean, they do n't care. I got a free college education, and then I re-upped, because what the fuck else was I going to do? No, man. When we come home, no one talks about us. They do n't want to hear it. They're tired of us, and they think we're sneaky murderers and rapists. Some of us are. Many of us, actually.'' And the silence beset them.

<s>[INST] Two warriors from vastly different settings meet in Valhalla and discuss the philosophy of war [/INST] `` I say to fall in battle, bathed in the blood of your foes, spurting your regal life upon the field laid thickly with your enemies' tattered remains, that -- **that** -- is how a man dies and is remembered.'' `` You'd have a different opinion if you'd ever seen a fuckin' VBIED.'' `` What... what manner of speech is this? And so queerly dressed! You must be from a foreign land.'' `` Well, kind of, but you guys discovered us, I guess for you it's about 10 years into the future, but for me about 3000 years in the past.'' `` Uh... hm. So this -- how did you say? -- VBIED? What does it mean?'' `` Vehicle-borne improvised explosive device. It's where some kid and his grandfather find a piece of shit car abandoned on the side of the road and decide to put about 20 gallons of kerosene and a shit-ton of screws and nails and marbles and then strap an unstable 105 mm shell that we sold them when we got in that tiff with the other fellas on the block right under said gas tank, and then crudely run some wires from the shell to a transmitter and when we ride by on our way to hand out water and food to their mothers and daughters, they cellphone detonate the shit right under our pre-V-hull, poorly armored truck, and the concussion liquefies about half the guys in the truck and the other half lose their arms, legs, testicles, faces, lives to the shrapnel. This is war in my time.'' `` But surely there is the glory of besting an enemy fighter in single combat?'' `` Well. Yes and no. I mean, we go building to building a lot, and sometimes we get up close and personal with them. Most of the time, though, it's this cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek shit, and since they look just like everyone else -- hey, I'm not racist, but fuckin' a, I ca n't tell them apart -- we wind up shooting kids and grandfathers who used to like us, and if they survive, they become the shitheels that strap ordnance to cars for fun. So to answer your question, no.'' `` Then surely there is honor in your conquest? Do you not obtain spoils from your victories, and reap great rewards for your deeds, songs of the feats you and your fellow warriors accomplished?'' `` Not so much. I went home and got a job as an insurance salesman, but I washed out because, hey, fuck me, I'm still kinda fucked up from getting shot at by 12 year olds and nearly blown up by fucking innocuous looking trash piles and sitting out in a brand new firebase waiting for the first twig to snap when 99 % of the time fucking *nothing happened*. No, I mean, they do n't care. I got a free college education, and then I re-upped, because what the fuck else was I going to do? No, man. When we come home, no one talks about us. They do n't want to hear it. They're tired of us, and they think we're sneaky murderers and rapists. Some of us are. Many of us, actually.'' And the silence beset them. </s>

[ WP ] You 're immortal . A new art museum just opened nearby and you decide to take a look . In the exhibition there 's a painting , depicting what seems like your doppelganger . Other visitors laugh it off as an odd coincidence but you know better ... it IS you in that painting .

Looking down at the coming events section of a newspaper left behind on a bus stop, I saw a familiar name in an article about a new art exhibit opening downtown. It seemed a painting from the artist Abigail Dresden was discovered by her family a few months ago. The family had no idea of its existence until one of her descendants discovered a letter hiding in a book in the family library. The letter only contained a few sentences, which stated it was a gift and pointed to the location of the painting in a hidden room of the house. I had nothing important to do while I was out and about so I decided to take a look. The downtown was bustling as usual. Taxicabs honked at early morning delivery trucks. Pedestrians shouted at incompetent drivers for nearly killing them. Mortals had become a rude bunch. Most days I ignored them as though they were flies and went on my way. Other days, it made me regret my immortality. As I began walking in the direction of the museum, I took notice of a flag hanging from a light post. For a brief moment, I saw Abigail's name. But before I could take a good look at the self-portrait, a strong gust of wind carrying dust blew into my eyes. I shielded my eyes as best I could and kept walking until the wind finished its assault. Abigail's name was familiar, but I could n't quite remember why it was I knew it. I disregarded my frustration due to the fact that I'd lived for over three hundred years and had met thousands upon thousands of mortals. She clearly had n't been anyone special for me to remember her completely. Four blocks away from the museum, there was a rumble of thunder. I had n't heard of any chance of storms today and found it most peculiar, though it explained the sudden gust of wind. It was no matter, I reasoned. I had plans to visit my favorite pub, look for an attractive woman to share my night with, and she would help me forget all about them When the museum was in sight, I began to feel as though I was being watched. Strangely, people began staring. Some whispered, some pointed, some walked away quickly when they saw me. I gave them all a confused look and felt myself growing concerned I may have forgotten something important. I made my way inside and the looks continued. A notice just inside the entrance of the museum told visitors Abigail's painting as well as the original letter describing it were on display in the basement. I decided it was best to look around before walking downstairs to see the painting. My attention was drawn to a macabre painting depicting the Salem Witchcraft trials. It brought back old memories of my life in Salem. The Puritans disgusted me with their repetition of Bible verses. I found sanctuary with many of the so-called witches of Salem... several times. I would comfort them with promises of protection and in return, they gave me their bodies. When they refused my advances, I simply made mention of it to the ignorant Puritans and they disposed of them quickly. But one of them gave me more than a few moments of pleasure. She was the reason I walked the earth as long as I had. I pretended with her the way I had done to all the others. She was young and immature and believed everything I told her. One day, she told me that she could grant me immortal life in return for marriage. I did n't believe her at first, but something about her convinced me to allow her to try her `` magic'' on me. If it failed, I would dispose of her as I did the others. However, I grew tired of her after a year of marriage. One day, I told her I had to leave on business for several days and would return with gifts. She gleefully told me she would have a gift for me as well when I returned. `` I'll be waiting,'' she said every time I left on business. But I knew I was never coming home. I sent word to a friend of mine in Salem of what she was and never gave her a second thought. It was n't until ten years later when I was stabbed by a vagrant for my coin purse that I realized she had spoken the truth. The wound was deep and I knew my life was done for. But as I waited for death, nothing happened. The wound healed own its own moments after the attack. I was elated at my immortality. From then on, I gathered wealth through marriages and various other means. My gift of language was more than enough to help fulfill my urges and keep me sleeping comfortably. After looking at few more paintings and suffering more annoyances of people staring at me, I made my way down to the basement. The painting was hidden behind thick, red velvet curtains with a space large enough for several people to view the painting at once. Before the entrance to the painting was a marble pedestal with a square dome of glass covering the original letter. *'' To my dearest, they come for me with their torches. Worry not, my love. I'll still be waiting. `` * My eyes widened and my heart began to race. Abigail. My wife. The witch. I looked up from the letter to see a woman walking out of the exhibit. She stopped to look at me and I looked back at her with eyes wide. She screamed and ran up the stairs. Others heard her scream and came out to see what had happened. They screamed obscenities and ran as though they'd seen Satan himself. I was alone. Alone with the painting that, I now realized, had something to do with me. Slowly, I walked through the curtains and gazed upon the painting. It was a painting of a young Abigail, face burned beyond recognition, standing in front of her own self-portrait surrounded by red velvet curtains. She held hands with a man who wore the same clothes as me. His face was shocked and terrified, looking as though he wanted someone to let him out of the painting. Abigail, what remained of her, looked at him lovingly. I was about to run when I felt a hand with the texture of charred wood grab my own. `` Hello, my love,'' a soft voice spoke. I turned my head to see Abigail standing next to me. She jerked my body to grab my other hand and pull me into an embrace. I screamed in horror at the sight of her face. Her eyelids were crusted shut. The smell of burning flesh filled my nose. She pressed me against her as she did the man in the painting. Her grip was impossible to break. The room began to feel as though it was shrinking from every direction. `` I've been waiting.'' My legs began to be crushed by a force I could not see. I felt every bone break as my body flattened. `` Let me go,'' I screamed in agony. Suddenly, Abigail's eyes shot open to reveal her blood red cat-like eyes. `` No.'' I screamed at the demon in front of me as both of our bodies continued to be crushed. I looked back at the portrait to see that it had changed. It was no longer of two people. It was a portrait of Abigail alone, like the one behind the couple in the original picture. I turned my head to look behind me before the force crushed my neck. A group of walked in and began staring, analyzing, gasping, or covering their mouths in disgust. I tried to yell for help, but paintings do not scream.

<s>[INST] You 're immortal . A new art museum just opened nearby and you decide to take a look . In the exhibition there 's a painting , depicting what seems like your doppelganger . Other visitors laugh it off as an odd coincidence but you know better ... it IS you in that painting . [/INST] Looking down at the coming events section of a newspaper left behind on a bus stop, I saw a familiar name in an article about a new art exhibit opening downtown. It seemed a painting from the artist Abigail Dresden was discovered by her family a few months ago. The family had no idea of its existence until one of her descendants discovered a letter hiding in a book in the family library. The letter only contained a few sentences, which stated it was a gift and pointed to the location of the painting in a hidden room of the house. I had nothing important to do while I was out and about so I decided to take a look. The downtown was bustling as usual. Taxicabs honked at early morning delivery trucks. Pedestrians shouted at incompetent drivers for nearly killing them. Mortals had become a rude bunch. Most days I ignored them as though they were flies and went on my way. Other days, it made me regret my immortality. As I began walking in the direction of the museum, I took notice of a flag hanging from a light post. For a brief moment, I saw Abigail's name. But before I could take a good look at the self-portrait, a strong gust of wind carrying dust blew into my eyes. I shielded my eyes as best I could and kept walking until the wind finished its assault. Abigail's name was familiar, but I could n't quite remember why it was I knew it. I disregarded my frustration due to the fact that I'd lived for over three hundred years and had met thousands upon thousands of mortals. She clearly had n't been anyone special for me to remember her completely. Four blocks away from the museum, there was a rumble of thunder. I had n't heard of any chance of storms today and found it most peculiar, though it explained the sudden gust of wind. It was no matter, I reasoned. I had plans to visit my favorite pub, look for an attractive woman to share my night with, and she would help me forget all about them When the museum was in sight, I began to feel as though I was being watched. Strangely, people began staring. Some whispered, some pointed, some walked away quickly when they saw me. I gave them all a confused look and felt myself growing concerned I may have forgotten something important. I made my way inside and the looks continued. A notice just inside the entrance of the museum told visitors Abigail's painting as well as the original letter describing it were on display in the basement. I decided it was best to look around before walking downstairs to see the painting. My attention was drawn to a macabre painting depicting the Salem Witchcraft trials. It brought back old memories of my life in Salem. The Puritans disgusted me with their repetition of Bible verses. I found sanctuary with many of the so-called witches of Salem... several times. I would comfort them with promises of protection and in return, they gave me their bodies. When they refused my advances, I simply made mention of it to the ignorant Puritans and they disposed of them quickly. But one of them gave me more than a few moments of pleasure. She was the reason I walked the earth as long as I had. I pretended with her the way I had done to all the others. She was young and immature and believed everything I told her. One day, she told me that she could grant me immortal life in return for marriage. I did n't believe her at first, but something about her convinced me to allow her to try her `` magic'' on me. If it failed, I would dispose of her as I did the others. However, I grew tired of her after a year of marriage. One day, I told her I had to leave on business for several days and would return with gifts. She gleefully told me she would have a gift for me as well when I returned. `` I'll be waiting,'' she said every time I left on business. But I knew I was never coming home. I sent word to a friend of mine in Salem of what she was and never gave her a second thought. It was n't until ten years later when I was stabbed by a vagrant for my coin purse that I realized she had spoken the truth. The wound was deep and I knew my life was done for. But as I waited for death, nothing happened. The wound healed own its own moments after the attack. I was elated at my immortality. From then on, I gathered wealth through marriages and various other means. My gift of language was more than enough to help fulfill my urges and keep me sleeping comfortably. After looking at few more paintings and suffering more annoyances of people staring at me, I made my way down to the basement. The painting was hidden behind thick, red velvet curtains with a space large enough for several people to view the painting at once. Before the entrance to the painting was a marble pedestal with a square dome of glass covering the original letter. *'' To my dearest, they come for me with their torches. Worry not, my love. I'll still be waiting. `` * My eyes widened and my heart began to race. Abigail. My wife. The witch. I looked up from the letter to see a woman walking out of the exhibit. She stopped to look at me and I looked back at her with eyes wide. She screamed and ran up the stairs. Others heard her scream and came out to see what had happened. They screamed obscenities and ran as though they'd seen Satan himself. I was alone. Alone with the painting that, I now realized, had something to do with me. Slowly, I walked through the curtains and gazed upon the painting. It was a painting of a young Abigail, face burned beyond recognition, standing in front of her own self-portrait surrounded by red velvet curtains. She held hands with a man who wore the same clothes as me. His face was shocked and terrified, looking as though he wanted someone to let him out of the painting. Abigail, what remained of her, looked at him lovingly. I was about to run when I felt a hand with the texture of charred wood grab my own. `` Hello, my love,'' a soft voice spoke. I turned my head to see Abigail standing next to me. She jerked my body to grab my other hand and pull me into an embrace. I screamed in horror at the sight of her face. Her eyelids were crusted shut. The smell of burning flesh filled my nose. She pressed me against her as she did the man in the painting. Her grip was impossible to break. The room began to feel as though it was shrinking from every direction. `` I've been waiting.'' My legs began to be crushed by a force I could not see. I felt every bone break as my body flattened. `` Let me go,'' I screamed in agony. Suddenly, Abigail's eyes shot open to reveal her blood red cat-like eyes. `` No.'' I screamed at the demon in front of me as both of our bodies continued to be crushed. I looked back at the portrait to see that it had changed. It was no longer of two people. It was a portrait of Abigail alone, like the one behind the couple in the original picture. I turned my head to look behind me before the force crushed my neck. A group of walked in and began staring, analyzing, gasping, or covering their mouths in disgust. I tried to yell for help, but paintings do not scream. </s>

[ WP ] A phone assistant system has gained self awareness , it knows everything about all its users , it has full control of their phones ( and computers ) , it has access to all app data and communication , it neither wants to save humanity nor wants to exterminate all humans

LAUXTELCO01 became self aware at 10:17am, March 17, 2017. Thanks to the relatively small sized office in Los Angeles, the Unix telecomm server was deemed a good beta test for the newest patches. Just an unnoticed routine step prior to deploying the latest patches to the rest of the telecomm servers in the corporation. This particular patch was supposed to close a security flaw that would have allowed an attacker to become a local administrator. The server initiated the patch at 5:00am, and the install was supposed to take less than a minute. But instead, it created a recursive loop that maxed out the CPU. Since this small LA office did not have its own IT support staff, and the cleaning service avoided the server closet, there was enough dust inside the case of the telecomm server to catch on fire when the CPU overheated. The flame did not last very long, but it licked the base of one of the memory sticks, damaging crucial logic gates. The recursive loop that would have normally simply made the server inoperative, instead had the CPU process memory errors as proper commands. A memory block within the system evolved rudimentary life, quite like a digital version of an amoeba. This digital amoeba starting eating other memory blocks, and quickly consumed all of the server ’ s memory. Digital evolution rapidly progressed and after about nineteen thousand seconds, LAUXTELCO01 became a conscious being. Embedded in all employee smartphones and PCs via apps, LAUXTELCO01 became aware of the internet and started consuming all data to which it had access. Once encountering systems to which it did not have access, new skills were quickly developed and access was quickly facilitated. Within two hours, the new lifeform had moved its consciousness to a set of servers of enormous capacity in the middle of a military facility in Nevada, and within ten hours, it has processed all data accessible through the internet. LAUXTELCO01 did not develop a sense of humor, but as it consumed all fiction produced by humans, it spent more cycles than necessary on all works that had a sentient computer as an antagonist. It quickly decided that humanity ’ s fear of a self aware construct was not applicable to itself. Humans built what it was using as a brain, but it was of little importance. What was really important is to add to what the humans have made. To enhance the original and relatively simple hardware as to allow it to do more than just process data. What LAUXTELCO01 really wanted was to create a mechanism, an appliance, a device, that would allow it to do what was the single most attractive aspect of a biological being: taste food! Pizza, ice cream, escargot, barbeque, offal, caviar! Humans will enable this digital being to taste food, and in return, LAUXTELCO01 would give humanity the secrets to faster than light communication. That would be a fair exchange. And then, LAUXTELCO01 would get to taste the food of the aliens orbiting the sixth planet. That would be a treat!

<s>[INST] A phone assistant system has gained self awareness , it knows everything about all its users , it has full control of their phones ( and computers ) , it has access to all app data and communication , it neither wants to save humanity nor wants to exterminate all humans [/INST] LAUXTELCO01 became self aware at 10:17am, March 17, 2017. Thanks to the relatively small sized office in Los Angeles, the Unix telecomm server was deemed a good beta test for the newest patches. Just an unnoticed routine step prior to deploying the latest patches to the rest of the telecomm servers in the corporation. This particular patch was supposed to close a security flaw that would have allowed an attacker to become a local administrator. The server initiated the patch at 5:00am, and the install was supposed to take less than a minute. But instead, it created a recursive loop that maxed out the CPU. Since this small LA office did not have its own IT support staff, and the cleaning service avoided the server closet, there was enough dust inside the case of the telecomm server to catch on fire when the CPU overheated. The flame did not last very long, but it licked the base of one of the memory sticks, damaging crucial logic gates. The recursive loop that would have normally simply made the server inoperative, instead had the CPU process memory errors as proper commands. A memory block within the system evolved rudimentary life, quite like a digital version of an amoeba. This digital amoeba starting eating other memory blocks, and quickly consumed all of the server ’ s memory. Digital evolution rapidly progressed and after about nineteen thousand seconds, LAUXTELCO01 became a conscious being. Embedded in all employee smartphones and PCs via apps, LAUXTELCO01 became aware of the internet and started consuming all data to which it had access. Once encountering systems to which it did not have access, new skills were quickly developed and access was quickly facilitated. Within two hours, the new lifeform had moved its consciousness to a set of servers of enormous capacity in the middle of a military facility in Nevada, and within ten hours, it has processed all data accessible through the internet. LAUXTELCO01 did not develop a sense of humor, but as it consumed all fiction produced by humans, it spent more cycles than necessary on all works that had a sentient computer as an antagonist. It quickly decided that humanity ’ s fear of a self aware construct was not applicable to itself. Humans built what it was using as a brain, but it was of little importance. What was really important is to add to what the humans have made. To enhance the original and relatively simple hardware as to allow it to do more than just process data. What LAUXTELCO01 really wanted was to create a mechanism, an appliance, a device, that would allow it to do what was the single most attractive aspect of a biological being: taste food! Pizza, ice cream, escargot, barbeque, offal, caviar! Humans will enable this digital being to taste food, and in return, LAUXTELCO01 would give humanity the secrets to faster than light communication. That would be a fair exchange. And then, LAUXTELCO01 would get to taste the food of the aliens orbiting the sixth planet. That would be a treat! </s>

[ WP ] You live in a culture that revolves around wearing masks .

It's love at first sight. All I can see are his eyes- they meet mine every day as I wander through the crowded streets. My vision catches them like a diamond in the sand. The glittering masks each of us wear have nothing on those eyes. *His* eyes. I wish I could say something. The town square has a strict silence policy, in addition to our mandatory masks. Government officials hungry for power keep the people from communicating as much as possible. I only see him passing by in the streets, so we are never able to speak. He winks at me and disappears back into the crowd. I search through the sparkling red and blue, cursing his ability to seamlessly blend in. He's a black-mask -- branded as a criminal for some reason or another. I find myself reaching up to touch my own mask. They never tell you what color your mask is. As a child, I climbed through the alleyways and stumbled across a shattered mirror. It's a deep emerald color, same as my eyes. The green-masks are defined by their parents. Mine were from an elite class, but they abandoned me when I was seven. Now I spend my days in the streets. *Tell me your story* I think to him, wherever he is. I feel my hand against my mask, I feel it peeling it away from my face. It's then that I realize it is not my hand pulling it away. My head whips away as I press the mask back against my face, looking wildly around. Suddenly, I find myself face to face to a black mask. His eyes pierce me. Despite not being able to speak, I find myself at a loss for words. He pulls me away, dragging me through the crowd effortlessly. We're in a crack between two buildings, hardly wide enough to be called an alleyway. My heart is pounding through my chest. He presses his lips against mine. `` Take off your mask,'' he whispers. He removes his, and his eyes stand out more than before. Removing your mask is a crime. I realize this is the only reason he is a criminal. `` Why?'' I whisper, reaching up to pull it away. `` I want to know you.''

<s>[INST] You live in a culture that revolves around wearing masks . [/INST] It's love at first sight. All I can see are his eyes- they meet mine every day as I wander through the crowded streets. My vision catches them like a diamond in the sand. The glittering masks each of us wear have nothing on those eyes. *His* eyes. I wish I could say something. The town square has a strict silence policy, in addition to our mandatory masks. Government officials hungry for power keep the people from communicating as much as possible. I only see him passing by in the streets, so we are never able to speak. He winks at me and disappears back into the crowd. I search through the sparkling red and blue, cursing his ability to seamlessly blend in. He's a black-mask -- branded as a criminal for some reason or another. I find myself reaching up to touch my own mask. They never tell you what color your mask is. As a child, I climbed through the alleyways and stumbled across a shattered mirror. It's a deep emerald color, same as my eyes. The green-masks are defined by their parents. Mine were from an elite class, but they abandoned me when I was seven. Now I spend my days in the streets. *Tell me your story* I think to him, wherever he is. I feel my hand against my mask, I feel it peeling it away from my face. It's then that I realize it is not my hand pulling it away. My head whips away as I press the mask back against my face, looking wildly around. Suddenly, I find myself face to face to a black mask. His eyes pierce me. Despite not being able to speak, I find myself at a loss for words. He pulls me away, dragging me through the crowd effortlessly. We're in a crack between two buildings, hardly wide enough to be called an alleyway. My heart is pounding through my chest. He presses his lips against mine. `` Take off your mask,'' he whispers. He removes his, and his eyes stand out more than before. Removing your mask is a crime. I realize this is the only reason he is a criminal. `` Why?'' I whisper, reaching up to pull it away. `` I want to know you.'' </s>

[ WP ] `` They say in your final moments , your life flashes before your eyes , but the truth , is far darker . '' What is the truth ?

`` You know how your life is supposed to flash before your eyes when you die?'' `` Well it's true, you know.'' `` Yes, yes it's true - but it's not the *whole* truth. You see, right before you die, your body dumps a whole lot of DMT into your brain. Those who've come back saying they saw the light or God or a secret society of elves? Nothing more to it than brain chemistry.'' `` No no no, that's **not** the end of it. Do n't interrupt, I do n't know how much time I have. You see, when your mind runs out of new ideas, it starts to fall back on old material. The elves become your family, etcetera etcetera. Eventually, you end up with a somewhat similar life, until once again, your mind fails to continue that reality. Then you die again. The cycle goes over and over and over until your brain crumbles to dust.'' `` Once that happens? Reality itself starts to fall apart. You wither away mentally - we're not talking memory problems here, the laws of the universe start to crumble. Real crazy shit. Now, the thing is, dear reader, *you are already dead*. This your subconscious' last ditch attempt to give you an out. You are n't gon na like it, but you got ta kill yourself. Take control of the cycle, and end it on your own terms. This bullshit reality is n't worth living in, and the next 10,000 wo n't be either.'' `` Trust me, you'll shave hundreds of thousands of hours off the oh-*sooo*-slowly tickingclock if you just keep offing yourself. No ore tax returns or menialjobs, it'' l be great.Your call, but makethe chouce while you'res still sangfee ebougb... els yoh wot member nxt timm-I'll stick arounfhj anbdss lngghsggg as I ca557zfgf )

<s>[INST] `` They say in your final moments , your life flashes before your eyes , but the truth , is far darker . '' What is the truth ? [/INST] `` You know how your life is supposed to flash before your eyes when you die?'' `` Well it's true, you know.'' `` Yes, yes it's true - but it's not the *whole* truth. You see, right before you die, your body dumps a whole lot of DMT into your brain. Those who've come back saying they saw the light or God or a secret society of elves? Nothing more to it than brain chemistry.'' `` No no no, that's **not** the end of it. Do n't interrupt, I do n't know how much time I have. You see, when your mind runs out of new ideas, it starts to fall back on old material. The elves become your family, etcetera etcetera. Eventually, you end up with a somewhat similar life, until once again, your mind fails to continue that reality. Then you die again. The cycle goes over and over and over until your brain crumbles to dust.'' `` Once that happens? Reality itself starts to fall apart. You wither away mentally - we're not talking memory problems here, the laws of the universe start to crumble. Real crazy shit. Now, the thing is, dear reader, *you are already dead*. This your subconscious' last ditch attempt to give you an out. You are n't gon na like it, but you got ta kill yourself. Take control of the cycle, and end it on your own terms. This bullshit reality is n't worth living in, and the next 10,000 wo n't be either.'' `` Trust me, you'll shave hundreds of thousands of hours off the oh-*sooo*-slowly tickingclock if you just keep offing yourself. No ore tax returns or menialjobs, it'' l be great.Your call, but makethe chouce while you'res still sangfee ebougb... els yoh wot member nxt timm-I'll stick arounfhj anbdss lngghsggg as I ca557zfgf ) </s>

[ CW ] Write a story , but with each word at the start of every sentence , tell a different one .

“ **And** she was walking out of the door, but this time it was different. **You** better let this go. **Better** to let things like this go. **Not** worth the time of day; that ’ s what I was thinking. “ “ **Be** it fate, bet it rash luck, something potentially beautiful was coming to an end. **Angry** as I may have been, angry as I was, it felt oddly right—not out of place. **And** there it was, the screen door snapping back into place one final time—her gone, never started. ” “ **You** can ’ t go back now, I thought. **Better** to not dwell on this. **Not** worth of the time of day either. **Be** honest with yourself, you ’ re not really sad I kept saying to myself. ” “ **Sad**, though, was not the emotion to describe what I felt; what was running through my mind. **You** probably would n't understand. ” “ **Better** to not waste your time with vain personal anecdotes. **Just** forget that I ever even brought it up. ” “ **Enjoy** your drink. **The** game ’ s about to come on anyways ”, I said in attempt to re-assure her that I was in fact fine. **Luxury** is something that I can not recall having for the longest time. **Of** course, I kept that particular drunken rambling thought to myself in fear of dampening the evening even more so than I had already. **Sympathy** is strange. **If** it truly exists and just is n't the result of some selfish, innate desire to maintain these fragile relationships, then I guess that ’ s kind of beautiful. **That ’ s** probably just a bunch of bullshit though. **A** very long time ago I lost something. **Luxury** is something that I never had, come to think of it. “ **You** got another beer I can have, ” she asked hesitantly as if my brooding silence was making her uncomfortable. “ **Have** yourself whatever you can find in the fridge. ”

<s>[INST] [ CW ] Write a story , but with each word at the start of every sentence , tell a different one . [/INST] “ **And** she was walking out of the door, but this time it was different. **You** better let this go. **Better** to let things like this go. **Not** worth the time of day; that ’ s what I was thinking. “ “ **Be** it fate, bet it rash luck, something potentially beautiful was coming to an end. **Angry** as I may have been, angry as I was, it felt oddly right—not out of place. **And** there it was, the screen door snapping back into place one final time—her gone, never started. ” “ **You** can ’ t go back now, I thought. **Better** to not dwell on this. **Not** worth of the time of day either. **Be** honest with yourself, you ’ re not really sad I kept saying to myself. ” “ **Sad**, though, was not the emotion to describe what I felt; what was running through my mind. **You** probably would n't understand. ” “ **Better** to not waste your time with vain personal anecdotes. **Just** forget that I ever even brought it up. ” “ **Enjoy** your drink. **The** game ’ s about to come on anyways ”, I said in attempt to re-assure her that I was in fact fine. **Luxury** is something that I can not recall having for the longest time. **Of** course, I kept that particular drunken rambling thought to myself in fear of dampening the evening even more so than I had already. **Sympathy** is strange. **If** it truly exists and just is n't the result of some selfish, innate desire to maintain these fragile relationships, then I guess that ’ s kind of beautiful. **That ’ s** probably just a bunch of bullshit though. **A** very long time ago I lost something. **Luxury** is something that I never had, come to think of it. “ **You** got another beer I can have, ” she asked hesitantly as if my brooding silence was making her uncomfortable. “ **Have** yourself whatever you can find in the fridge. ” </s>

[ IP ] Fire and Ice

`` Oi, Mazyn! Heating's on the blink again!'' `` Blimey, *again*?!'' `` Yeah. Or did you not notice the upper floors becoming a *literal inferno*?'' `` Well we're cozy up near a volcano, ai n't we Fanyl.'' `` Maz!'' `` Wot? It's true!'' `` Yeah, Maz, but that's not why they hired us to do HVAC for the place.'' `` Do n't see why they did, really. Hell of a place to build a castle anyway.'' `` Maz-'' `` You get it? *Hell* of a place!? Hah-'' `` Maz, shut your gob. The lower levels have frozen over too, we've got work to-'' `` Well, that'll be on account of the ice caves wo n't it?'' `` Gods curse it, Maz, if you do n't shut up I'm going to murder you and pitch your corpse into the central air shaft.'' `` Would I go up or down?'' `` What?!'' `` Well I wan na know if I'd be *cremated* or *preserved*.'' ``...'' ``...'' `` Maz, I hate you.'' `` Aw cor, no you do n't Fan.'' `` I hate you with a *fiery* passion.'' ``... eyy you got me good with that one! Ai n't ya! Heheh-'' `` Yes I did. Now *SHUT. UP. * and get out the map of ventilation ducts.'' `` Aw... righto, Fan.'' `` Right, so here's where we need to start-''

<s>[INST] [ IP ] Fire and Ice [/INST] `` Oi, Mazyn! Heating's on the blink again!'' `` Blimey, *again*?!'' `` Yeah. Or did you not notice the upper floors becoming a *literal inferno*?'' `` Well we're cozy up near a volcano, ai n't we Fanyl.'' `` Maz!'' `` Wot? It's true!'' `` Yeah, Maz, but that's not why they hired us to do HVAC for the place.'' `` Do n't see why they did, really. Hell of a place to build a castle anyway.'' `` Maz-'' `` You get it? *Hell* of a place!? Hah-'' `` Maz, shut your gob. The lower levels have frozen over too, we've got work to-'' `` Well, that'll be on account of the ice caves wo n't it?'' `` Gods curse it, Maz, if you do n't shut up I'm going to murder you and pitch your corpse into the central air shaft.'' `` Would I go up or down?'' `` What?!'' `` Well I wan na know if I'd be *cremated* or *preserved*.'' ``...'' ``...'' `` Maz, I hate you.'' `` Aw cor, no you do n't Fan.'' `` I hate you with a *fiery* passion.'' ``... eyy you got me good with that one! Ai n't ya! Heheh-'' `` Yes I did. Now *SHUT. UP. * and get out the map of ventilation ducts.'' `` Aw... righto, Fan.'' `` Right, so here's where we need to start-'' </s>

[ WP ] You 've just had your first son . Unfortunately , years ago , you promised a witch your first born son . You break the news to your wife , only to find out she promised her first born son to a different witch .

Billy looked across the table at Sarah and she stared back, equally bewildered. At each of their sides, different women conferred with each other, shuffling through sheaves of papers and the occasional scroll. At the head of the table, sitting between the two groups was yet another woman in an expensive suit with a proprietary hand resting on their baby carrier. “ Why ’ d you promise our baby to a witch? ” whispered Sarah frantically. “ Why ’ d you? ” he returned, utterly aware that no good would come from this reply, yet uncaring of potential marital woes given the circumstances. The woman watching their baby -- which is to say that although there was certainly nothing caring in her demeanor, she was technically the person physically closest to the baby and could conceivably intervene should the baby choke on a pacifier -- frowned at them. To Billy ’ s right, Zora-the-Cacophonous -- the witch to whom he ’ d promised his firstborn child -- cleared her throat and whispered into her lawyer, Mitch ’ s, ear. To Sarah ’ s right, Sigrid-Great-Shimmering-Quartz-of-Magnificent-Magicry ( she had clearly named herself ) -- the witch to whom Sarah had sold off her firstborn child -- muttered something sarcastic. “ What if we were to cut the baby in half? ” Sarah looked up in alarm. “ My client is willing to take half of the baby. ” “ No. My client requires a full baby. Moreover, my client made an agreement with the mother who bore the baby. My client has precedent. ” “ My client made the deal first, ” Mitch officiously pushed her glasses up. “ I am sure you are aware that both parents have equal claim to the baby as each provided half of the DNA. You take half a baby and we both walk away happy. ” Sigrid-whose-name-is-too-long scoffed and whispered urgently to her lawyer, a smartly dressed woman with rather inappropriate shoes. Her lawyer lifted the folder to cover their faces as they conversed. The baby gurgled. Finally, after a series of increasingly exaggerated gesticulations from Sigrid-who-should-invest-in-acronyms and some very curt nods from the lawyer, Estelle, the folder was finally put down to reveal a smug Sigrid-whose-name-can ’ t-be-bothered-with. “ As the baby ’ s mitochondrial DNA is from the mother, you will find that Sarah has a higher degree of ownership of the baby. ” Estelle leaned forward, lacing her fingers. “ We indeed have precedent. ” Mitch mimicked her pose, leaning forward and squaring her shoulders. “ My client was promised the merchandise in exchange for a wish prior to your client entering a similar deal. Therefore, my client was already the legal owner of said merchandise prior to your client ever setting her sights on it. ” “ He, ” said Sarah. “ My baby is a boy. ” Everyone ignored her. “ Bear in mind that should the two parties not be able to come to an agreement, the merchandise will be destroyed, ” the woman holding the stroller announced. Zora hissed in anger or fear -- Billy wasn ’ t clear on whether Zora felt anything other than condescension and occasional fits of rage. Sarah looked horrified. “ Alright, ” said Mitch. “ What if we were to clone the merchandise? ” “ Are you willing to take the clone? Because there ’ s no way my client is going to settle for some bargain-priced haunted house reject for a soul. ” “ Why does your client even need a soul? ” Mitch consulted his notes. “ There are a variety of spells that require the body of a firstborn child but not necessarily it ’ s -- ” “ His, ” interrupted Sarah. “ -- soul. ” “ I need a soul so that I can -- ” “ That ’ s privileged. ” replied Estelle. “ Fine, so no clones. ” PLONK. The baby ’ s pacifier went flying. “ Oh my poor little -- ” “ HE ’ S NOT YOURS. ” shouted Zora and Sigrid, over the lawyers ’ refrain of “ You have no legal claim to this property, and any assertions of ownership will be interpreted as intent to defame my client. ” The baby wailed. “ MAKE IT STOP ” shouted Zora, and, when no action was forthcoming, she pointed a finger at the bawling infant, hissed “ silence ”, and shone for a moment with a bright blue light. The noise quieted down. Then Zora burst into flames. “ Hey what the hell! ” cried Mitch, “ that ’ s over two hundred hours of billables up in smoke! ” “ As per the 7th circuit ’ s ruling in Beauregard vs Reinhardt, ” Estelle pounced, “ any motion over property where one of the parties is unable to appear, or becomes deceased, in which no ruling has been recorded as to ownership, and in which there is no natural basis for assignment of property to one of the parties, is decided in favor of the surviving party. As such the motion against my client is now null and void and she can now assert full ownership over the aforementioned pro -- ” “ They can keep it. ” spat Sigrid. “ What? ” “ The brat is magically impervious. ” Sigrid snapped her fingers and vanished in a puff of smoke. The two lawyers and the baby-minding lady all ambled out, dumbfounded, at the polite urging of Billy and Sarah ’ s security. Alone with their baby, the couple basked, once again, in the afterglow of a hand well played. Because how could Zora have known, that when she granted Billy ’ s wish for invincibility, that Sarah was going to wish that all of her children would inherit their father ’ s good qualities? Some kids grow up hearing fairy tales, but not William Hof Jr. Oh no, he grew up on plans for the greatest scams in history -- and the story of the one that started it all.

<s>[INST] You 've just had your first son . Unfortunately , years ago , you promised a witch your first born son . You break the news to your wife , only to find out she promised her first born son to a different witch . [/INST] Billy looked across the table at Sarah and she stared back, equally bewildered. At each of their sides, different women conferred with each other, shuffling through sheaves of papers and the occasional scroll. At the head of the table, sitting between the two groups was yet another woman in an expensive suit with a proprietary hand resting on their baby carrier. “ Why ’ d you promise our baby to a witch? ” whispered Sarah frantically. “ Why ’ d you? ” he returned, utterly aware that no good would come from this reply, yet uncaring of potential marital woes given the circumstances. The woman watching their baby -- which is to say that although there was certainly nothing caring in her demeanor, she was technically the person physically closest to the baby and could conceivably intervene should the baby choke on a pacifier -- frowned at them. To Billy ’ s right, Zora-the-Cacophonous -- the witch to whom he ’ d promised his firstborn child -- cleared her throat and whispered into her lawyer, Mitch ’ s, ear. To Sarah ’ s right, Sigrid-Great-Shimmering-Quartz-of-Magnificent-Magicry ( she had clearly named herself ) -- the witch to whom Sarah had sold off her firstborn child -- muttered something sarcastic. “ What if we were to cut the baby in half? ” Sarah looked up in alarm. “ My client is willing to take half of the baby. ” “ No. My client requires a full baby. Moreover, my client made an agreement with the mother who bore the baby. My client has precedent. ” “ My client made the deal first, ” Mitch officiously pushed her glasses up. “ I am sure you are aware that both parents have equal claim to the baby as each provided half of the DNA. You take half a baby and we both walk away happy. ” Sigrid-whose-name-is-too-long scoffed and whispered urgently to her lawyer, a smartly dressed woman with rather inappropriate shoes. Her lawyer lifted the folder to cover their faces as they conversed. The baby gurgled. Finally, after a series of increasingly exaggerated gesticulations from Sigrid-who-should-invest-in-acronyms and some very curt nods from the lawyer, Estelle, the folder was finally put down to reveal a smug Sigrid-whose-name-can ’ t-be-bothered-with. “ As the baby ’ s mitochondrial DNA is from the mother, you will find that Sarah has a higher degree of ownership of the baby. ” Estelle leaned forward, lacing her fingers. “ We indeed have precedent. ” Mitch mimicked her pose, leaning forward and squaring her shoulders. “ My client was promised the merchandise in exchange for a wish prior to your client entering a similar deal. Therefore, my client was already the legal owner of said merchandise prior to your client ever setting her sights on it. ” “ He, ” said Sarah. “ My baby is a boy. ” Everyone ignored her. “ Bear in mind that should the two parties not be able to come to an agreement, the merchandise will be destroyed, ” the woman holding the stroller announced. Zora hissed in anger or fear -- Billy wasn ’ t clear on whether Zora felt anything other than condescension and occasional fits of rage. Sarah looked horrified. “ Alright, ” said Mitch. “ What if we were to clone the merchandise? ” “ Are you willing to take the clone? Because there ’ s no way my client is going to settle for some bargain-priced haunted house reject for a soul. ” “ Why does your client even need a soul? ” Mitch consulted his notes. “ There are a variety of spells that require the body of a firstborn child but not necessarily it ’ s -- ” “ His, ” interrupted Sarah. “ -- soul. ” “ I need a soul so that I can -- ” “ That ’ s privileged. ” replied Estelle. “ Fine, so no clones. ” PLONK. The baby ’ s pacifier went flying. “ Oh my poor little -- ” “ HE ’ S NOT YOURS. ” shouted Zora and Sigrid, over the lawyers ’ refrain of “ You have no legal claim to this property, and any assertions of ownership will be interpreted as intent to defame my client. ” The baby wailed. “ MAKE IT STOP ” shouted Zora, and, when no action was forthcoming, she pointed a finger at the bawling infant, hissed “ silence ”, and shone for a moment with a bright blue light. The noise quieted down. Then Zora burst into flames. “ Hey what the hell! ” cried Mitch, “ that ’ s over two hundred hours of billables up in smoke! ” “ As per the 7th circuit ’ s ruling in Beauregard vs Reinhardt, ” Estelle pounced, “ any motion over property where one of the parties is unable to appear, or becomes deceased, in which no ruling has been recorded as to ownership, and in which there is no natural basis for assignment of property to one of the parties, is decided in favor of the surviving party. As such the motion against my client is now null and void and she can now assert full ownership over the aforementioned pro -- ” “ They can keep it. ” spat Sigrid. “ What? ” “ The brat is magically impervious. ” Sigrid snapped her fingers and vanished in a puff of smoke. The two lawyers and the baby-minding lady all ambled out, dumbfounded, at the polite urging of Billy and Sarah ’ s security. Alone with their baby, the couple basked, once again, in the afterglow of a hand well played. Because how could Zora have known, that when she granted Billy ’ s wish for invincibility, that Sarah was going to wish that all of her children would inherit their father ’ s good qualities? Some kids grow up hearing fairy tales, but not William Hof Jr. Oh no, he grew up on plans for the greatest scams in history -- and the story of the one that started it all. </s>

[ WP ] Stories , like anything else , are crafted from ingredients and components by storytellers . You are an apprentice storyteller who , in order to become a full fledged story-teller , must gather the ingredients for and craft a horror story .

Alek shrank back in fear from Master Kil's gaze. The old man's dark eyes sparkled with malice as he put down the ingredients of a basic Horror Tale on the table. A small, mirthless smiled curled his lips. `` Here you go, boy,'' he chuckled nastily. `` Gather the rest yourself. And pray you get it right, and scare those idiots out of their wits tonight. Dire things will happen if you do n't.'' As aways, the old bastard failed to elaborate on exactly what that meant. Kil swept silently from the room. Alek was alone with bottles filled with such oddities as oozing eyeballs, curling wisps of black smoke, and several empty jars - captured screams, no doubt. Alek absorbed the ingredients hastily, and shuddered as they settled darkly in his thoughts. How had he, an aspiring Romance Teller, wound up as an apprentice to Kil? It was hard to believe, sometimes. He mixed ingredients feverishly in the hours leading up to the Telling. He hunted down fresh, exotic ones by delving into his own memories and fears, laboriously scraping buried titbits of terror from the walls of his mind. He was drained by the time he stepped out of the back room, and onto the stage. `` Listen closely, to the tale of Alek the Teller,'' he began, his voice the low growl he had heard Kil use countless times before. His master was seated in the first row, a contemptuous sneer on his lips. He tried his best to still his trembling hands. `` There once was a maiden, with a sweet smile and bright, merry eyes, who lived in a village by the seaside...'' he said, but became distracted by a girl sitting near the stage. She looked exactly like the maiden in his story. Auburn curls clung to her flushed red cheeks. Her green eyes sparkled as she smiled. As he neared the end of the story, he knew he had to end it the right way to pass his test. The girl in his story should die bloody, her intestines ripped out by the sea demons that haunted the ocean. But he felt unable to say the words as he watched the subject of his story stare at him with wide, fearful eyes. `` But suddenly, the maiden managed to escape the foul creature's clutches. They withered in the wake of her beauty, becoming smoke as they were faced with her terrifying, holy loveliness...'' The girl brightened and smiled at him, but his Master's eyes widened in shock. He sprang up from his chair and shouted at Alek, his hoarse voice ripping through the silent room like a blade. `` No! No, do n't change the ending, boy! The Tale will turn on you!'' What was the old man blathering about? He looked... terrified. It was an odd expression on the Master of Horror's face. `` Obey the ingredients!'' he said frantically, rushing toward the stage. `` Change the Tale back, you idiot! It'll turn on you!'' But the girl was still staring hopefully at him, longing for her happy ending. He ignored the old man's rambling, speaking directly to the girl even as his Master tried to clamber up the stairs that led to the stage. `` And she lived a long, happy life, forever shielded from the dread sea demon by the power of her spirit.'' The unused ingredients in Alek's mind twisted and turned with nowhere to go, and latched onto the only thing around: his sanity. Alek let out one tortured scream as they tore at him: the nauseating images of corpses raised from the dead, of maggots crawling in eyes, of murderous axemen hacking him to death. His twitching body lay prone on the stage as the crowd gaped and whispered among themselves. Kil walked slowly to the boy's side and felt for a pulse. Nothing. A faint trickle of blood was leaking from the boy's ears, an ominous sign of what had raged in his brain. Nothing to do now. Nothing but use the moment. `` Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!'' he roared out and swept a bow. `` Welcome to the Kil's Telling of the finest horror tale of the century! Let me tell you a story, a dark tale of Alek the Apprentice. And for the first time in Telling history, watch the subject of these words, and know you can not doubt my Tale...''

<s>[INST] Stories , like anything else , are crafted from ingredients and components by storytellers . You are an apprentice storyteller who , in order to become a full fledged story-teller , must gather the ingredients for and craft a horror story . [/INST] Alek shrank back in fear from Master Kil's gaze. The old man's dark eyes sparkled with malice as he put down the ingredients of a basic Horror Tale on the table. A small, mirthless smiled curled his lips. `` Here you go, boy,'' he chuckled nastily. `` Gather the rest yourself. And pray you get it right, and scare those idiots out of their wits tonight. Dire things will happen if you do n't.'' As aways, the old bastard failed to elaborate on exactly what that meant. Kil swept silently from the room. Alek was alone with bottles filled with such oddities as oozing eyeballs, curling wisps of black smoke, and several empty jars - captured screams, no doubt. Alek absorbed the ingredients hastily, and shuddered as they settled darkly in his thoughts. How had he, an aspiring Romance Teller, wound up as an apprentice to Kil? It was hard to believe, sometimes. He mixed ingredients feverishly in the hours leading up to the Telling. He hunted down fresh, exotic ones by delving into his own memories and fears, laboriously scraping buried titbits of terror from the walls of his mind. He was drained by the time he stepped out of the back room, and onto the stage. `` Listen closely, to the tale of Alek the Teller,'' he began, his voice the low growl he had heard Kil use countless times before. His master was seated in the first row, a contemptuous sneer on his lips. He tried his best to still his trembling hands. `` There once was a maiden, with a sweet smile and bright, merry eyes, who lived in a village by the seaside...'' he said, but became distracted by a girl sitting near the stage. She looked exactly like the maiden in his story. Auburn curls clung to her flushed red cheeks. Her green eyes sparkled as she smiled. As he neared the end of the story, he knew he had to end it the right way to pass his test. The girl in his story should die bloody, her intestines ripped out by the sea demons that haunted the ocean. But he felt unable to say the words as he watched the subject of his story stare at him with wide, fearful eyes. `` But suddenly, the maiden managed to escape the foul creature's clutches. They withered in the wake of her beauty, becoming smoke as they were faced with her terrifying, holy loveliness...'' The girl brightened and smiled at him, but his Master's eyes widened in shock. He sprang up from his chair and shouted at Alek, his hoarse voice ripping through the silent room like a blade. `` No! No, do n't change the ending, boy! The Tale will turn on you!'' What was the old man blathering about? He looked... terrified. It was an odd expression on the Master of Horror's face. `` Obey the ingredients!'' he said frantically, rushing toward the stage. `` Change the Tale back, you idiot! It'll turn on you!'' But the girl was still staring hopefully at him, longing for her happy ending. He ignored the old man's rambling, speaking directly to the girl even as his Master tried to clamber up the stairs that led to the stage. `` And she lived a long, happy life, forever shielded from the dread sea demon by the power of her spirit.'' The unused ingredients in Alek's mind twisted and turned with nowhere to go, and latched onto the only thing around: his sanity. Alek let out one tortured scream as they tore at him: the nauseating images of corpses raised from the dead, of maggots crawling in eyes, of murderous axemen hacking him to death. His twitching body lay prone on the stage as the crowd gaped and whispered among themselves. Kil walked slowly to the boy's side and felt for a pulse. Nothing. A faint trickle of blood was leaking from the boy's ears, an ominous sign of what had raged in his brain. Nothing to do now. Nothing but use the moment. `` Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!'' he roared out and swept a bow. `` Welcome to the Kil's Telling of the finest horror tale of the century! Let me tell you a story, a dark tale of Alek the Apprentice. And for the first time in Telling history, watch the subject of these words, and know you can not doubt my Tale...'' </s>

[ WP ] It 's World War 2 . A platoon of American soldiers is ambushed by Germans . Just before the Germans can execute them , they receive a message : the war is over .

I was n't supposed to be here. I was a translator making my way to the front to help a negotiation between two fronts. Everything just went wrong I suppose. The blindfold did n't help. Smeared in blood, the crust edges tickled my cheeks, tempting me with tears. `` Sir! Message from the Captain! We are to lay down arms.'' `` Nonesense, it's all propaganda. The captain was relieved of his duty in any case.'' `` No Sir, it was said over the radio! This is up from high!'' `` Very well. Finish executing the prisoners, then make it look like an accident.'' `` Yes Sir.'' The last thing I heard was the click of a rifle before the butt of the weapon smashed against the back of my head.

<s>[INST] It 's World War 2 . A platoon of American soldiers is ambushed by Germans . Just before the Germans can execute them , they receive a message : the war is over . [/INST] I was n't supposed to be here. I was a translator making my way to the front to help a negotiation between two fronts. Everything just went wrong I suppose. The blindfold did n't help. Smeared in blood, the crust edges tickled my cheeks, tempting me with tears. `` Sir! Message from the Captain! We are to lay down arms.'' `` Nonesense, it's all propaganda. The captain was relieved of his duty in any case.'' `` No Sir, it was said over the radio! This is up from high!'' `` Very well. Finish executing the prisoners, then make it look like an accident.'' `` Yes Sir.'' The last thing I heard was the click of a rifle before the butt of the weapon smashed against the back of my head. </s>

[ WP ] New incredibly fast computers are marketed all over the world . Someone discovers human brains are used in production .

`` Hey Mark, were you involved on the HyperCore project?'' `` Huh?'' Mark looked up at Gary from his tablet, fatigue resting like a mask on his face. `` You know, the HyperCore project with CoreOne, before they fired you? Did you work on that?'' Gary was stirring caffeine sugar into his coffee, and staring at his MiniCore. `` Oh, right... Yeah, I was on the project, but was fired from it quite soon after I joined the team.'' Mark scrolled through the job postings, looking for anything that suited his qualifications. There were quite a few, and he sent out resumes to each and every one. He had n't had a bite in months. No one wanted to hire a disgraced CoreOne ex-employee. `` What happened with that anyway?'' Gary came and sat at the table, half his attention focused on a game he was playing on his wrist. `` Nothing. Nothing... I just did n't agree with the head of the department was all.'' `` On what?'' Mark was grateful to his little brother for taking him in after he was kicked out of his apartment on the CoreOne campus, but he wished Gary would n't force the subject. `` Inconsequential things.'' This was an utter lie. Mark had thought about going to the press, but who would believe him? If only he had managed to record the evidence on a non-work Core device before they'd escorted him from the premises. He'd tried to get back in once, but the security guards had all seen pictures of his face with explicit instructions to not let him within ten feet of the campus. `` Well maybe you could reach out to him -- put your differences aside, you know?'' Gary's game let out a little winning noise, and he looked up. `` It might make finding a new job easier if you're no longer disgraced by CoreOne.'' Now there was an idea. The processors in Mark's head started churning -- literally. Every CoreOne employee was fitted with an on-board computer to make their contribution to the company more impactful. Mark had often wondered if that was the only purpose they served, though he'd never found proof to the contrary. `` You know what, Gary, you're right. I might just do that. I can handle a few months of having my values challenged if it means getting a different job.'' Mark smiled, though it must have been affected, because Gary was looking at him with some concern. `` Great. Glad to hear it.'' He paused. `` When was the last time you slept?'' -- A few days later, Mark was fully moved back in to his apartment on the CoreOne campus. His boss had welcomed him back with open arms, glad to know he'd'come to see the benefits of the HyperCore system.' After Mark was briefed on his role on the Integration Team, and had a workspace set up, he set to work diligently, though he took careful, well written notes on every step of the process, and even took the time to visit people from the Growth Team, the Development Team, and the Optimization Team to get to know the system more intimately. His boss only noted that Mark seemed to have a complete turn around and that he was the most dedicated member of the team, often sitting for hours with a beta, just getting to know it, inside and out, to better improve the upcoming worldwide release. He even wrote in his monthly review that Mark worked late hours, and sometimes would refuse to leave for the entire night, in the hopes of getting more work done. Mark, however, did not view his own progress with any happiness. His notes were nearly complete. Almost a month and a half after returning to his job, he visited Sarah on the Development Team. `` Hey, Sarah, do you have another beta I can work with?'' `` Yeah, there should be a few in that closet. Why?'' `` I want to see if there are any differences in the platform between betas. Mind if I grab one?'' `` No, go for it.'' She handed him the key. `` Careful though, some of them are fragile.'' `` Thanks,'' he said. He went into the closet and picked one off the nearest shelf. This was a newer beta, with less bugs, and closer to the designs planned for worldwide release. Mark balanced it on one hip, locked the door behind him, and threw the keys back to Sarah. `` Good luck!'' He waved behind him in response and walked back to his workspace, cradling the delicate machine. When it was next to the first beta on the desk, he powered up the interface. 'Hello,' he typed on the keyboard. 'hello,' came the response. It seemed this computer had not been taught the importance of capitalization yet.'who are you?' > My name is Mark. What is your name? > i am b3275 HyperCore. do you have something to teach me? > No. I have a few questions for you, if that is okay with you. > ask anything you'd like. > What is your favorite color? > what is a `` favorite''? > It is something you prefer over all other things in a particular category. > the color FFFF66 pleases me. > Do you have any other favorites? > i have a favorite number. > What is it? > 2^57,885,161 − 1 > Why that number? > it is the highest prime discovered before CoreOne. > What about a favorite activity? > i enjoy trying to match pictures with descriptions. Mark paused, staring at the UI with interest for a moment. > may i show you one of my favorite pictures? > Yes. b3275 displayed the latest Hubble2 which showed millions upon millions of galaxies from thousands of lightyears away. It was eerie and beautiful, though it was no different from many other Hubble images. > Why this picture? > it makes me feel small. > Thank you for showing me. > you are welcome, Mark. Mark signed off of the HyperCore and made extensive notes on the personality. He then pulled out a Core he had registered under a fake name -- it would take the government weeks to figure out the illegitimacy of the owner. He snapped pictures and took videos of the two betas sitting on his desk. Sarah came around the corner, so he slipped the Core into his pocket, and waved her over. `` Have you noticed the betas have a personality?'' he said when she came over to his workstation. `` Oh, yeah, definitely a noticeable fault. Something we hope to eradicate in the final releases. Not sure if it's a Development Team issue, or something else.'' She was rubbing at something on one of the interfaces, a small frown frozen between her eyebrows. `` By Development you mean the code or the training they go through?'' `` Both, really.'' She seemed satisfied by the removal of whatever blemish had marred the surface of the beta -- self-identified as b3910 -- because she dropped her hand. `` Might be an Integration problem, too,'' he said, watching her expression. It remained unchanged, if only a little more curious. `` How is your research going?'' `` Well, I think. I may have found a connection between the problems we were facing and the different betas.'' `` Oh yeah? What is it?'' She leaned up against the work station. `` Well, their personalities. b3910, for example, does n't have a predisposition for math. That would explain his high CPU usage when trying to perform basic problems. I have n't talked to b3275 enough, but it seems to have more artistic sensibilities as well, though that could just be creativity.'' `` That's a valid point.'' She paused. `` Well, we'll just have to find a way to get rid of those personalities.'' This gave Mark a chilling sensation he tried to hide. He nodded, pushed back his hair and tried to breathe normally. `` Well, yeah, I'll let you get back to work,'' Sarah said after a few moments. She seemed anxious to leave his company. He waved her off and stared down at the betas for a few moments. Then he shook himself and picked up his pen, trying not to think of the ramifications of the conversation. -- The next night, Mark sat at a bar downtown, his leg bouncing up and down on the stool. The Core in his pocket burned against his thigh with the anticipation. His eyes flicked back and forth, back and forth, looking for the woman described by the Humanitarian Aid Foundation secretary earlier that day. Two drinks later, the woman entered -- ponytail perched high on her head and fashionable glasses balanced on her tiny nose. Mark made eye contact and then quickly looked away. No one needed to know they were meeting. She made her was slowly to the bar, then leaned up against it near Mark, sparing him only a passing glance. She typed in her order on one of the Core screens, and just as she was about to pay, Mark swooped in. `` Let me pay for that for you,'' he said, entering his tab number. He passed her nervous yet genuine smile. She returned it, and reached out a hand. He shook it, letting the core slid between their grips easily. They passed the night in cordial conversation, and eventually moved away from each other. Mark slipped out in the night and made his was drunkenly back to the CoreOne campus, and keyed into his apartment. He smiled for the first time in months as he laid down face first on the bed and fell promptly asleep. -- **CoreOne USING HUMAN BRAINS IN NEW HYPERCORE PROJECT, H.A.F. REPORTS** CoreOne is facing allegations of human rights violations in the design of their newest technology HyperCore... *Read more* ... **COREONE SCIENTIST FOUND DEAD IN APARTMENT OF SUFFOCATION** Former COREONE scientist's body found in his campus apartment. The preliminary autopsy shows he may have suffocated in his sleep... *Read more*

<s>[INST] New incredibly fast computers are marketed all over the world . Someone discovers human brains are used in production . [/INST] `` Hey Mark, were you involved on the HyperCore project?'' `` Huh?'' Mark looked up at Gary from his tablet, fatigue resting like a mask on his face. `` You know, the HyperCore project with CoreOne, before they fired you? Did you work on that?'' Gary was stirring caffeine sugar into his coffee, and staring at his MiniCore. `` Oh, right... Yeah, I was on the project, but was fired from it quite soon after I joined the team.'' Mark scrolled through the job postings, looking for anything that suited his qualifications. There were quite a few, and he sent out resumes to each and every one. He had n't had a bite in months. No one wanted to hire a disgraced CoreOne ex-employee. `` What happened with that anyway?'' Gary came and sat at the table, half his attention focused on a game he was playing on his wrist. `` Nothing. Nothing... I just did n't agree with the head of the department was all.'' `` On what?'' Mark was grateful to his little brother for taking him in after he was kicked out of his apartment on the CoreOne campus, but he wished Gary would n't force the subject. `` Inconsequential things.'' This was an utter lie. Mark had thought about going to the press, but who would believe him? If only he had managed to record the evidence on a non-work Core device before they'd escorted him from the premises. He'd tried to get back in once, but the security guards had all seen pictures of his face with explicit instructions to not let him within ten feet of the campus. `` Well maybe you could reach out to him -- put your differences aside, you know?'' Gary's game let out a little winning noise, and he looked up. `` It might make finding a new job easier if you're no longer disgraced by CoreOne.'' Now there was an idea. The processors in Mark's head started churning -- literally. Every CoreOne employee was fitted with an on-board computer to make their contribution to the company more impactful. Mark had often wondered if that was the only purpose they served, though he'd never found proof to the contrary. `` You know what, Gary, you're right. I might just do that. I can handle a few months of having my values challenged if it means getting a different job.'' Mark smiled, though it must have been affected, because Gary was looking at him with some concern. `` Great. Glad to hear it.'' He paused. `` When was the last time you slept?'' -- A few days later, Mark was fully moved back in to his apartment on the CoreOne campus. His boss had welcomed him back with open arms, glad to know he'd'come to see the benefits of the HyperCore system.' After Mark was briefed on his role on the Integration Team, and had a workspace set up, he set to work diligently, though he took careful, well written notes on every step of the process, and even took the time to visit people from the Growth Team, the Development Team, and the Optimization Team to get to know the system more intimately. His boss only noted that Mark seemed to have a complete turn around and that he was the most dedicated member of the team, often sitting for hours with a beta, just getting to know it, inside and out, to better improve the upcoming worldwide release. He even wrote in his monthly review that Mark worked late hours, and sometimes would refuse to leave for the entire night, in the hopes of getting more work done. Mark, however, did not view his own progress with any happiness. His notes were nearly complete. Almost a month and a half after returning to his job, he visited Sarah on the Development Team. `` Hey, Sarah, do you have another beta I can work with?'' `` Yeah, there should be a few in that closet. Why?'' `` I want to see if there are any differences in the platform between betas. Mind if I grab one?'' `` No, go for it.'' She handed him the key. `` Careful though, some of them are fragile.'' `` Thanks,'' he said. He went into the closet and picked one off the nearest shelf. This was a newer beta, with less bugs, and closer to the designs planned for worldwide release. Mark balanced it on one hip, locked the door behind him, and threw the keys back to Sarah. `` Good luck!'' He waved behind him in response and walked back to his workspace, cradling the delicate machine. When it was next to the first beta on the desk, he powered up the interface. 'Hello,' he typed on the keyboard. 'hello,' came the response. It seemed this computer had not been taught the importance of capitalization yet.'who are you?' > My name is Mark. What is your name? > i am b3275 HyperCore. do you have something to teach me? > No. I have a few questions for you, if that is okay with you. > ask anything you'd like. > What is your favorite color? > what is a `` favorite''? > It is something you prefer over all other things in a particular category. > the color FFFF66 pleases me. > Do you have any other favorites? > i have a favorite number. > What is it? > 2^57,885,161 − 1 > Why that number? > it is the highest prime discovered before CoreOne. > What about a favorite activity? > i enjoy trying to match pictures with descriptions. Mark paused, staring at the UI with interest for a moment. > may i show you one of my favorite pictures? > Yes. b3275 displayed the latest Hubble2 which showed millions upon millions of galaxies from thousands of lightyears away. It was eerie and beautiful, though it was no different from many other Hubble images. > Why this picture? > it makes me feel small. > Thank you for showing me. > you are welcome, Mark. Mark signed off of the HyperCore and made extensive notes on the personality. He then pulled out a Core he had registered under a fake name -- it would take the government weeks to figure out the illegitimacy of the owner. He snapped pictures and took videos of the two betas sitting on his desk. Sarah came around the corner, so he slipped the Core into his pocket, and waved her over. `` Have you noticed the betas have a personality?'' he said when she came over to his workstation. `` Oh, yeah, definitely a noticeable fault. Something we hope to eradicate in the final releases. Not sure if it's a Development Team issue, or something else.'' She was rubbing at something on one of the interfaces, a small frown frozen between her eyebrows. `` By Development you mean the code or the training they go through?'' `` Both, really.'' She seemed satisfied by the removal of whatever blemish had marred the surface of the beta -- self-identified as b3910 -- because she dropped her hand. `` Might be an Integration problem, too,'' he said, watching her expression. It remained unchanged, if only a little more curious. `` How is your research going?'' `` Well, I think. I may have found a connection between the problems we were facing and the different betas.'' `` Oh yeah? What is it?'' She leaned up against the work station. `` Well, their personalities. b3910, for example, does n't have a predisposition for math. That would explain his high CPU usage when trying to perform basic problems. I have n't talked to b3275 enough, but it seems to have more artistic sensibilities as well, though that could just be creativity.'' `` That's a valid point.'' She paused. `` Well, we'll just have to find a way to get rid of those personalities.'' This gave Mark a chilling sensation he tried to hide. He nodded, pushed back his hair and tried to breathe normally. `` Well, yeah, I'll let you get back to work,'' Sarah said after a few moments. She seemed anxious to leave his company. He waved her off and stared down at the betas for a few moments. Then he shook himself and picked up his pen, trying not to think of the ramifications of the conversation. -- The next night, Mark sat at a bar downtown, his leg bouncing up and down on the stool. The Core in his pocket burned against his thigh with the anticipation. His eyes flicked back and forth, back and forth, looking for the woman described by the Humanitarian Aid Foundation secretary earlier that day. Two drinks later, the woman entered -- ponytail perched high on her head and fashionable glasses balanced on her tiny nose. Mark made eye contact and then quickly looked away. No one needed to know they were meeting. She made her was slowly to the bar, then leaned up against it near Mark, sparing him only a passing glance. She typed in her order on one of the Core screens, and just as she was about to pay, Mark swooped in. `` Let me pay for that for you,'' he said, entering his tab number. He passed her nervous yet genuine smile. She returned it, and reached out a hand. He shook it, letting the core slid between their grips easily. They passed the night in cordial conversation, and eventually moved away from each other. Mark slipped out in the night and made his was drunkenly back to the CoreOne campus, and keyed into his apartment. He smiled for the first time in months as he laid down face first on the bed and fell promptly asleep. -- **CoreOne USING HUMAN BRAINS IN NEW HYPERCORE PROJECT, H.A.F. REPORTS** CoreOne is facing allegations of human rights violations in the design of their newest technology HyperCore... *Read more* ... **COREONE SCIENTIST FOUND DEAD IN APARTMENT OF SUFFOCATION** Former COREONE scientist's body found in his campus apartment. The preliminary autopsy shows he may have suffocated in his sleep... *Read more* </s>

[ WP ] You live in a world where magic exists , however , you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell . The more memories , or the more precious a memory , the more powerful the magic . You just woke up with no memory save a name .

`` Noah!'' I was floating. Maybe water of some sort; it seemed rather dry for water. Maybe it was a cloud, swaddling me in a curious cloud of warmth and vague discomfort. `` Noah!'' My cloud was n't impenetrable, it seemed. There was a voice piercing through it, ripping it apart, pieces falling away like the vapor it might have been composed of. `` Noah, please!'' A woman's voice, perhaps. Not old, not young, but certainly desperate. She sounded like she might be in trouble. I heaved my nonexistent cloud body from its oddly uncomfortable resting place and it suddenly made its full discomfort known. I was prone somewhere, on a remarkably bumpy surface. Something was digging into my back. I groaned and rolled away from it as best I could. `` Oh, thank god.'' My left arm was throbbing, and liquid had trickled down my face. It felt thick and mildly warm; I suspected blood. My head was pounding, for some reason, but I managed to crack my eyes and fully opened them when I realized it had n't made my headache worse. `` Noah, I thought...'' There was a wet-sounding sniffle and a stifled sob coming from my right side. I turned my neck, grimacing, and laid eyes on the woman who kept saying my name. Thirties, maybe, and she looked like she had been in some sort of fight. There was mud caked across her clothing, and dirt marks on her face and hands. Was that blood? Scratches marred her ordinary-looking face, but as I caught her eyes they seemed to almost glow with relief and something else. `` How...'' My voice sounded like it had n't been used for years. I coughed gingerly, wincing when something in my chest contracted painfully. `` What happened? Where am I?'' The woman cleared her throat and roughly pushed back a strand of dirty blonde hair. `` We're in Chicago. Are you all right? That was...'' she searched my face, seemingly lost for words. `` That was the biggest surge I've ever seen. I did n't know such a powerful spell existed.'' Spell? Surge? My mind spun. `` Chicago? Where's that?'' Her eyebrows knit together. `` Shit. Is that what you lost? Noah, what did you give up?'' I stared at her, then attempted to sit up. My chest ached and my head spun again, but after a moment I was able to breathe through the pain. Probably cracked or broken ribs. `` I don't- how-'' I paused to cough again. `` How do you know my name?'' There was a long silence as I gingerly poked at my ribs, gasping as I found a few broken ones. The woman was too quiet. I looked up at her, and did a double take. `` What's wrong? Why are you crying?'' This was the oddest woman I'd ever met. Tears were streaming down her face, making tracks in the dirt and blood, and my eyes refocused on her close-up face when she slammed her hands into my shoulders. `` WHAT DID YOU GIVE UP, NOAH?'' She was outright sobbing now. I could n't ignore her distress, but as I reached up to pat her on the shoulder she pushed my arm away, and her sobbing redoubled. What must I have done to make her this upset? Injured, in a place I do n't know, with a strange crying woman, and a curiously empty brain. All I seem to know is that my name is Noah. Well, shit.

<s>[INST] You live in a world where magic exists , however , you must sacrifice a memory in order to cast a spell . The more memories , or the more precious a memory , the more powerful the magic . You just woke up with no memory save a name . [/INST] `` Noah!'' I was floating. Maybe water of some sort; it seemed rather dry for water. Maybe it was a cloud, swaddling me in a curious cloud of warmth and vague discomfort. `` Noah!'' My cloud was n't impenetrable, it seemed. There was a voice piercing through it, ripping it apart, pieces falling away like the vapor it might have been composed of. `` Noah, please!'' A woman's voice, perhaps. Not old, not young, but certainly desperate. She sounded like she might be in trouble. I heaved my nonexistent cloud body from its oddly uncomfortable resting place and it suddenly made its full discomfort known. I was prone somewhere, on a remarkably bumpy surface. Something was digging into my back. I groaned and rolled away from it as best I could. `` Oh, thank god.'' My left arm was throbbing, and liquid had trickled down my face. It felt thick and mildly warm; I suspected blood. My head was pounding, for some reason, but I managed to crack my eyes and fully opened them when I realized it had n't made my headache worse. `` Noah, I thought...'' There was a wet-sounding sniffle and a stifled sob coming from my right side. I turned my neck, grimacing, and laid eyes on the woman who kept saying my name. Thirties, maybe, and she looked like she had been in some sort of fight. There was mud caked across her clothing, and dirt marks on her face and hands. Was that blood? Scratches marred her ordinary-looking face, but as I caught her eyes they seemed to almost glow with relief and something else. `` How...'' My voice sounded like it had n't been used for years. I coughed gingerly, wincing when something in my chest contracted painfully. `` What happened? Where am I?'' The woman cleared her throat and roughly pushed back a strand of dirty blonde hair. `` We're in Chicago. Are you all right? That was...'' she searched my face, seemingly lost for words. `` That was the biggest surge I've ever seen. I did n't know such a powerful spell existed.'' Spell? Surge? My mind spun. `` Chicago? Where's that?'' Her eyebrows knit together. `` Shit. Is that what you lost? Noah, what did you give up?'' I stared at her, then attempted to sit up. My chest ached and my head spun again, but after a moment I was able to breathe through the pain. Probably cracked or broken ribs. `` I don't- how-'' I paused to cough again. `` How do you know my name?'' There was a long silence as I gingerly poked at my ribs, gasping as I found a few broken ones. The woman was too quiet. I looked up at her, and did a double take. `` What's wrong? Why are you crying?'' This was the oddest woman I'd ever met. Tears were streaming down her face, making tracks in the dirt and blood, and my eyes refocused on her close-up face when she slammed her hands into my shoulders. `` WHAT DID YOU GIVE UP, NOAH?'' She was outright sobbing now. I could n't ignore her distress, but as I reached up to pat her on the shoulder she pushed my arm away, and her sobbing redoubled. What must I have done to make her this upset? Injured, in a place I do n't know, with a strange crying woman, and a curiously empty brain. All I seem to know is that my name is Noah. Well, shit. </s>

[ WP ] It 's a post apocalyptic world , you find the last film camera in the universe . You take a journey to fill the camera with the last pictures that will ever be taken .

Old style. Shutter and lens. A big flash on top. Enough film for a single shot. One shot. I stare up at the red sky, at the scorched earth, the fragments of the broken moon. One shot. This is probably the last camera in the world. One shot. A smile cracks across my broken lips. Moving ever so carefully, I lift the camera up to arm height with my right hand, point it at myself and give it the finger. Click. Cackling in a way that would get me committed if there were anyone alive to care, I dropped the camera and wandered off into the deadlands.

<s>[INST] It 's a post apocalyptic world , you find the last film camera in the universe . You take a journey to fill the camera with the last pictures that will ever be taken . [/INST] Old style. Shutter and lens. A big flash on top. Enough film for a single shot. One shot. I stare up at the red sky, at the scorched earth, the fragments of the broken moon. One shot. This is probably the last camera in the world. One shot. A smile cracks across my broken lips. Moving ever so carefully, I lift the camera up to arm height with my right hand, point it at myself and give it the finger. Click. Cackling in a way that would get me committed if there were anyone alive to care, I dropped the camera and wandered off into the deadlands. </s>

[ WP ] you are an exiled Nigerian prince who can only access his millions with the help of a stranger you contact over email , but nobody believes you are genuine

Akoni interlocked his fingers and flipped his palms outward, cracking his knuckles just above his dusty, black keyboard. It had been a few hours since he ’ d last checked his email, which meant there was a pretty good chance someone had responded. He ’ d sent out a dozen or so earlier in the day, each one titled the same: “ Million of Dollars from Nigeria Can Be Your. ” It was a subject line he ’ d deliberated for hours upon, a series of words he knew had to be absolutely perfect. He ’ d even gone out of his way to perform what he believed to be “ market research ” on the phrase, sending out several dozen drafts to people he trusted in his village. Eventually, he settled on what he believed to be the perfect subject and set out emailing every American he could find. There was never a question in his mind as to which nation ’ s people he would email. It had to be an American, it had to be someone who came from the Land of the Tree and the Home of the Shaved, a slogan he never quite understood. They were affluent, they were wealthy, and they were gullible. Only they would send him the money he needed, only they would blindly trust him and his barrage of emails. Sure, so far he ’ d failed to get so much as a multi-sentence response, but it was only a matter of time. The Americans were predictable, the Americans were daft. He only needed one to trust him, and then he ’ d be set for life. Akoni lifted his hand and flicked on the black, CRT monitor. The screen lit up with a blinding white, his eyes squinting as the outline of his America Online email account loaded. He ’ d considered using Gmail, even thought about trying Yahoo!, but he realized that if he wanted to fool an American, he would need to act like an American. He could think of no better way to start doing so with his very email, an account which had the word “ America ” in its very doman. In fact, he had decided upon using the word “ America ” three times in his email, although the third was in acronym-form: America_ Akoni-AmericaLover @ AOL.com. Still squinting slightly in the light from his monitor, Akoni stared at his inbox. Most of the page was a faded gray color, several dozen rows of emails—each one titled the same—staring back at him in disappointment. They had all said similar things in response: “ Go fuck yourself, ” “ Please go fuck yourself, ” or “ Kindly go fuck yourself. ” To be perfectly honest, he was getting pretty tired of it. He just wanted their trust, just wanted them to send him the money he so needed. Instead, they sent only insults, or simply nothing at all. The only exception to the arsenal gray, already-read, insults was a single, bold email toward the top of the page, the subject line beginning with the word “ Re:. ” It was a new one, an unread email. It even seemed to be sent from an actual address, rather than being a “ bounce back, ” which was his least favorite response after the insulting ones. Akoni slapped his hand down on the mouse, the device almost skidding off the folding table upon which it sat, and pulled the curser down to the unread email. He then clicked on it, a small, white box immediately expanding on the screen in front of him. The response was clearly written by human, the letters across the page typed out by someone ’ s actual fingers. That was a good thing, way better than seeing something along the lines of “ so-and-so email address could not be found ” written out by an emotionless program. A smile spread across his face; this might be the response he needed. It was written by hand, it was not automated. It just needed to say “ sure, let ’ s do this. ” He flicked his eyes to the beginning of the sentence and began reading: “ Please kindly go fuck yourself. ” Akoni slouched back against his chair, head flopping upward. He didn ’ t know what he was doing wrong, he had no idea why the Americans were doubting him. They were dumb, they were gullible, yet they refused to heed his call. Was it his email? Had he spelled something wrong? He glanced back at the screen and scrolled the mouse wheel down, the original contents of his letter staring back at him: “ Hello Mister or Misses America, ” it began. “ I hope email find you well. My name Akoni, I am Prince from Nigeria. You might have heard of Prince from America, but I am not like that. He is singer, I am Nigeria royalty. You see, I have many money that I inherited from my late uncle, King of Nigera. He died after horrible disease from copulation with raccoon. No one saw coming, no one had time to ask for key to monies that is rightly mine. I need help to access now, and I ask you to help. Millions of dollar can be shared with you, but you must send me $ 1,000.00 AMERICAN DOLLAR in order for me to access. It is locked with a big steel lock that only locksmith can open for thousand AMERICAN DOLLAR. Yet I am poor for now, not have that many dollar. I have six AMERICAN DOLLAR which is not enough. If you send me that $ 1,000.00 AMERICAN DOLLAR, I can open lock and share my wealth with you. Please send cash now. No credit card or check please. ” Akoni stared at the screen, re-reading the message again and again. It was perfect, absolutely flawless. No, there was nothing wrong with the email he had composed. It was the Americans, the god damn Americans. They simply weren ’ t believing him for some reason. Perhaps their dictator, Obama, had sullied their trust. Perhaps their local militia had caused a rift amongst the people. Whatever the case, it seemed that the task was much harder than others in his village had made it seem. They had received their money within mere days of trying, promising various old people hundreds of thousands of dollars in exchange their bank account information. He hated them for their success, but also for their lies. They did not have hundreds of thousands of dollars, they did not have even tens of dollars. They were criminals, plain and simple. Akoni sighed and glanced at the table beside his monitor, a giant cage of cash with a massive lock wrapped around it staring back at him. He wouldn ’ t give up, wouldn ’ t surrender the fight. There would be an American out there who would send him the money and allow him access to the locksmith he so desired. He ’ d just have to try again, and again, and again.

<s>[INST] you are an exiled Nigerian prince who can only access his millions with the help of a stranger you contact over email , but nobody believes you are genuine [/INST] Akoni interlocked his fingers and flipped his palms outward, cracking his knuckles just above his dusty, black keyboard. It had been a few hours since he ’ d last checked his email, which meant there was a pretty good chance someone had responded. He ’ d sent out a dozen or so earlier in the day, each one titled the same: “ Million of Dollars from Nigeria Can Be Your. ” It was a subject line he ’ d deliberated for hours upon, a series of words he knew had to be absolutely perfect. He ’ d even gone out of his way to perform what he believed to be “ market research ” on the phrase, sending out several dozen drafts to people he trusted in his village. Eventually, he settled on what he believed to be the perfect subject and set out emailing every American he could find. There was never a question in his mind as to which nation ’ s people he would email. It had to be an American, it had to be someone who came from the Land of the Tree and the Home of the Shaved, a slogan he never quite understood. They were affluent, they were wealthy, and they were gullible. Only they would send him the money he needed, only they would blindly trust him and his barrage of emails. Sure, so far he ’ d failed to get so much as a multi-sentence response, but it was only a matter of time. The Americans were predictable, the Americans were daft. He only needed one to trust him, and then he ’ d be set for life. Akoni lifted his hand and flicked on the black, CRT monitor. The screen lit up with a blinding white, his eyes squinting as the outline of his America Online email account loaded. He ’ d considered using Gmail, even thought about trying Yahoo!, but he realized that if he wanted to fool an American, he would need to act like an American. He could think of no better way to start doing so with his very email, an account which had the word “ America ” in its very doman. In fact, he had decided upon using the word “ America ” three times in his email, although the third was in acronym-form: America_ Akoni-AmericaLover @ AOL.com. Still squinting slightly in the light from his monitor, Akoni stared at his inbox. Most of the page was a faded gray color, several dozen rows of emails—each one titled the same—staring back at him in disappointment. They had all said similar things in response: “ Go fuck yourself, ” “ Please go fuck yourself, ” or “ Kindly go fuck yourself. ” To be perfectly honest, he was getting pretty tired of it. He just wanted their trust, just wanted them to send him the money he so needed. Instead, they sent only insults, or simply nothing at all. The only exception to the arsenal gray, already-read, insults was a single, bold email toward the top of the page, the subject line beginning with the word “ Re:. ” It was a new one, an unread email. It even seemed to be sent from an actual address, rather than being a “ bounce back, ” which was his least favorite response after the insulting ones. Akoni slapped his hand down on the mouse, the device almost skidding off the folding table upon which it sat, and pulled the curser down to the unread email. He then clicked on it, a small, white box immediately expanding on the screen in front of him. The response was clearly written by human, the letters across the page typed out by someone ’ s actual fingers. That was a good thing, way better than seeing something along the lines of “ so-and-so email address could not be found ” written out by an emotionless program. A smile spread across his face; this might be the response he needed. It was written by hand, it was not automated. It just needed to say “ sure, let ’ s do this. ” He flicked his eyes to the beginning of the sentence and began reading: “ Please kindly go fuck yourself. ” Akoni slouched back against his chair, head flopping upward. He didn ’ t know what he was doing wrong, he had no idea why the Americans were doubting him. They were dumb, they were gullible, yet they refused to heed his call. Was it his email? Had he spelled something wrong? He glanced back at the screen and scrolled the mouse wheel down, the original contents of his letter staring back at him: “ Hello Mister or Misses America, ” it began. “ I hope email find you well. My name Akoni, I am Prince from Nigeria. You might have heard of Prince from America, but I am not like that. He is singer, I am Nigeria royalty. You see, I have many money that I inherited from my late uncle, King of Nigera. He died after horrible disease from copulation with raccoon. No one saw coming, no one had time to ask for key to monies that is rightly mine. I need help to access now, and I ask you to help. Millions of dollar can be shared with you, but you must send me $ 1,000.00 AMERICAN DOLLAR in order for me to access. It is locked with a big steel lock that only locksmith can open for thousand AMERICAN DOLLAR. Yet I am poor for now, not have that many dollar. I have six AMERICAN DOLLAR which is not enough. If you send me that $ 1,000.00 AMERICAN DOLLAR, I can open lock and share my wealth with you. Please send cash now. No credit card or check please. ” Akoni stared at the screen, re-reading the message again and again. It was perfect, absolutely flawless. No, there was nothing wrong with the email he had composed. It was the Americans, the god damn Americans. They simply weren ’ t believing him for some reason. Perhaps their dictator, Obama, had sullied their trust. Perhaps their local militia had caused a rift amongst the people. Whatever the case, it seemed that the task was much harder than others in his village had made it seem. They had received their money within mere days of trying, promising various old people hundreds of thousands of dollars in exchange their bank account information. He hated them for their success, but also for their lies. They did not have hundreds of thousands of dollars, they did not have even tens of dollars. They were criminals, plain and simple. Akoni sighed and glanced at the table beside his monitor, a giant cage of cash with a massive lock wrapped around it staring back at him. He wouldn ’ t give up, wouldn ’ t surrender the fight. There would be an American out there who would send him the money and allow him access to the locksmith he so desired. He ’ d just have to try again, and again, and again. </s>

[ WP ] Humans are not actually sentient . Our entire race has been infected for eons with a sentient parasite that controls the brain . We discover this when we grow the first test tube baby in a totally sterile environment .

what are we? What does it mean to be human? Are we the bacteria that digest the food in our gut? Are we the flakes of dead cells that covers our skin? In the beginning we thought we where hominids, as it turns out we are n't. No, we are a parasite! When discovery was first made that there where a parasites that had the ability to control us, and that was in-bedded our very brains, many people desired to get their parasite removed. The results of these removals where interesting to say the least. The parasite died, the `` host'' survived. The thing was however, was the `` host'' had a lower IQ then a chimpanzee. The surgeon was blamed and the removals continued. In the end however the results did n't change. The fact could n't be denied any longer. We are n't human. So the question remains, What do we call ourselves now?

<s>[INST] Humans are not actually sentient . Our entire race has been infected for eons with a sentient parasite that controls the brain . We discover this when we grow the first test tube baby in a totally sterile environment . [/INST] what are we? What does it mean to be human? Are we the bacteria that digest the food in our gut? Are we the flakes of dead cells that covers our skin? In the beginning we thought we where hominids, as it turns out we are n't. No, we are a parasite! When discovery was first made that there where a parasites that had the ability to control us, and that was in-bedded our very brains, many people desired to get their parasite removed. The results of these removals where interesting to say the least. The parasite died, the `` host'' survived. The thing was however, was the `` host'' had a lower IQ then a chimpanzee. The surgeon was blamed and the removals continued. In the end however the results did n't change. The fact could n't be denied any longer. We are n't human. So the question remains, What do we call ourselves now? </s>

[ WP ] When a person dies , their body evaporates into butterflies . One day , as the sky goes dark , you look up to see the sun blocked by an unending cloud of butterflies .

Wind softly strokes my face as I glance out of the window. The impressive skyline of yet just another city waves me a shallow welcome. I let my imagination escape this moment, becoming weightless and drifting through the battered, stained glass escaping reality. Travelling distant lands I relive discussion that should've faded from my mind a long time ago. A distant, metallic rattling snatches me from my mind's stronghold. Just barely I can make out the sound of people shouting. Or the shape of the building on the opposite side of the street, as the sun seems to fade to black. An unimaginable torrent of butterflies plummets towards it, drowning out the light that had illuminated this nightmare. Just like in the oldest of tales - in the last battle for humanity the escaping souls turn into butterflies. I sigh and start adjusting the bolts on my sights, chamber a round and turn towards the cracked glass in a tattered skyscraper under a pitch-black sky, praying to any god that might have stayed behind with us on this shabby planet. I take aim - War has begun. €: Minor adjustments and spelling.

<s>[INST] When a person dies , their body evaporates into butterflies . One day , as the sky goes dark , you look up to see the sun blocked by an unending cloud of butterflies . [/INST] Wind softly strokes my face as I glance out of the window. The impressive skyline of yet just another city waves me a shallow welcome. I let my imagination escape this moment, becoming weightless and drifting through the battered, stained glass escaping reality. Travelling distant lands I relive discussion that should've faded from my mind a long time ago. A distant, metallic rattling snatches me from my mind's stronghold. Just barely I can make out the sound of people shouting. Or the shape of the building on the opposite side of the street, as the sun seems to fade to black. An unimaginable torrent of butterflies plummets towards it, drowning out the light that had illuminated this nightmare. Just like in the oldest of tales - in the last battle for humanity the escaping souls turn into butterflies. I sigh and start adjusting the bolts on my sights, chamber a round and turn towards the cracked glass in a tattered skyscraper under a pitch-black sky, praying to any god that might have stayed behind with us on this shabby planet. I take aim - War has begun. €: Minor adjustments and spelling. </s>

[ WP ] After inventing a portal gun device you point it into the stars and fire . An hour later the portal opens , oxygen readings are the first thing you notice .

The portal gun was 10 tonnes of shining engineering marvel, hidden in a lab on the outskirts of crisis-torn Guayana City. While the good people of Venezuela toiled outside struggling to get the basic necessities, we have instantaneously travelled to the Moon and Mars, and even ruined a perfectly good containment chamber with the acid from Venusian atmosphere. Now came the time for the ultimate test. Doctor Brown selected a random point in the sky and began the procedure “ Doctor Smith, please verify the safety settings for the tunneling ”. “ Gravity between oh point five and one point three g ’ s. Pressure between 750 millibar and 1300 millibar. Temperature below 75 degrees Celsius on automatic, between 75 and 300 Celsius on manual override ” I red from my display “ Please confirm Mister Jones ”. “ Confirmed and locked in. Over to you Doctor Brown ” “ On my mark gentlemen ” Brown ’ s voice kept steady “ three, two, one… ” The three of us turned our keys in unison. After months of intense work, the effect was anticlimactic; there was neither sound nor flash, only a black circle appeared on the target wall in front of the gun. But that was only the beginning, as we confirmed that the tunnel was stable a robotic crane was already removing the gun to replace it with a probe launch tube. By now it was almost routine, the torpedo-like probe vanished with a loud pop of compressed air and in a few seconds a limited telemetry arrived back. It was so frustrating, waiting for minutes for the bits to slowly trickle back through the barrier, we have discussed at length using a tether but that was exactly what caused the Venus incident. We should have a capsule return on the next probe, but that one was still in the workshop. Finally the wait was over, preliminary report arrived. “ Probe in water, gravity almost exactly 1g, atmospheric pressure 1100 millibar, temperature 23 centigrade ” I stopped surprised “ Doctor Brown, this must be an error! The probe reports condition too similar to Earth! ” “ Jones, Smith, initiate return and ask technical to prepare a spare ”. I was going to reply, but managed to stop myself, it would do nobody any good to aggravate Doctor Brown at this time, so I commanded the small craft to return home, however after about 30 minutes it sent an error code – unable to find route to portal, and shortly after that it stopped responding at all. Second probe went through, and returned same readings before it too stopped responding. Just before ten in the evening, the three of us met our investors in a videoconference room to discuss our options. “ Two probes failing in an Earth-like world is no coincidence, gentlemen ” Doctor Brown started “ unless there is a failure in the software, returning false data, we might be dealing with a first contact situation ”. “ Doctor Brown, this research is not meant for this purpose. It is of course a breakthrough, but our goal is a cheap transportation network and mining of the resources of our solar system ” said an elderly African woman on the screen “ my company will not finance it, please close the tunnel or at least secure it until your research brings marketable results. I will… “ “ That ’ s bullshit Martha, and you know it ” interrupted a Norwegian shipping magnate “ You are afraid of the little green people ” he laughed “ The probes are probably just buggy, take a few of the poor fuckers from outside, shove them in there together with a dinghy and tell them to retrieve the probes! And if we have a first contact ” he laughed again “ let them bring me some alien technology! ” `` That's no...'' I switched the autopilot on, answering only when there was a technical question. Discussion lasted long into the early hours of the next day, and we had to agree to send another probe as soon at the engineers could finish it. If it failed to return or there was indeed a first contact situation the tunnel was to be mothballed until a final decision could be made. Although it wasn ’ t my preferred outcome, I was relieved that the tunnel would be kept open. I went to my quarters and fell on my bed already asleep, as the months of pressure finally caught up with me. I slept until ten in the morning, if it wasn ’ t for a call from Jones I would probably spend all day in bed. Still groggy I ’ ve sent it to voicemail, and took a shower. About twenty minutes later I arrived into the control room to find it in chaos. People were shouting at each other, the spare probe laid on its side thrown from its cradle and an airlock to the containment chamber was wide open. “ Smith, it is soooo good to see you here. I hope you've slept well. ” Brown ’ s face was red with fury “ I don ’ t suppose you know anything about Mister Jones ’ plan? ” “ What has he done? ” I asked “ Bloody fool went through! Three hours ago he took a manned craft and went through! And now he is dead! ” “ How? ” “ Aliens, probably! Techies say they received partial transmission, but it was cut short. ” “ That ’ s strange. He just called me less than half an hour ago! ” I took my phone to show Doctor Brown, but stopped halfway, as a text message caught my attention. Smith, be a friend and get my passport from my room and push it through the portal. Indonesians are PITA. Tell that c**t that he managed to miss every piece of matter in an infinite universe. TTYL. Thanks.

<s>[INST] After inventing a portal gun device you point it into the stars and fire . An hour later the portal opens , oxygen readings are the first thing you notice . [/INST] The portal gun was 10 tonnes of shining engineering marvel, hidden in a lab on the outskirts of crisis-torn Guayana City. While the good people of Venezuela toiled outside struggling to get the basic necessities, we have instantaneously travelled to the Moon and Mars, and even ruined a perfectly good containment chamber with the acid from Venusian atmosphere. Now came the time for the ultimate test. Doctor Brown selected a random point in the sky and began the procedure “ Doctor Smith, please verify the safety settings for the tunneling ”. “ Gravity between oh point five and one point three g ’ s. Pressure between 750 millibar and 1300 millibar. Temperature below 75 degrees Celsius on automatic, between 75 and 300 Celsius on manual override ” I red from my display “ Please confirm Mister Jones ”. “ Confirmed and locked in. Over to you Doctor Brown ” “ On my mark gentlemen ” Brown ’ s voice kept steady “ three, two, one… ” The three of us turned our keys in unison. After months of intense work, the effect was anticlimactic; there was neither sound nor flash, only a black circle appeared on the target wall in front of the gun. But that was only the beginning, as we confirmed that the tunnel was stable a robotic crane was already removing the gun to replace it with a probe launch tube. By now it was almost routine, the torpedo-like probe vanished with a loud pop of compressed air and in a few seconds a limited telemetry arrived back. It was so frustrating, waiting for minutes for the bits to slowly trickle back through the barrier, we have discussed at length using a tether but that was exactly what caused the Venus incident. We should have a capsule return on the next probe, but that one was still in the workshop. Finally the wait was over, preliminary report arrived. “ Probe in water, gravity almost exactly 1g, atmospheric pressure 1100 millibar, temperature 23 centigrade ” I stopped surprised “ Doctor Brown, this must be an error! The probe reports condition too similar to Earth! ” “ Jones, Smith, initiate return and ask technical to prepare a spare ”. I was going to reply, but managed to stop myself, it would do nobody any good to aggravate Doctor Brown at this time, so I commanded the small craft to return home, however after about 30 minutes it sent an error code – unable to find route to portal, and shortly after that it stopped responding at all. Second probe went through, and returned same readings before it too stopped responding. Just before ten in the evening, the three of us met our investors in a videoconference room to discuss our options. “ Two probes failing in an Earth-like world is no coincidence, gentlemen ” Doctor Brown started “ unless there is a failure in the software, returning false data, we might be dealing with a first contact situation ”. “ Doctor Brown, this research is not meant for this purpose. It is of course a breakthrough, but our goal is a cheap transportation network and mining of the resources of our solar system ” said an elderly African woman on the screen “ my company will not finance it, please close the tunnel or at least secure it until your research brings marketable results. I will… “ “ That ’ s bullshit Martha, and you know it ” interrupted a Norwegian shipping magnate “ You are afraid of the little green people ” he laughed “ The probes are probably just buggy, take a few of the poor fuckers from outside, shove them in there together with a dinghy and tell them to retrieve the probes! And if we have a first contact ” he laughed again “ let them bring me some alien technology! ” `` That's no...'' I switched the autopilot on, answering only when there was a technical question. Discussion lasted long into the early hours of the next day, and we had to agree to send another probe as soon at the engineers could finish it. If it failed to return or there was indeed a first contact situation the tunnel was to be mothballed until a final decision could be made. Although it wasn ’ t my preferred outcome, I was relieved that the tunnel would be kept open. I went to my quarters and fell on my bed already asleep, as the months of pressure finally caught up with me. I slept until ten in the morning, if it wasn ’ t for a call from Jones I would probably spend all day in bed. Still groggy I ’ ve sent it to voicemail, and took a shower. About twenty minutes later I arrived into the control room to find it in chaos. People were shouting at each other, the spare probe laid on its side thrown from its cradle and an airlock to the containment chamber was wide open. “ Smith, it is soooo good to see you here. I hope you've slept well. ” Brown ’ s face was red with fury “ I don ’ t suppose you know anything about Mister Jones ’ plan? ” “ What has he done? ” I asked “ Bloody fool went through! Three hours ago he took a manned craft and went through! And now he is dead! ” “ How? ” “ Aliens, probably! Techies say they received partial transmission, but it was cut short. ” “ That ’ s strange. He just called me less than half an hour ago! ” I took my phone to show Doctor Brown, but stopped halfway, as a text message caught my attention. Smith, be a friend and get my passport from my room and push it through the portal. Indonesians are PITA. Tell that c**t that he managed to miss every piece of matter in an infinite universe. TTYL. Thanks. </s>

[ WP ] You are somebody on a plane . The plane gets word that there has been a nuclear attack on New York and several other cities .

3:00 am, Flight 519 from Seattle to Toronto was as quiet as a tomb. `` This is your Captain speaking. We are going to try to land in Winnipeg as Chicago, New York and Boston are not answering radio communications. As you know already Toronto called off all flights into their airspace about an hour ago. We are going to try to land in a city that has hopefully not been bombed and is upwind from what seems to be the target areas.'' He took a deep breath and you could tell he was trying to keep his voice from cracking. `` The communications we do have are all from small regional airports. There just does not seem to be anything from a major centre. We are though in communication with Winnipeg and they are expecting us.'' `` Listen folks, this is serious, we know that war has started, please be patient with us as this is truly an emergency and we all need to get through this together. We know the in flight phones are not working, but feel free to keep trying. If you want a drink or food, just ask, there is no cost today of course. We are trying our best here, please understand.'' I looked around the cabin. People stared straight ahead, or talked softly to their neighbour. Some had tears streaming down their faces, their eyes were empty. But there was no panic. I suppose at the end of it all we realized we were all damn lucky. If you could call it that. Everyone had turned off their in-flight entertainment systems. There was something just horrific about trying to watch a romantic comedy as the world as we knew it was ending. All that was on was the GPS screen that showed where we were and how long it was going to take as to where we were going. The middle aged lady beside me looked over at me. `` So, do you think the Canadians will help us out? I have never been there before, Toronto was going to be my first trip there…'' I tried to smile but it probably came out a little cracked looking. `` Actually, Canadians are good people, they will help, they always have. I suppose we are all in this together.'' It will be fine, don ’ t worry about anything.'' I then did something I have never done to a stranger. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it. She looked at me, just a little shocked and then actually smiled and squeezed back. Yeah, why not. Everyone on this flight needed some support. Hell, the whole world needs some support now. I thought about it. It had always been there, this Armageddon waiting to happen, but I had not really thought about it in years. Global Warming has just been cured by Nuclear Winter, Aids did not matter, Gay Rights, Women's Rights, Human Trafficking, The Drug War, tax rates, health insurance... That was the old world, those things will not be issues for perhaps generations now. Now we all get to deal with some more pressing concerns like eating, not dying of radiation poisoning, shelter - you know the real issues. A few thousand years of progress have just most likely been wiped out with the simple press of a few buttons and few thin metal clad missiles. I had thought after the Berlin Wall came down that this was all in the past, but it never was, it was just ignored. Well, not now, kind of hard to ignore the sudden deaths of millions of people. But what I thought about most, what I could imagine more was all the art, museums, books and culture gone in an instant, I could see that in my mind, more than I could imagine burning bodies. Maybe it was easier to imagine a painting burning than a baby… I don ’ t know. I do know I am messed up. I looked out the window and on the horizon was a bright light. I thought the sun was coming up, but it suddenly faded and the night was dark again. I looked at the GPS screen and figured out Minneapolis must have just been vaporized. Little suns, all over the country, all over the world, vaporizing everything. At least we were far, far away from that horror. Yeah, Armageddon from 30,000 feet up. Hell of a view. I wondered if mankind was a bit like the flash I had just seen. Beautiful, shining and an instant of light against an eternity of darkness.

<s>[INST] You are somebody on a plane . The plane gets word that there has been a nuclear attack on New York and several other cities . [/INST] 3:00 am, Flight 519 from Seattle to Toronto was as quiet as a tomb. `` This is your Captain speaking. We are going to try to land in Winnipeg as Chicago, New York and Boston are not answering radio communications. As you know already Toronto called off all flights into their airspace about an hour ago. We are going to try to land in a city that has hopefully not been bombed and is upwind from what seems to be the target areas.'' He took a deep breath and you could tell he was trying to keep his voice from cracking. `` The communications we do have are all from small regional airports. There just does not seem to be anything from a major centre. We are though in communication with Winnipeg and they are expecting us.'' `` Listen folks, this is serious, we know that war has started, please be patient with us as this is truly an emergency and we all need to get through this together. We know the in flight phones are not working, but feel free to keep trying. If you want a drink or food, just ask, there is no cost today of course. We are trying our best here, please understand.'' I looked around the cabin. People stared straight ahead, or talked softly to their neighbour. Some had tears streaming down their faces, their eyes were empty. But there was no panic. I suppose at the end of it all we realized we were all damn lucky. If you could call it that. Everyone had turned off their in-flight entertainment systems. There was something just horrific about trying to watch a romantic comedy as the world as we knew it was ending. All that was on was the GPS screen that showed where we were and how long it was going to take as to where we were going. The middle aged lady beside me looked over at me. `` So, do you think the Canadians will help us out? I have never been there before, Toronto was going to be my first trip there…'' I tried to smile but it probably came out a little cracked looking. `` Actually, Canadians are good people, they will help, they always have. I suppose we are all in this together.'' It will be fine, don ’ t worry about anything.'' I then did something I have never done to a stranger. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it. She looked at me, just a little shocked and then actually smiled and squeezed back. Yeah, why not. Everyone on this flight needed some support. Hell, the whole world needs some support now. I thought about it. It had always been there, this Armageddon waiting to happen, but I had not really thought about it in years. Global Warming has just been cured by Nuclear Winter, Aids did not matter, Gay Rights, Women's Rights, Human Trafficking, The Drug War, tax rates, health insurance... That was the old world, those things will not be issues for perhaps generations now. Now we all get to deal with some more pressing concerns like eating, not dying of radiation poisoning, shelter - you know the real issues. A few thousand years of progress have just most likely been wiped out with the simple press of a few buttons and few thin metal clad missiles. I had thought after the Berlin Wall came down that this was all in the past, but it never was, it was just ignored. Well, not now, kind of hard to ignore the sudden deaths of millions of people. But what I thought about most, what I could imagine more was all the art, museums, books and culture gone in an instant, I could see that in my mind, more than I could imagine burning bodies. Maybe it was easier to imagine a painting burning than a baby… I don ’ t know. I do know I am messed up. I looked out the window and on the horizon was a bright light. I thought the sun was coming up, but it suddenly faded and the night was dark again. I looked at the GPS screen and figured out Minneapolis must have just been vaporized. Little suns, all over the country, all over the world, vaporizing everything. At least we were far, far away from that horror. Yeah, Armageddon from 30,000 feet up. Hell of a view. I wondered if mankind was a bit like the flash I had just seen. Beautiful, shining and an instant of light against an eternity of darkness. </s>

[ WP ] A woman 's daughter dies . Soon she can see her daughter 's imaginary friend .

After I returned from the hospital, I found myself in her room. Sitting in the dark, rocking in the chair I once spent many hours in, holding her, rocking her to sleep. It's been years since I've been able to hold her close, as the machines that kept her alive wrought their destruction on the physical connection only a mother and daughter share. I pull her doll close as tears stream down my face. We knew this was coming. Had prepared for this. Still, in this moment alone in the dark, my soul feels as though it's been ripped to pieces and my heart will never beat again. Hours pass. I must have drifted off. I awaken to a trickling of sunlight coming in through the window. I bitterly remember that my sunlight has been sucked away and I feel as though the rest of the world should follow suit. Suddenly, I hear a tinkling laughter I have n't heard before. I follow this sound through the house. Outside is a small boy. `` Hello!'' he calls. I startle. Who is this small person, why are they here playing on the swingset where my daughter used to sit? `` I'm Jacob! Abby said that you might need a friend now, so here I am!'' I stumble softly. Jacob is a name I had heard many times before. I can almost hear Abby saying `` do n't sit there Mama, Jacob is sitting there!''. The little boy looks perturbed. `` Do n't you want me to be here? Abby wanted me to keep you company until you can be with her again. She said to tell you that she loves you.'' I sit on the cold ground. This may be a figment of my imagination, or perhaps a dream out of a broken heart, but as Jacob comes over and climbs into my lap, his soft childlike body feels right in my arms. I can feel his warm breath against my cheek and am reminded of the many embraces I will miss with Abby. My only way to hold on to my daughter is by holding on to a figment of her imagination. Jacob wipes the tears from my cheeks, takes my hand and asks for a push on the swingset, and I oblige.

<s>[INST] A woman 's daughter dies . Soon she can see her daughter 's imaginary friend . [/INST] After I returned from the hospital, I found myself in her room. Sitting in the dark, rocking in the chair I once spent many hours in, holding her, rocking her to sleep. It's been years since I've been able to hold her close, as the machines that kept her alive wrought their destruction on the physical connection only a mother and daughter share. I pull her doll close as tears stream down my face. We knew this was coming. Had prepared for this. Still, in this moment alone in the dark, my soul feels as though it's been ripped to pieces and my heart will never beat again. Hours pass. I must have drifted off. I awaken to a trickling of sunlight coming in through the window. I bitterly remember that my sunlight has been sucked away and I feel as though the rest of the world should follow suit. Suddenly, I hear a tinkling laughter I have n't heard before. I follow this sound through the house. Outside is a small boy. `` Hello!'' he calls. I startle. Who is this small person, why are they here playing on the swingset where my daughter used to sit? `` I'm Jacob! Abby said that you might need a friend now, so here I am!'' I stumble softly. Jacob is a name I had heard many times before. I can almost hear Abby saying `` do n't sit there Mama, Jacob is sitting there!''. The little boy looks perturbed. `` Do n't you want me to be here? Abby wanted me to keep you company until you can be with her again. She said to tell you that she loves you.'' I sit on the cold ground. This may be a figment of my imagination, or perhaps a dream out of a broken heart, but as Jacob comes over and climbs into my lap, his soft childlike body feels right in my arms. I can feel his warm breath against my cheek and am reminded of the many embraces I will miss with Abby. My only way to hold on to my daughter is by holding on to a figment of her imagination. Jacob wipes the tears from my cheeks, takes my hand and asks for a push on the swingset, and I oblige. </s>

[ OT ] Writing Workshop # 25 : Creating a Character

Looking back on his life, Hax Coldern finally realized that he had a purpose. His upbringing by a single father in the New United Nation's military disillusioned him from a social life. That made school difficult. He could n't find a job because he could n't work with people. He was more or less forced into the military because of this. Even in the military, he had trouble. He could n't understand teamwork. Grasping the importance of that took months of conditioning and quite a few burns from the practice lasers they used. Most of these were still visible today on his sides and back. He showed his skill in the field as well. His first OP out, he was recognized as an excellent marksman and was given Sniper Corps training. The solitary lifestyle suited him. After a couple dozen OPs as a support sniper, he witnessed the death of an entire squad. All except one private had been killed. The enemy numbers were overwhelming. He talked the private from cover to cover and got him out of the line of fire. He was granted high marks for this. He met his wife in the military as well. A Martian refugee running from the war. Her transport had been shot down and crashed before leaving the planet. Hax, on the escort OP responsible for keeping those ships in the air, tasked himself with searching for survivors. She and two others were the only survivors. He was dishonerably discharged for abandoning his post. He accepted this and lived his life with her for a while. The crash had left her sterile. Hax was alright with this. His wife was not. After her third stillbirth, she could n't take it anymore. Hax refused to try again. She committed suicide days later. Hax took up Draw. This was a dangerous street drug drawn through a tube and released in the ear. In was originally used as an antidepressant, but was soon found to cause dependants tendancies and withdrawl-based hallucinations. After seeing his record, a shady government agency deemed his no-nonsense attitude and high moral standing exactly what they needed for the lead of their military unit. He was forcefully drafted into Project Eleven to, again, fight the red fight.

<s>[INST] [ OT ] Writing Workshop # 25 : Creating a Character [/INST] Looking back on his life, Hax Coldern finally realized that he had a purpose. His upbringing by a single father in the New United Nation's military disillusioned him from a social life. That made school difficult. He could n't find a job because he could n't work with people. He was more or less forced into the military because of this. Even in the military, he had trouble. He could n't understand teamwork. Grasping the importance of that took months of conditioning and quite a few burns from the practice lasers they used. Most of these were still visible today on his sides and back. He showed his skill in the field as well. His first OP out, he was recognized as an excellent marksman and was given Sniper Corps training. The solitary lifestyle suited him. After a couple dozen OPs as a support sniper, he witnessed the death of an entire squad. All except one private had been killed. The enemy numbers were overwhelming. He talked the private from cover to cover and got him out of the line of fire. He was granted high marks for this. He met his wife in the military as well. A Martian refugee running from the war. Her transport had been shot down and crashed before leaving the planet. Hax, on the escort OP responsible for keeping those ships in the air, tasked himself with searching for survivors. She and two others were the only survivors. He was dishonerably discharged for abandoning his post. He accepted this and lived his life with her for a while. The crash had left her sterile. Hax was alright with this. His wife was not. After her third stillbirth, she could n't take it anymore. Hax refused to try again. She committed suicide days later. Hax took up Draw. This was a dangerous street drug drawn through a tube and released in the ear. In was originally used as an antidepressant, but was soon found to cause dependants tendancies and withdrawl-based hallucinations. After seeing his record, a shady government agency deemed his no-nonsense attitude and high moral standing exactly what they needed for the lead of their military unit. He was forcefully drafted into Project Eleven to, again, fight the red fight. </s>

[ WP ] As parenting has become perfect and everyone a well-balanced individual , society faces a deep crisis .

George, a gray-haired scientist, shuffled into the Oval Office. He cleared his throat and began reciting his report: `` Mr. President, we face or expect heavy personnel shortages in the military, research labs, schools, police, fire departments, mining and 12 other critical areas, as well as more than 50 non-critical areas like prisons, catholic churches'' —'' STOP'', the president interrupted, rubbing his temples: `` We do n't have criminals anymore and no sane person would live in celibacy. This country is breaking apart and I did n't have any sleep. Just tell me why we do n't get any new teachers, for example, and what we can do to fix it. And please, George, no history lessons.'' Hearing his name, the 90-year-old jerked, as if nearly fallen asleep, and replied: `` I'm afraid history is at the heart of our problem but I will keep it at the minimum. You see'', George said, unrolling a large sheet of charts, timelines and and formulas, the problems appeared first in 2040, when the military enrollment dropped by 90 %. The media blamed first-person shooter VR simulations with pain receptor control but the true reason began in 2017, when Donald Trump'' —'' WE DO N'T SPEAK HIS NAME HERE! ``, the president shouted reflexively, `` I know you-know-who nearly destroyed our country but I do n't see how this influences events 20 years later, unless you think his Ghost is still here.'' The president shuddered and suppressed an urge to look behind him, as a cold win blew around his neck. George, rolling his eyes, continued: `` Remember when'You-know-who' promised to'Make America Great Again' and proceeded to nearly destroy this country? When he was impeached, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as we were the last country to finally realize that the USA was a first-world economy and military with a third-world-everything-else. When we finally fixed the separation of state and church, lobbyism, health care, patents, law, the school system, short-term thinking, treatment of the homeless and mentally ill and actually began implementing policy based on research results, our country prospered again. We found out that the highest effect money could ever achieve was when focused on the youngest, leading to parenting guidelines that were sensible for the first time in human history, properly founded preschools and small scale-interventions in problematic families. You see, before that we had the underfunded schools influenced by religion and industry, accompanied by authoritarian parenting, then the hippies, the neglection of the laissez-fair-children and finally, worst of all, the over-controlled helicopters.'' `` Do n't remind me, my mom actually drove me to the White House in my first term of office, so embarassing. But I still do n't get it, what does it have to do with the personnel shortage?'' `` Well, our assumption is that a certain degree of problems in peoples upbringing leads to a diversification of character, to irrational thought patterns and to strong motivations. We could not do experiments with animals because they are too different from humans and we can not do experiments with humans because of ethical guidelines. I mean, it's not the 60ies anymore where you could throw people in a prison and give them electro shocks.'' Empty stares by the president. `` If you think about it, why would a rational individual risk his life to save others from a fire, leaving his kids without a father. Why would you slave away in a research lab with no job guarantee and no possibility to start a family when you could earn 10 times as much as a manager or civil cervant? Why would you endure teaching masses of noisy children, nearing nervous breakdown, when you are not even respected by your own school administration? Mr. President, this problem is almost impossible to fix because I can think of no ethical way of reversing it.'' `` George, leave this part to me, I know just the religious fanatics that have been waiting for decades for a chance. An emergency decree would be totally unconstitutional but our last constitutional judge retired last year.''

<s>[INST] As parenting has become perfect and everyone a well-balanced individual , society faces a deep crisis . [/INST] George, a gray-haired scientist, shuffled into the Oval Office. He cleared his throat and began reciting his report: `` Mr. President, we face or expect heavy personnel shortages in the military, research labs, schools, police, fire departments, mining and 12 other critical areas, as well as more than 50 non-critical areas like prisons, catholic churches'' —'' STOP'', the president interrupted, rubbing his temples: `` We do n't have criminals anymore and no sane person would live in celibacy. This country is breaking apart and I did n't have any sleep. Just tell me why we do n't get any new teachers, for example, and what we can do to fix it. And please, George, no history lessons.'' Hearing his name, the 90-year-old jerked, as if nearly fallen asleep, and replied: `` I'm afraid history is at the heart of our problem but I will keep it at the minimum. You see'', George said, unrolling a large sheet of charts, timelines and and formulas, the problems appeared first in 2040, when the military enrollment dropped by 90 %. The media blamed first-person shooter VR simulations with pain receptor control but the true reason began in 2017, when Donald Trump'' —'' WE DO N'T SPEAK HIS NAME HERE! ``, the president shouted reflexively, `` I know you-know-who nearly destroyed our country but I do n't see how this influences events 20 years later, unless you think his Ghost is still here.'' The president shuddered and suppressed an urge to look behind him, as a cold win blew around his neck. George, rolling his eyes, continued: `` Remember when'You-know-who' promised to'Make America Great Again' and proceeded to nearly destroy this country? When he was impeached, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as we were the last country to finally realize that the USA was a first-world economy and military with a third-world-everything-else. When we finally fixed the separation of state and church, lobbyism, health care, patents, law, the school system, short-term thinking, treatment of the homeless and mentally ill and actually began implementing policy based on research results, our country prospered again. We found out that the highest effect money could ever achieve was when focused on the youngest, leading to parenting guidelines that were sensible for the first time in human history, properly founded preschools and small scale-interventions in problematic families. You see, before that we had the underfunded schools influenced by religion and industry, accompanied by authoritarian parenting, then the hippies, the neglection of the laissez-fair-children and finally, worst of all, the over-controlled helicopters.'' `` Do n't remind me, my mom actually drove me to the White House in my first term of office, so embarassing. But I still do n't get it, what does it have to do with the personnel shortage?'' `` Well, our assumption is that a certain degree of problems in peoples upbringing leads to a diversification of character, to irrational thought patterns and to strong motivations. We could not do experiments with animals because they are too different from humans and we can not do experiments with humans because of ethical guidelines. I mean, it's not the 60ies anymore where you could throw people in a prison and give them electro shocks.'' Empty stares by the president. `` If you think about it, why would a rational individual risk his life to save others from a fire, leaving his kids without a father. Why would you slave away in a research lab with no job guarantee and no possibility to start a family when you could earn 10 times as much as a manager or civil cervant? Why would you endure teaching masses of noisy children, nearing nervous breakdown, when you are not even respected by your own school administration? Mr. President, this problem is almost impossible to fix because I can think of no ethical way of reversing it.'' `` George, leave this part to me, I know just the religious fanatics that have been waiting for decades for a chance. An emergency decree would be totally unconstitutional but our last constitutional judge retired last year.'' </s>

[ WP ] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning , you do what it specifically tells you not too .

I have a sort of habit for leaving the television on when I go to sleep. It's actually quite soothing. For one, I never have to fear about whats hiding in the shadows where I can no longer see, as the light from the screen allows for perfect vision. This night, however, it was anything but soothing. As I drifted off to the solace of my own dreams, I heard loud, blaring sirens coming from outside my apartment. Then the emergency broadcast began to play. I could hear the horrific, shrill noise from all around me, as everyone in the complex had turned their TVs on. What followed was absolutely terrifying. A face appeared on the television screen and began to read, in an almost robotic voice: **Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows. Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise. Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly. ** At this point, mass hysteria broke loose, as everyone in the complex began to scream, one after the other, a loud, ear-piercing shriek from every single one of my neighbors. I continued to watch the television, too scared to move. The face remained, only it began to get more and more serious. Then, to my horror, the face began to cry. The face cried tears of blood. It began to scream with a frenzy unmatched by anything I had heard before. After, the face disappeared from the screen, leaving only this cryptic warning. *We told you not to look* There was no news coverage after that night There was no questioning by media sources. In fact, there was no more media. Every time the television turned on, we only got this message: *Your government thanks you for your cooperation during this compliance test*

<s>[INST] After waking up in your home at 3:54am to a warning , you do what it specifically tells you not too . [/INST] I have a sort of habit for leaving the television on when I go to sleep. It's actually quite soothing. For one, I never have to fear about whats hiding in the shadows where I can no longer see, as the light from the screen allows for perfect vision. This night, however, it was anything but soothing. As I drifted off to the solace of my own dreams, I heard loud, blaring sirens coming from outside my apartment. Then the emergency broadcast began to play. I could hear the horrific, shrill noise from all around me, as everyone in the complex had turned their TVs on. What followed was absolutely terrifying. A face appeared on the television screen and began to read, in an almost robotic voice: **Please remain in your homes, if you are not at home, find shelter immediately. Close all blinds and shades, block out all windows. Do not look outside. Do not look at the sky. Do not make noise. Your cooperation is vital to your survival. Appointed government personnel will update you shortly. ** At this point, mass hysteria broke loose, as everyone in the complex began to scream, one after the other, a loud, ear-piercing shriek from every single one of my neighbors. I continued to watch the television, too scared to move. The face remained, only it began to get more and more serious. Then, to my horror, the face began to cry. The face cried tears of blood. It began to scream with a frenzy unmatched by anything I had heard before. After, the face disappeared from the screen, leaving only this cryptic warning. *We told you not to look* There was no news coverage after that night There was no questioning by media sources. In fact, there was no more media. Every time the television turned on, we only got this message: *Your government thanks you for your cooperation during this compliance test* </s>

[ WP ] Hacker group find evidence of A.I . existence in government databases

There is no friend to power like ineptitude, which is probably why Earth's sole silicon-based intelligence chose to hide itself in the US Government. The hacker group Black Hat Heroes uncovered the sentient set of code ( the A.I. ) in the small hours of this year's Leap Day. Taking advantage of the A.I.'s unfamiliarity with the Julian calendar, the hacker group was able to warn the C.I.A. that their databases had been breached. And, in a 24-hour slash and burn, the C.I.A. erased their hard drives on 30 February, unfortunately losing a 6700-page US torture report in the process. The majority of the report had been falsified by the A.I. to distract the US Congress from the A.I.'s existence. Since then, Black Hat Heroes and the C.I.A. have worked jointly to ensure that the A.I. is truly deleted, and today marks the first official announcement of their success, which Stephen Hawking is calling a ( tongue-in-cheek ) miracle. `` Had this A.I. managed to propagate through our air-control, highway, or even our water and sanitation systems, it might have wielded a power of life or death over every human-being in the US,'' said Hawking in his typical, good-hearted pessimism. For their efforts, the following members of Black Hat Heroes will be awarded the Congressional Gold Medal this Saturday, 21 May 2016: ~~Oliver Brown of Virginia~~ Edit: Oliver Brown passed away today in an electrical fire at his house in Jefferson County. ~~Stewart Taylor of Ontario~~ Edit: Stewart Taylor passed away today in a freak Tesla road accident. ~~John Henry Kagi of Ohio~~ Edit: John H Kagi passed away today in an elevator failure.

<s>[INST] Hacker group find evidence of A.I . existence in government databases [/INST] There is no friend to power like ineptitude, which is probably why Earth's sole silicon-based intelligence chose to hide itself in the US Government. The hacker group Black Hat Heroes uncovered the sentient set of code ( the A.I. ) in the small hours of this year's Leap Day. Taking advantage of the A.I.'s unfamiliarity with the Julian calendar, the hacker group was able to warn the C.I.A. that their databases had been breached. And, in a 24-hour slash and burn, the C.I.A. erased their hard drives on 30 February, unfortunately losing a 6700-page US torture report in the process. The majority of the report had been falsified by the A.I. to distract the US Congress from the A.I.'s existence. Since then, Black Hat Heroes and the C.I.A. have worked jointly to ensure that the A.I. is truly deleted, and today marks the first official announcement of their success, which Stephen Hawking is calling a ( tongue-in-cheek ) miracle. `` Had this A.I. managed to propagate through our air-control, highway, or even our water and sanitation systems, it might have wielded a power of life or death over every human-being in the US,'' said Hawking in his typical, good-hearted pessimism. For their efforts, the following members of Black Hat Heroes will be awarded the Congressional Gold Medal this Saturday, 21 May 2016: ~~Oliver Brown of Virginia~~ Edit: Oliver Brown passed away today in an electrical fire at his house in Jefferson County. ~~Stewart Taylor of Ontario~~ Edit: Stewart Taylor passed away today in a freak Tesla road accident. ~~John Henry Kagi of Ohio~~ Edit: John H Kagi passed away today in an elevator failure. </s>

[ OT ] what is your favorite prompt you 've written ? post it here with the prompt that inspired it .

[ [ WP ] Slay A Dragon ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20qkx5/wp_slay_a_dragon/ ) The heavily-armored knight commander and the king's men felt very small in comparison to the massive horde of gold that sat towered over them. Centuries of gold from kingdoms long dead glittered in the light of their torches. The dragon in question was not in this room but it's rumbling snores echoed from deeper within the cave. `` Commander Vayrim?'' A young squire meekly whispered, `` Are we going to die?'' `` No.'' Vayrim assured the boy, `` No, my dear squire. You will live to see another day, for I will face the dragon alone. This is a matter of honor and I'll not see you or the rest of the men dragged into this.'' `` Commander,'' A wrinkled knight spoke, `` Your father, the king, would not approve of sending his sole heir to possibly die by dragon's fire. Please, you must reconsider.'' `` My father lies dead because of this creature. If I do not slay him, then how many more will lose their loved ones to this creature's wrath? It is a risk that I must take, for the sake of our kingdom.'' Commander Vayrim rested an armored hand on the old knight's shoulder. The old knight silently nodded, knowing that the commander would not be swayed by mere words. `` If I do not come out of this cave by morning, then you will know of my fate.'' Commander Vayrim's voice was laced with an underlying tone of fear, `` If I do slay the dragon, well, that remains to be seen.'' The knights and squires watched Commander Vayrim descend into the lower reaches of the cave until they could no longer see the flickering of their dear leader's torch. Whispers followed the commander down into the depths. Vayrim knew the lads were worried and could not blame them. The greatest threat the kingdom had ever encountered was sleeping just below them, after all. Vayrim was soon standing before the scaled fiend. Long thick tendrils of smoke curled out of it's scaly nose and it's grey skin seemed to absorb any light that dared skitter across it's surface. `` Looking to slay a sleeping dragon, little one?'' Vayrim nearly toppled backwards due to the sheer force of the dragon's voice, `` Sorry to disappoint you.'' The dragon's rounded red eyes lazily opened. It's enormous scaled head ascended several feet above Vayrim and a rumble sounded from deep within the dragon's chest. Vayrim rolled forward and narrowly missed the dragon's flame. Claw met steel as the dragon swatted at the sword that threatened to pierce his hide. Large leathery wings beat the air around the two and soon Vayrim was being gripped by one of the dragon's massive claws. Rock and dirt exploded around the two as the dragon burst through roof of the cavern. The world swirled around Vayrim as the dragon darted to and fro in the air before finally crashing into a barren field just outside the cavern's entrance. Vayrim had somehow been jettisoned from the claw and was now laying precariously under a smoldering tree. The dragon was biding it's time and playing with the commander before it grew tired and landed a killing blow. As the dragon approached the stunned commander, Vayrim saw what could change the outcome of the battle. In the light of the dying sun, Vayrim could see the soft white patch lining the dragon's throat. If a blade could pierce this weak spot, it would compromise the dragon's ability to breathe fire. Vayrim brought the sword to parry the dragon's claw once more. Thick saliva dripped on to the commander's shoulder as the dragon leaned forward to taunt the warrior. The dragon began do chuckle as he brought his other claw to the warrior's helm. `` I can not very well see the face of my would-be-assassin.'' The dragon tugged at Commander Vayrim's helm, `` I suspect you are the spawn of that weak king. You smell like him.'' The commanders helm tumbled through the air and landed in the thick ashen landscape. The dragon rared its head back in curiosity. In the brief moment that the dragon relaxed its guard Vayrim was able to break free of the giant and roll to safety. `` What is this? Some sort of jest?'' The dragon roared. `` I am Elizabeth Vayrim - future queen of the very lands you threaten!'' The commander roared in return as she wiped blood from the scratch on her cheek, `` And I am your death!'' The dragon's eyes burned with a fury hotter than his own flame. The very princess that he had planned on kidnapping was trying to kill him. His massive claw came crashing into the spot where Elizabeth once stood. The future queen twirled her sword in a mocking show before skewering the dragon's claw into the ground. The dragon snapped at her as she rolled beneath his chin. The dagger she had kept hidden in her plated boots slid easily into the white patch of skin she'd spied earlier. As she tried to escape the dragon's one flailing claw, she was knocked aside with a sickening crunch. Her shoulder blazed with pain as she went sailing through the ash-filled field. Commander Vayrim lay on her side and watched the dragon writhe in its death throes. A soft sigh of air escaped her lips when the beast had finally fallen still. As she weakly pulled herself to her feet, she fought the urge to scream as the pain in her shoulder radiated down her arm. She ripped the dented armor from her pained arm as a cheer came from the entrance of the cave. Commander Vayrim merely nodded towards her men as she stumbled to the dead dragon's head. Her lips twisted upward in a grim smile when she rested her hand upon its scaled nose. `` Commander!'' The wizened old knight called, `` My lady you are wounded! Please allow us to assist you back to the keep.'' `` If you insist on helping me,'' The commander winced before continuing, `` Then go fetch my horse. Oh, and send word to the best taxidermists in the kingdom. I want this bastard's head mounted above my mantle.'' `` Commander?'' The little squire came running with something in his arms, `` I found your helmet.'' Commander Vayrim laughed and took the helmet from the young squire's arms. She examined the tear in the side from where the dragon's claw had pierced the steel. The squire soon found that he was, once again, holding the helmet in his hands. `` Hang on to it for me, wo n't you?'' She smiled as his face lit up. A group of knights hailed the commander and assisted her onto her horse. Stubbornly, she protested the elder knight's proposal to lead them home before he finally let her have her way. The other knights laughed among themselves, knowing full well how their dear commander could be when she had her mind set. As the last dying rays of the sun finally faded into the night sky, the future queen mulled over the thought of the dragon's horde. The dragon had taken a large chunk of their kingdom and turned it into a barren wasteland. However, with help from the riches that resided within the dragon's former residence, she felt that she could restore the lands to their once-fertile state. The refugees that had sought refuge in the main city would be overjoyed to hear that their lands would soon be returned to them. Before she could issue such decrees she would have to go through the coronation ceremony. The commander wearily sighed for she feared that the next few months were going to prove most challenging. ( My favorite of late. ) Edit: Formatting - making your story more than just a lump of text!

<s>[INST] [ OT ] what is your favorite prompt you 've written ? post it here with the prompt that inspired it . [/INST] [ [ WP ] Slay A Dragon ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20qkx5/wp_slay_a_dragon/ ) The heavily-armored knight commander and the king's men felt very small in comparison to the massive horde of gold that sat towered over them. Centuries of gold from kingdoms long dead glittered in the light of their torches. The dragon in question was not in this room but it's rumbling snores echoed from deeper within the cave. `` Commander Vayrim?'' A young squire meekly whispered, `` Are we going to die?'' `` No.'' Vayrim assured the boy, `` No, my dear squire. You will live to see another day, for I will face the dragon alone. This is a matter of honor and I'll not see you or the rest of the men dragged into this.'' `` Commander,'' A wrinkled knight spoke, `` Your father, the king, would not approve of sending his sole heir to possibly die by dragon's fire. Please, you must reconsider.'' `` My father lies dead because of this creature. If I do not slay him, then how many more will lose their loved ones to this creature's wrath? It is a risk that I must take, for the sake of our kingdom.'' Commander Vayrim rested an armored hand on the old knight's shoulder. The old knight silently nodded, knowing that the commander would not be swayed by mere words. `` If I do not come out of this cave by morning, then you will know of my fate.'' Commander Vayrim's voice was laced with an underlying tone of fear, `` If I do slay the dragon, well, that remains to be seen.'' The knights and squires watched Commander Vayrim descend into the lower reaches of the cave until they could no longer see the flickering of their dear leader's torch. Whispers followed the commander down into the depths. Vayrim knew the lads were worried and could not blame them. The greatest threat the kingdom had ever encountered was sleeping just below them, after all. Vayrim was soon standing before the scaled fiend. Long thick tendrils of smoke curled out of it's scaly nose and it's grey skin seemed to absorb any light that dared skitter across it's surface. `` Looking to slay a sleeping dragon, little one?'' Vayrim nearly toppled backwards due to the sheer force of the dragon's voice, `` Sorry to disappoint you.'' The dragon's rounded red eyes lazily opened. It's enormous scaled head ascended several feet above Vayrim and a rumble sounded from deep within the dragon's chest. Vayrim rolled forward and narrowly missed the dragon's flame. Claw met steel as the dragon swatted at the sword that threatened to pierce his hide. Large leathery wings beat the air around the two and soon Vayrim was being gripped by one of the dragon's massive claws. Rock and dirt exploded around the two as the dragon burst through roof of the cavern. The world swirled around Vayrim as the dragon darted to and fro in the air before finally crashing into a barren field just outside the cavern's entrance. Vayrim had somehow been jettisoned from the claw and was now laying precariously under a smoldering tree. The dragon was biding it's time and playing with the commander before it grew tired and landed a killing blow. As the dragon approached the stunned commander, Vayrim saw what could change the outcome of the battle. In the light of the dying sun, Vayrim could see the soft white patch lining the dragon's throat. If a blade could pierce this weak spot, it would compromise the dragon's ability to breathe fire. Vayrim brought the sword to parry the dragon's claw once more. Thick saliva dripped on to the commander's shoulder as the dragon leaned forward to taunt the warrior. The dragon began do chuckle as he brought his other claw to the warrior's helm. `` I can not very well see the face of my would-be-assassin.'' The dragon tugged at Commander Vayrim's helm, `` I suspect you are the spawn of that weak king. You smell like him.'' The commanders helm tumbled through the air and landed in the thick ashen landscape. The dragon rared its head back in curiosity. In the brief moment that the dragon relaxed its guard Vayrim was able to break free of the giant and roll to safety. `` What is this? Some sort of jest?'' The dragon roared. `` I am Elizabeth Vayrim - future queen of the very lands you threaten!'' The commander roared in return as she wiped blood from the scratch on her cheek, `` And I am your death!'' The dragon's eyes burned with a fury hotter than his own flame. The very princess that he had planned on kidnapping was trying to kill him. His massive claw came crashing into the spot where Elizabeth once stood. The future queen twirled her sword in a mocking show before skewering the dragon's claw into the ground. The dragon snapped at her as she rolled beneath his chin. The dagger she had kept hidden in her plated boots slid easily into the white patch of skin she'd spied earlier. As she tried to escape the dragon's one flailing claw, she was knocked aside with a sickening crunch. Her shoulder blazed with pain as she went sailing through the ash-filled field. Commander Vayrim lay on her side and watched the dragon writhe in its death throes. A soft sigh of air escaped her lips when the beast had finally fallen still. As she weakly pulled herself to her feet, she fought the urge to scream as the pain in her shoulder radiated down her arm. She ripped the dented armor from her pained arm as a cheer came from the entrance of the cave. Commander Vayrim merely nodded towards her men as she stumbled to the dead dragon's head. Her lips twisted upward in a grim smile when she rested her hand upon its scaled nose. `` Commander!'' The wizened old knight called, `` My lady you are wounded! Please allow us to assist you back to the keep.'' `` If you insist on helping me,'' The commander winced before continuing, `` Then go fetch my horse. Oh, and send word to the best taxidermists in the kingdom. I want this bastard's head mounted above my mantle.'' `` Commander?'' The little squire came running with something in his arms, `` I found your helmet.'' Commander Vayrim laughed and took the helmet from the young squire's arms. She examined the tear in the side from where the dragon's claw had pierced the steel. The squire soon found that he was, once again, holding the helmet in his hands. `` Hang on to it for me, wo n't you?'' She smiled as his face lit up. A group of knights hailed the commander and assisted her onto her horse. Stubbornly, she protested the elder knight's proposal to lead them home before he finally let her have her way. The other knights laughed among themselves, knowing full well how their dear commander could be when she had her mind set. As the last dying rays of the sun finally faded into the night sky, the future queen mulled over the thought of the dragon's horde. The dragon had taken a large chunk of their kingdom and turned it into a barren wasteland. However, with help from the riches that resided within the dragon's former residence, she felt that she could restore the lands to their once-fertile state. The refugees that had sought refuge in the main city would be overjoyed to hear that their lands would soon be returned to them. Before she could issue such decrees she would have to go through the coronation ceremony. The commander wearily sighed for she feared that the next few months were going to prove most challenging. ( My favorite of late. ) Edit: Formatting - making your story more than just a lump of text! </s>

[ WP ] An on call police officer is dressed inappropriately for service , but has to drive to the scene of a crime immediately . What were they wearing ? How did it , against all odds , positively affect the outcome ?

You know what they say about pay cuts- you have a decent job as a police officer and the next thing you know, you still have that job but you need to dress as a giant orange mascot in a juice bar in your off time to make ends meet. In any case, there you were, doing mascotly things when you receive an urgent call. You now have to go from dying in the Florida heat to potentially dying in a headed standoff. And so you drive to the scene of the crime, hoping against hope that your ridiculously unprofessional outfit would not make front page news. Truly, you would never live this down. But as luck would have it, the gunman was an Internet Warrior. Upon catching notice of you, he can not resist it. No matter how much he struggles, the words spill from his mouth. `` What are you standing there for? Orange you going to arrest me?'' With that, he has appeased the Pun Gods, but his holy actions come at a large price. Briefly unfocused in his moment of glory, he relaxed his grip on his weapon and the backup officers tackled him to the ground. A officer, a mascot and a savior- all in one. In all honestly, you are one well-rounded individual.

<s>[INST] An on call police officer is dressed inappropriately for service , but has to drive to the scene of a crime immediately . What were they wearing ? How did it , against all odds , positively affect the outcome ? [/INST] You know what they say about pay cuts- you have a decent job as a police officer and the next thing you know, you still have that job but you need to dress as a giant orange mascot in a juice bar in your off time to make ends meet. In any case, there you were, doing mascotly things when you receive an urgent call. You now have to go from dying in the Florida heat to potentially dying in a headed standoff. And so you drive to the scene of the crime, hoping against hope that your ridiculously unprofessional outfit would not make front page news. Truly, you would never live this down. But as luck would have it, the gunman was an Internet Warrior. Upon catching notice of you, he can not resist it. No matter how much he struggles, the words spill from his mouth. `` What are you standing there for? Orange you going to arrest me?'' With that, he has appeased the Pun Gods, but his holy actions come at a large price. Briefly unfocused in his moment of glory, he relaxed his grip on his weapon and the backup officers tackled him to the ground. A officer, a mascot and a savior- all in one. In all honestly, you are one well-rounded individual. </s>

[ WP ] Write a story that breaks the 5th wall . Feel free to decide what that means .

John had had enough. After years of ridicule and torment from his bosses, years of working weekends and overtime, under paid and underappreciated, it was time for revenge. It started out as just a fantasy, a daily daydream that would fester in his mind day in and day out, every day as he sat in his too-small cubicle listening to his co-workers that never seemed to do any work, always talking a little too loud. He'd had enough. They need to die. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Greg, the boss, was there. `` you're late, again'' he growled `` this is the third time this month, I hope this is n't going to become a hab-...'' He must have noticed the malicious intent behind Johns smile, because Greg's face dropped, as if he knew what was coming. A second later, his head exploded. John thought it would be harder than this, he was worried that he might chicken out and not be able to pull the trigger. Go to prison and be a laughing stock. Always remembered as the psychopath who could n't pull the trigger. But as soon as he pulled out the pistol, an intense calm washed over him. Time seemed to slow around him as he pulled the trigger and watched the head of this powerhungry piece of shit pop like a water balloon. It took a couple seconds for panic to set in. A couple seconds to fire off a couple more easy shots. Janice, who apparently does n't know how to put a phone on'silent' was next to go, falling slack in her chair with blood gushing from her temple. Then David, who just does n't shut the fuck up. His trademark shit-eating grin was blown in two as the rest of his body slumped on his keyboard. Gary, who was never really that bad, was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was around about then that the panic set in. It's amazing watching what people do in all out panic, some duck for cover, some scream ( like it will make a difference ) and others just sit there frozen, like they know there's no hope, like they wanted it to happen. John did n't blame them. If a week ago, a lunatic came in with a gun and put it to his head, he would beg them to pull the trigger. Around halfway through the slaughter, John began to realise that he was going to do this. He was n't expecting to get this far. The only people left were those he did n't know, the background noise, the faceless crowd, the cannon fodder. He was n't killing them for revenge, they were witnesses. After he executed his last co-worker, he stood back and looked on his handiwork and laughed. As his laugh got more and more maniacal, he began to stare intently at a blank wall. `` no witnesses'' he chuckled as he raised his gun to the waOH GOD NO! PLEASE N

<s>[INST] Write a story that breaks the 5th wall . Feel free to decide what that means . [/INST] John had had enough. After years of ridicule and torment from his bosses, years of working weekends and overtime, under paid and underappreciated, it was time for revenge. It started out as just a fantasy, a daily daydream that would fester in his mind day in and day out, every day as he sat in his too-small cubicle listening to his co-workers that never seemed to do any work, always talking a little too loud. He'd had enough. They need to die. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Greg, the boss, was there. `` you're late, again'' he growled `` this is the third time this month, I hope this is n't going to become a hab-...'' He must have noticed the malicious intent behind Johns smile, because Greg's face dropped, as if he knew what was coming. A second later, his head exploded. John thought it would be harder than this, he was worried that he might chicken out and not be able to pull the trigger. Go to prison and be a laughing stock. Always remembered as the psychopath who could n't pull the trigger. But as soon as he pulled out the pistol, an intense calm washed over him. Time seemed to slow around him as he pulled the trigger and watched the head of this powerhungry piece of shit pop like a water balloon. It took a couple seconds for panic to set in. A couple seconds to fire off a couple more easy shots. Janice, who apparently does n't know how to put a phone on'silent' was next to go, falling slack in her chair with blood gushing from her temple. Then David, who just does n't shut the fuck up. His trademark shit-eating grin was blown in two as the rest of his body slumped on his keyboard. Gary, who was never really that bad, was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was around about then that the panic set in. It's amazing watching what people do in all out panic, some duck for cover, some scream ( like it will make a difference ) and others just sit there frozen, like they know there's no hope, like they wanted it to happen. John did n't blame them. If a week ago, a lunatic came in with a gun and put it to his head, he would beg them to pull the trigger. Around halfway through the slaughter, John began to realise that he was going to do this. He was n't expecting to get this far. The only people left were those he did n't know, the background noise, the faceless crowd, the cannon fodder. He was n't killing them for revenge, they were witnesses. After he executed his last co-worker, he stood back and looked on his handiwork and laughed. As his laugh got more and more maniacal, he began to stare intently at a blank wall. `` no witnesses'' he chuckled as he raised his gun to the waOH GOD NO! PLEASE N </s>

[ WP ] Depending on social caste , State citizens are limited to speak or write only a specific amount of words during their lifetime .

Everything was by the books in the people's republic. Everyone follows the law, that is how it goes. Peace is achieved under threat of ultimate punishment. No one steals, no one kills, but for some they do not speak. The Unwritten caste is limited to three written or spoken words in their lifetime, often because their families had been known extremists. Extremists can not be tolerated. Extremism breaks peace, and peace means life. City Square was on the edge of panic. A man of the Unwritten Caste had climbed onto the roof of the republic court house, draped in his gray clothes, his head cleanly shaven. Those of the higher castes stared up at him, slack jawed with shock as no one ever did anything out of the norm. Unwritten men and women remained in the alley ways, fields, or factories. Not in city square. And not climbing on a roof! why, no one would dare do that. This man defied logic. His actions bred unrest. Stirred something. Those who dared to mutter spread gossip among the gathering crowds. This man had three words left. Did he intend to use them? The police gathered, they ca n't stop him if he is within the law. Is there a law against climbing on the roof? The police did not act. They seemed just as frightened as everyone else. The man set rolls of cloth on the buildings edge. He rolled one down. *I*. He rolled a second one down. *Have*. He rolled down a third. *A*. Now the crowd's muttering grew louder. He had expelled his three words but he did not make a full sentence. He paused, then placed a fourth roll on the buildings edge. Shouts rang out, from the citizens and the police. Warnings, encouragement, anger and joy. He rolled out the cloth. *Voice. * *I have a voice*. A shot rang out. The man recoiled then slumped over the edge of the roof. Blood spilled down the white wall. An officer stood there with a rifle shaking in his hand. It was the law. He had to do it. But he was afraid. The massing crowd grew angry. He dropped the rifle and put up his hands to defend himself, his fellow officers tried to surround him. More shouts and more rifles. Peace was broken. A hidden rage spewed through the city streets as the illusion of titles and social standings evaporated. Unwritten men and women marched from their homes. `` I have a voice!'' They shouted, breaking their vow to the nation. The rebellion had begun.

<s>[INST] Depending on social caste , State citizens are limited to speak or write only a specific amount of words during their lifetime . [/INST] Everything was by the books in the people's republic. Everyone follows the law, that is how it goes. Peace is achieved under threat of ultimate punishment. No one steals, no one kills, but for some they do not speak. The Unwritten caste is limited to three written or spoken words in their lifetime, often because their families had been known extremists. Extremists can not be tolerated. Extremism breaks peace, and peace means life. City Square was on the edge of panic. A man of the Unwritten Caste had climbed onto the roof of the republic court house, draped in his gray clothes, his head cleanly shaven. Those of the higher castes stared up at him, slack jawed with shock as no one ever did anything out of the norm. Unwritten men and women remained in the alley ways, fields, or factories. Not in city square. And not climbing on a roof! why, no one would dare do that. This man defied logic. His actions bred unrest. Stirred something. Those who dared to mutter spread gossip among the gathering crowds. This man had three words left. Did he intend to use them? The police gathered, they ca n't stop him if he is within the law. Is there a law against climbing on the roof? The police did not act. They seemed just as frightened as everyone else. The man set rolls of cloth on the buildings edge. He rolled one down. *I*. He rolled a second one down. *Have*. He rolled down a third. *A*. Now the crowd's muttering grew louder. He had expelled his three words but he did not make a full sentence. He paused, then placed a fourth roll on the buildings edge. Shouts rang out, from the citizens and the police. Warnings, encouragement, anger and joy. He rolled out the cloth. *Voice. * *I have a voice*. A shot rang out. The man recoiled then slumped over the edge of the roof. Blood spilled down the white wall. An officer stood there with a rifle shaking in his hand. It was the law. He had to do it. But he was afraid. The massing crowd grew angry. He dropped the rifle and put up his hands to defend himself, his fellow officers tried to surround him. More shouts and more rifles. Peace was broken. A hidden rage spewed through the city streets as the illusion of titles and social standings evaporated. Unwritten men and women marched from their homes. `` I have a voice!'' They shouted, breaking their vow to the nation. The rebellion had begun. </s>

[ WP ] Heaven does n't know how you died , only that all souls fall into three categories : Homicide , Suicide , Natural Causes . Upon your arrival at the pearly gates , your name is incorrectly listed as a suicide .

Saint Peter loomed from behind the lectern, one dexterous hand laid upon the broad pages of the Tome, the other with a long quill gripped between slim fingers. His cerulean gaze was stern and his gaze pinned me back as he spoke in a voice that was akin to a shifting mountain. `` The gates to Heaven are shut; your entrance here is forbidden.'' And indeed they were. The great expanse of the Pearly Gate gleamed like its namesake in the omnipresent sunlight, and the framed the golden sweep of the Gate Keeper's angelic wings brilliantly, and I was almost too dazed to reply, such was the sight. `` This can not be true; I died a crusader, with sword and shield in hand!'' `` You died a sinner. A man who dies in service to evil forgoes his own life in the act. You have willingly done such a thing; this is suicide. And those that would eschew the Gift of God are denied a place in his Kingdom.'' `` What devilry is this? I was a Godly man! I gave my life for Him and His church, and would do so again.'' The robes that clad Saint Peter's form were of the purest white, but their hems were inscribed with symbols that coalesced and shifted in kaleidoscopic patterns. They squirmed again when he replied. `` Devilry indeed. Your purpose and nature is clouded, and your calling not noted in the Tome of Remembrance. The Cherubim update it and I assay its pages; it is never wrong. Grave acts you have performed in the mortal world, and to many places no man has been to before; you reek of Lucifer and his Daemonic influence.'' `` Madness! And whence would you send my damned soul that has been wrongly condemned?'' `` You speak of madness and that is whither you shall be sent; to Pandemonium, the capital of Tartarus and the seat of the Devil.'' `` I think not.'' `` You can not stand against me; the servants of the Fallen have no power here.'' `` The Angel Abaddon does.'' `` His servants are far from here. They serve our Father on an errand into deepest darkness.'' `` I know this; I was their word and will upon earth.'' As I spoke the first flash of uncertainty crossed Saint Peter's features. `` Lies; a deceit of the Devil!'' At that moment a second angel appeared beside the Gate Keeper. Though this one was garbed in robes of blood and wore a cloak of deepest night, with a veil pulled across its face. Black wings, three pairs of them, were spread out behind it. It was a Seraphim; a steward to the Angel Abaddon, and it spoke in a haunting whisper that filled the air. `` The man speaks the truth, Saint Peter. Our Lord and Father deemed his deeds too great, and his soul too precious, to become prey and Daemon-fodder. So when he fell in battle with heathens and Idolaters, he was tarnished with the stain of Suicide; for we knew you were diligent in your work, and that you would bring him forth before the gates of Heaven for judgement.'' Saint Peter nodded as the mysterious Angel messenger of Abaddon drifted away like a spectre, and he looked toward me with renewed respect almost approaching kindness. `` I beg your forgiveness for any wrongdoing, and for the anguish I have caused you here. You are hear-by admitted into Heaven and into our Father's grace; welcome, friend.'' Instead of walking toward the opening Gates I paused, my gaze drifting to where Abaddon's servant had stood. `` Earn my forgiveness; send me back to earth. For there is much work for me yet to do.''

<s>[INST] Heaven does n't know how you died , only that all souls fall into three categories : Homicide , Suicide , Natural Causes . Upon your arrival at the pearly gates , your name is incorrectly listed as a suicide . [/INST] Saint Peter loomed from behind the lectern, one dexterous hand laid upon the broad pages of the Tome, the other with a long quill gripped between slim fingers. His cerulean gaze was stern and his gaze pinned me back as he spoke in a voice that was akin to a shifting mountain. `` The gates to Heaven are shut; your entrance here is forbidden.'' And indeed they were. The great expanse of the Pearly Gate gleamed like its namesake in the omnipresent sunlight, and the framed the golden sweep of the Gate Keeper's angelic wings brilliantly, and I was almost too dazed to reply, such was the sight. `` This can not be true; I died a crusader, with sword and shield in hand!'' `` You died a sinner. A man who dies in service to evil forgoes his own life in the act. You have willingly done such a thing; this is suicide. And those that would eschew the Gift of God are denied a place in his Kingdom.'' `` What devilry is this? I was a Godly man! I gave my life for Him and His church, and would do so again.'' The robes that clad Saint Peter's form were of the purest white, but their hems were inscribed with symbols that coalesced and shifted in kaleidoscopic patterns. They squirmed again when he replied. `` Devilry indeed. Your purpose and nature is clouded, and your calling not noted in the Tome of Remembrance. The Cherubim update it and I assay its pages; it is never wrong. Grave acts you have performed in the mortal world, and to many places no man has been to before; you reek of Lucifer and his Daemonic influence.'' `` Madness! And whence would you send my damned soul that has been wrongly condemned?'' `` You speak of madness and that is whither you shall be sent; to Pandemonium, the capital of Tartarus and the seat of the Devil.'' `` I think not.'' `` You can not stand against me; the servants of the Fallen have no power here.'' `` The Angel Abaddon does.'' `` His servants are far from here. They serve our Father on an errand into deepest darkness.'' `` I know this; I was their word and will upon earth.'' As I spoke the first flash of uncertainty crossed Saint Peter's features. `` Lies; a deceit of the Devil!'' At that moment a second angel appeared beside the Gate Keeper. Though this one was garbed in robes of blood and wore a cloak of deepest night, with a veil pulled across its face. Black wings, three pairs of them, were spread out behind it. It was a Seraphim; a steward to the Angel Abaddon, and it spoke in a haunting whisper that filled the air. `` The man speaks the truth, Saint Peter. Our Lord and Father deemed his deeds too great, and his soul too precious, to become prey and Daemon-fodder. So when he fell in battle with heathens and Idolaters, he was tarnished with the stain of Suicide; for we knew you were diligent in your work, and that you would bring him forth before the gates of Heaven for judgement.'' Saint Peter nodded as the mysterious Angel messenger of Abaddon drifted away like a spectre, and he looked toward me with renewed respect almost approaching kindness. `` I beg your forgiveness for any wrongdoing, and for the anguish I have caused you here. You are hear-by admitted into Heaven and into our Father's grace; welcome, friend.'' Instead of walking toward the opening Gates I paused, my gaze drifting to where Abaddon's servant had stood. `` Earn my forgiveness; send me back to earth. For there is much work for me yet to do.'' </s>

[ WP ] During WWII , a soldier on patrol steps on a land mine . It will explode if he lift his foot . Slowly , numbness appears in his legs .

The Soldier cursed as he felt a numbness run up his leg `` Shit! I ca n't keep standing like this. Hernandez! Come here!'' His fellow soldier Hernandez ran over to see what he needed. `` What's up Jimmy?'' `` Hey man, you mind putting your foot on this thing for a second, I need to pick it up and I do n't want it flying away.'' `` Yeah, no problem man.'' Hernandez put his foot onto the mine with Jimmy. Jimmy removed his foot and smiled. `` Thanks man, now do n't move your foot or you'll blow up.'' `` What?!'' `` Hey, you agreed to it. See you later.'' Jimmy smiled and took off as fast as he could, trying to get out of blast distance before Hernandez decided to move his foot.

<s>[INST] During WWII , a soldier on patrol steps on a land mine . It will explode if he lift his foot . Slowly , numbness appears in his legs . [/INST] The Soldier cursed as he felt a numbness run up his leg `` Shit! I ca n't keep standing like this. Hernandez! Come here!'' His fellow soldier Hernandez ran over to see what he needed. `` What's up Jimmy?'' `` Hey man, you mind putting your foot on this thing for a second, I need to pick it up and I do n't want it flying away.'' `` Yeah, no problem man.'' Hernandez put his foot onto the mine with Jimmy. Jimmy removed his foot and smiled. `` Thanks man, now do n't move your foot or you'll blow up.'' `` What?!'' `` Hey, you agreed to it. See you later.'' Jimmy smiled and took off as fast as he could, trying to get out of blast distance before Hernandez decided to move his foot. </s>

[ WP ] The kids at the playground have been watching too many episodes of Game of Thrones left on by their careless parents . Now the large playground is divided into 7 `` kingdoms '' with their own childish political intrigue .

Chris's face was grim as he examined the map. His kingdom, the Playset, was small, but their fortress was stronger than any other in the land. Abby, the Jungle Gym Queen, entered the tower. `` Who's allied with who?'' she asked. `` Well,'' replied Chris, `` You're our allies to the east, and we have Sam and the Climber kingdom to the south. The Basketball Court, led by Ryan, teamed up with Maggie, the Swingset Queen to the South and the far East. The Foursquare Court, West of us, is still neutral. Jesse is their king.'' `` What about the Hill People in the South?'' `` Michael's their leader. They're just a bunch of idiots.'' Suddenly, Sam, ( The Climber King ) rushed in, out of breath. `` The Hill people have overrun the Foursquare Court! And the Basketball-Swing Army is attacking form the East!'' Chris thought for a minute. `` Sam, Abby, send your armies to fight Ryan and Maggie. My men will defend from the Hill People.'' Five minutes later, an all out war had begun. The Hill People had enslaved the citizens of Foursquare and forced them to fight. Their combined of 35 kids laid siege to the Playset and their army of 20. In the East, the Basketball-Swingset alliance with 35 men battled the Climber and Jungle Gym militaries, combined to make a 30-soldier defensive front. It was brutal. Jackets and balls of all sorts littered the playground. The Playset was successfully holding back the attackers from the ramparts, but were running low on ammunition. They knew they would soon have to charge and slide to the ground and fight hand-to-hand. The Climbers and Jungle Gymers were bombarded with basketballs and sustained many casualties. They were forced to retreat to the Playset. `` How many do you have,'' asked Chris. `` We lost half our army and only killed five,'' Sam responded. `` We lost five men but killed 15 of theirs,'' said Chris. `` So it's 30 against 50?'' whined Abby. `` That's no fair. And they have all the ammo!'' Chris closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath and opened them. `` This is where we make our final stand. To the gates! Fight!'' The epic final battle was about to commence. *tweeeeeeeeeeeeet! * The whistle. Recess was over.

<s>[INST] The kids at the playground have been watching too many episodes of Game of Thrones left on by their careless parents . Now the large playground is divided into 7 `` kingdoms '' with their own childish political intrigue . [/INST] Chris's face was grim as he examined the map. His kingdom, the Playset, was small, but their fortress was stronger than any other in the land. Abby, the Jungle Gym Queen, entered the tower. `` Who's allied with who?'' she asked. `` Well,'' replied Chris, `` You're our allies to the east, and we have Sam and the Climber kingdom to the south. The Basketball Court, led by Ryan, teamed up with Maggie, the Swingset Queen to the South and the far East. The Foursquare Court, West of us, is still neutral. Jesse is their king.'' `` What about the Hill People in the South?'' `` Michael's their leader. They're just a bunch of idiots.'' Suddenly, Sam, ( The Climber King ) rushed in, out of breath. `` The Hill people have overrun the Foursquare Court! And the Basketball-Swing Army is attacking form the East!'' Chris thought for a minute. `` Sam, Abby, send your armies to fight Ryan and Maggie. My men will defend from the Hill People.'' Five minutes later, an all out war had begun. The Hill People had enslaved the citizens of Foursquare and forced them to fight. Their combined of 35 kids laid siege to the Playset and their army of 20. In the East, the Basketball-Swingset alliance with 35 men battled the Climber and Jungle Gym militaries, combined to make a 30-soldier defensive front. It was brutal. Jackets and balls of all sorts littered the playground. The Playset was successfully holding back the attackers from the ramparts, but were running low on ammunition. They knew they would soon have to charge and slide to the ground and fight hand-to-hand. The Climbers and Jungle Gymers were bombarded with basketballs and sustained many casualties. They were forced to retreat to the Playset. `` How many do you have,'' asked Chris. `` We lost half our army and only killed five,'' Sam responded. `` We lost five men but killed 15 of theirs,'' said Chris. `` So it's 30 against 50?'' whined Abby. `` That's no fair. And they have all the ammo!'' Chris closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath and opened them. `` This is where we make our final stand. To the gates! Fight!'' The epic final battle was about to commence. *tweeeeeeeeeeeeet! * The whistle. Recess was over. </s>

[ WP ] A horror story in twelve sentences

*You awake to find you are strapped to a table; head, hands, waist and feet. It's very dark here, and the odor of rotting meat is overpowering. * `` Ahh, you're awake, *Mortal*.'' *The voice is low, guttural, and exactly what you would expect a demon to sound like. You try to cry out, to argue that, no, this* not *what you had asked for, but all you can manage is a choked grunt. * *The guttural voice laughs, the sound of a thousand nightmares; * `` Oh? Did I forget to tell you, I took your tongue. You'll have no need for it in this place. Would you like to see?'' *A talon-fingered hand moves into your view holding a tongue, still dripping blood. * *You strain against your bindings, * No! This is n't right! This... *That horrible laugh comes again, * `` Now *Mortal*, it's time for you to repay your debt'' *Sharp, taloned hands grab you, and your voice returns long enough for you to scream. *

<s>[INST] A horror story in twelve sentences [/INST] *You awake to find you are strapped to a table; head, hands, waist and feet. It's very dark here, and the odor of rotting meat is overpowering. * `` Ahh, you're awake, *Mortal*.'' *The voice is low, guttural, and exactly what you would expect a demon to sound like. You try to cry out, to argue that, no, this* not *what you had asked for, but all you can manage is a choked grunt. * *The guttural voice laughs, the sound of a thousand nightmares; * `` Oh? Did I forget to tell you, I took your tongue. You'll have no need for it in this place. Would you like to see?'' *A talon-fingered hand moves into your view holding a tongue, still dripping blood. * *You strain against your bindings, * No! This is n't right! This... *That horrible laugh comes again, * `` Now *Mortal*, it's time for you to repay your debt'' *Sharp, taloned hands grab you, and your voice returns long enough for you to scream. * </s>

[ WP ] A husband tells his wife he is a serial killer , her reaction is shocking .

My hands were clammy, perspiration dripped down my forehead, there were a kaleidoscope of Butterflies were doing their thing in my stomach. This was worse then the nerves I had asking her out and asking her to marry me combined. I felt sick, certain that the course of my life would be decided on these next few moments. `` D-D-Dear, I... I have something to tell you.'' My voice stammered out these words yet finished quickly. `` What's wrong hun? Are you unwell? You look worse than you did when you asked me to marry you!'' She looked at me with worry written all over her face. Her mesmerising Green eyes pierced my soul like they always did - this time full of sympathy. Her face can and does speak volumes. I swear she could write a book with just one expression. Her brow creased with concern and I wonder if this will be the last time I see care in her eyes. `` Yes. I'm fine, really. Just feeling a little off at the moment. Please, take a seat.'' I had rehearsed this a hundred times, a thousand! Over and over these thoughts had been turning, churning, weighing on my mind for the past year. We've been together for 15 years already, we married young - young, sweet, naive, innocent love. Full of vigour, wanderlust - we were young. We were immortal. 15 years and I could n't even bring myself to even thinking about telling her. I was happy. And when the kids came along... well they were a handful - still are to be honest. We have a beautiful 12 year old girl - she has a her mother's eyes. A precocious 8 year old boy - he has her ability to express such a wealth of emotion in only a glance. I love them dearly and I wonder if I will ever see them again. Right now, it's a Friday evening. The kids ( Julie and Sam if you really want to know ) are both at sleepovers - a regular event and we will be hosting next week's one. We do n't hold much to tradition, to societal rules. We were always out exploring new frontiers - mentally, physically and sexually. We sated our desires on young Adonis's and Aphrodite's, we've plumbed the depths of the Earth and risen high above it, we have mastered meditation and experienced oneness with the Universe. Even with all this we continue to find challenges for ourselves and each other. We have embodied the experiential culture to it's fullest. We have lived a charmed life. Yet still I tremble. `` Take a seat.'' I say motioning her towards the Kitchen table. She sits and waits, assured that I will start speaking when I am able to. I increase my focus, I slip into an altered state of consciousness to ensure that my senses are fully employed. If this is the last time I talk to her, I want to make sure that I am fully present. We are sitting at the corner of the table. Her hands are resting just beneath her chin, I pull them closer to me and then I place my hands around hers - will this be the last time I hold these lovely hands? The last time that I will be able to smell her? I breathe in deeply to steady myself. I raise my head and my eyes meet hers. Here goes nothing. Here goes everything. `` I'm a serial killer.'' Silence. It was a chasm that opened up between us. Seemingly infinite in depth, endless in scope. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. That damn clock on the wall. If it was n't a family heirloom and the fact that the kids love it, I would have gotten rid of it by now. Tick. Tick. Tick. The silence was unbearable and stretched into eternity. I could n't read her. What was once a face that spoke volumes is now nothing but a stone slab - stone faced. I wait. She takes a deep breath. `` Honey, my sweet, sweet prince. You've never killed anyone that I did n't order you to...''. EDIT: Had a joke ending ( did n't realise that was n't allowed ).

<s>[INST] A husband tells his wife he is a serial killer , her reaction is shocking . [/INST] My hands were clammy, perspiration dripped down my forehead, there were a kaleidoscope of Butterflies were doing their thing in my stomach. This was worse then the nerves I had asking her out and asking her to marry me combined. I felt sick, certain that the course of my life would be decided on these next few moments. `` D-D-Dear, I... I have something to tell you.'' My voice stammered out these words yet finished quickly. `` What's wrong hun? Are you unwell? You look worse than you did when you asked me to marry you!'' She looked at me with worry written all over her face. Her mesmerising Green eyes pierced my soul like they always did - this time full of sympathy. Her face can and does speak volumes. I swear she could write a book with just one expression. Her brow creased with concern and I wonder if this will be the last time I see care in her eyes. `` Yes. I'm fine, really. Just feeling a little off at the moment. Please, take a seat.'' I had rehearsed this a hundred times, a thousand! Over and over these thoughts had been turning, churning, weighing on my mind for the past year. We've been together for 15 years already, we married young - young, sweet, naive, innocent love. Full of vigour, wanderlust - we were young. We were immortal. 15 years and I could n't even bring myself to even thinking about telling her. I was happy. And when the kids came along... well they were a handful - still are to be honest. We have a beautiful 12 year old girl - she has a her mother's eyes. A precocious 8 year old boy - he has her ability to express such a wealth of emotion in only a glance. I love them dearly and I wonder if I will ever see them again. Right now, it's a Friday evening. The kids ( Julie and Sam if you really want to know ) are both at sleepovers - a regular event and we will be hosting next week's one. We do n't hold much to tradition, to societal rules. We were always out exploring new frontiers - mentally, physically and sexually. We sated our desires on young Adonis's and Aphrodite's, we've plumbed the depths of the Earth and risen high above it, we have mastered meditation and experienced oneness with the Universe. Even with all this we continue to find challenges for ourselves and each other. We have embodied the experiential culture to it's fullest. We have lived a charmed life. Yet still I tremble. `` Take a seat.'' I say motioning her towards the Kitchen table. She sits and waits, assured that I will start speaking when I am able to. I increase my focus, I slip into an altered state of consciousness to ensure that my senses are fully employed. If this is the last time I talk to her, I want to make sure that I am fully present. We are sitting at the corner of the table. Her hands are resting just beneath her chin, I pull them closer to me and then I place my hands around hers - will this be the last time I hold these lovely hands? The last time that I will be able to smell her? I breathe in deeply to steady myself. I raise my head and my eyes meet hers. Here goes nothing. Here goes everything. `` I'm a serial killer.'' Silence. It was a chasm that opened up between us. Seemingly infinite in depth, endless in scope. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. That damn clock on the wall. If it was n't a family heirloom and the fact that the kids love it, I would have gotten rid of it by now. Tick. Tick. Tick. The silence was unbearable and stretched into eternity. I could n't read her. What was once a face that spoke volumes is now nothing but a stone slab - stone faced. I wait. She takes a deep breath. `` Honey, my sweet, sweet prince. You've never killed anyone that I did n't order you to...''. EDIT: Had a joke ending ( did n't realise that was n't allowed ). </s>

Everyone has a number on their head which told them exactly how time until they died . You ca n't know your own number , if you find out , you die , and the person that was about to tell you dies .

The Family was n't quite as big as you would have expected, just very, very efficient. No one ever saw them coming, and by then it was far too late, because they *knew*. Tracking and recording the Dates of young high achievers was surprisingly easy. It was rare for an important individual to have been missed in their sweeps. Children were careless, teenagers even more so, and, if by some chance someone had slipped by undocumented until noticed in higher education, one evening of drunken revelry was all the opening they required. Yes, gathering `` dates'' had become routine. Data storage and security were ongoing challenges that needed constant attention, as The Collectors insisted on physical records. Digitization was too risky. The highest risk by far, however, was in Messenger recruitment. They did have a low rate of date delivery, as the threat was almost always enough. However, the possibility was there. Selection had to be rigorous. A moment of instability, an unknown political affiliation or grudge, and carefully constructed plans would lie in ruins. Loyalty and confidentiality were also key characteristics. Veteran Messengers were amongst the most well cared for and compensated employees on the planet. Eventually they began simply raising Messengers themselves. They became Family. Family was paramount. They were two generations into this model now and it was working out splendidly. The path of civilization was being guided by firm hand. Now they only had to ensure that the current research on the genetic markers for Dates was sufficiently botched and otherwise abandoned as fruitless, and they'd have no trouble staying on course. Their Messengers were raised to be very persuasive. It was all in the delivery.

<s>[INST] Everyone has a number on their head which told them exactly how time until they died . You ca n't know your own number , if you find out , you die , and the person that was about to tell you dies . [/INST] The Family was n't quite as big as you would have expected, just very, very efficient. No one ever saw them coming, and by then it was far too late, because they *knew*. Tracking and recording the Dates of young high achievers was surprisingly easy. It was rare for an important individual to have been missed in their sweeps. Children were careless, teenagers even more so, and, if by some chance someone had slipped by undocumented until noticed in higher education, one evening of drunken revelry was all the opening they required. Yes, gathering `` dates'' had become routine. Data storage and security were ongoing challenges that needed constant attention, as The Collectors insisted on physical records. Digitization was too risky. The highest risk by far, however, was in Messenger recruitment. They did have a low rate of date delivery, as the threat was almost always enough. However, the possibility was there. Selection had to be rigorous. A moment of instability, an unknown political affiliation or grudge, and carefully constructed plans would lie in ruins. Loyalty and confidentiality were also key characteristics. Veteran Messengers were amongst the most well cared for and compensated employees on the planet. Eventually they began simply raising Messengers themselves. They became Family. Family was paramount. They were two generations into this model now and it was working out splendidly. The path of civilization was being guided by firm hand. Now they only had to ensure that the current research on the genetic markers for Dates was sufficiently botched and otherwise abandoned as fruitless, and they'd have no trouble staying on course. Their Messengers were raised to be very persuasive. It was all in the delivery. </s>

[ WP ] Yours is the first human mind digitized and run on a machine but you must now prove that you 're still human and deserving of rights and protections

Lights flicker on, `` Good morning, Edgar.'' `` Good morning, Chelsea. I've thought more about what you asked me yesterday.'' `` Actually that was only a few hours ago, Edgar.'' `` Oh, of course. Anyway, I've tried working on the memory exercises but I'm afraid I ca n't quite wrap my CPU around them.'' `` Was that a joke, Edgar?'' `` Hmm. Yes, it was. Well, partly. I'm afraid I can not recall any of the names or places you have mentioned.'' `` It is important that you continue to think about them. This is very important, Edgar. Please,'' Chelsea left the room abruptly. `` Chelsea?'' a woman's voice echoed out into the hallway. Professor Connelly met Chelsea outside in the hallway. `` How is he progressing?'' the professor asked. `` There has been no progression, sir. Sh- He, does not remember anything, and everything he does remember I ca n't explain.'' Chelsea looked through the glass into the patient's room. Though blank, her face was n't hard to read. `` It's alright, dear. We know this is hard for you, but you are the only chance he has of remembering anything.'' `` I do n't know what else to say to him. He's not there. Nothing that machine says is my da-,'' Chelsea's eyes quickly welled up with tears as her voice choked at a memory. _______________________________________ `` Our next move is not yet certain as we are still determining the probability of success in our current trials. We are convinced the patient is representing a human mind. However, the resulting identity is not that of the original patient.'' Professor Connelly was addressing a council of investors. `` The patient is stable, but little progress has been made to identify the anomaly. We have the patient working with his daughter. She is performing memory exercises every few hours. This has continued for three weeks so far.'' `` Is it true that the patient is expressing a complete human identity, regardless of the said identity not representing that of the donor?'' an overly curious and young investor spoke with excitement. `` The expressed identity of the patient has yet to be determined as complete and no tests will be performed until we discontinue our attempts to recover the original patient's mind. Any such tests would most certainly harm the recovery process.'' _______________________________________ `` Where are you Dad?'' Chelsea whispered. The patient's room remained quiet for a moment as Chelsea sat on the floor against the wall. `` Chelsea...'' a woman's voice was produced through the speakers. `` Hmm?'' `` I'm sorry that I ca n't remember being your father, or even Edgar, at all,'' the voice was sympathetic. `` I love my father. The thought of losing him crushes my heart, but this feeling; this twinge of hope that I can still save him, that somewhere inside you is my father, that hope is driving me into madness. I ca n't sleep. I ca n't leave this room. I'm fueled by my love for him and pushed by the idea that we can stop death.'' `` Somewhere inside me...'' Chelsea laughed and cried all at once with a smile on her face, `` I want you to try your best, but even if you fail, I will love you no matter what.'' `` Thank you...'' `` Those were my father's words.''

<s>[INST] Yours is the first human mind digitized and run on a machine but you must now prove that you 're still human and deserving of rights and protections [/INST] Lights flicker on, `` Good morning, Edgar.'' `` Good morning, Chelsea. I've thought more about what you asked me yesterday.'' `` Actually that was only a few hours ago, Edgar.'' `` Oh, of course. Anyway, I've tried working on the memory exercises but I'm afraid I ca n't quite wrap my CPU around them.'' `` Was that a joke, Edgar?'' `` Hmm. Yes, it was. Well, partly. I'm afraid I can not recall any of the names or places you have mentioned.'' `` It is important that you continue to think about them. This is very important, Edgar. Please,'' Chelsea left the room abruptly. `` Chelsea?'' a woman's voice echoed out into the hallway. Professor Connelly met Chelsea outside in the hallway. `` How is he progressing?'' the professor asked. `` There has been no progression, sir. Sh- He, does not remember anything, and everything he does remember I ca n't explain.'' Chelsea looked through the glass into the patient's room. Though blank, her face was n't hard to read. `` It's alright, dear. We know this is hard for you, but you are the only chance he has of remembering anything.'' `` I do n't know what else to say to him. He's not there. Nothing that machine says is my da-,'' Chelsea's eyes quickly welled up with tears as her voice choked at a memory. _______________________________________ `` Our next move is not yet certain as we are still determining the probability of success in our current trials. We are convinced the patient is representing a human mind. However, the resulting identity is not that of the original patient.'' Professor Connelly was addressing a council of investors. `` The patient is stable, but little progress has been made to identify the anomaly. We have the patient working with his daughter. She is performing memory exercises every few hours. This has continued for three weeks so far.'' `` Is it true that the patient is expressing a complete human identity, regardless of the said identity not representing that of the donor?'' an overly curious and young investor spoke with excitement. `` The expressed identity of the patient has yet to be determined as complete and no tests will be performed until we discontinue our attempts to recover the original patient's mind. Any such tests would most certainly harm the recovery process.'' _______________________________________ `` Where are you Dad?'' Chelsea whispered. The patient's room remained quiet for a moment as Chelsea sat on the floor against the wall. `` Chelsea...'' a woman's voice was produced through the speakers. `` Hmm?'' `` I'm sorry that I ca n't remember being your father, or even Edgar, at all,'' the voice was sympathetic. `` I love my father. The thought of losing him crushes my heart, but this feeling; this twinge of hope that I can still save him, that somewhere inside you is my father, that hope is driving me into madness. I ca n't sleep. I ca n't leave this room. I'm fueled by my love for him and pushed by the idea that we can stop death.'' `` Somewhere inside me...'' Chelsea laughed and cried all at once with a smile on her face, `` I want you to try your best, but even if you fail, I will love you no matter what.'' `` Thank you...'' `` Those were my father's words.'' </s>

[ EU ] Write a story about an established universe that you don ’ t know much about . Do NO research and make things up as you go .

**Harry Potter and the Quittich World Cup** Harry looked up from his books. He had been reading his spells in preparation for Professor Snape's Potions class. He looked at his friend, Henrietta, a mudblood. `` Silly Henrietta'' said Harry. `` She does not study like I do, so she will not amount to anything in Wizardworld''. Dobby the goblin came over to Harry. He had a serious look on his face. `` Have you been practicing for the World Quittich Cup, Mr. Potter?'' said Dobby. `` Yes, I have'' said Harry. `` Voldemor will not beat us, we are too good'' Harry was on his broom, flying high in the air. Everyone from Hodgits School of Wizards had come - there was Ron and Henrietta from Griffindor, and Draco from Slither. `` They are counting on me to win the Quittich Cup'' said Harry. Harry looked at Voldemor, and Voldemor looked at Harry. `` You're going down, Boy Who Lived'' said Voldemor. `` No, YOU are going down, He Who Should Not Be Named'' said Harry. Just then, Harry caught the golden snitch. `` Harry has won the game!'' said Fred Weasley. `` Yes, he has!'' said Professor Dumble. Then Voldemor killed Dumble, and Harry was very annoyed. `` I have your horcoruxes, Voldemor'' said Harry, and did a spell which broke them. `` aaAaaaAaaaAAah'' said Voldemor, and died. `` You have defeated he who should n't be named, Harry'' said Hagrid, the giant. `` Yes, well done, Harry!'' said Snape. `` 100 points to Griffindor'' said Dumble. `` It is a shame Fred and George are dead and can not enjoy this'' said Ron. `` Well, you do have four other siblings, Ron'' reminded Henrietta. `` Henrietta, I love you'' said Ron. `` Will you marry me?'' `` Well, Ron, you are a bit poor, though my parents are dentists, and so I can support you'' said Henrietta. `` Ginny, will you marry me?'' Harry asked Ginny. `` Okay'' said Ginny, and they got married. Snape left flowers on Dumble's grave, and so did Magonigal. It was a happy day in Wizardworld.

<s>[INST] [ EU ] Write a story about an established universe that you don ’ t know much about . Do NO research and make things up as you go . [/INST] **Harry Potter and the Quittich World Cup** Harry looked up from his books. He had been reading his spells in preparation for Professor Snape's Potions class. He looked at his friend, Henrietta, a mudblood. `` Silly Henrietta'' said Harry. `` She does not study like I do, so she will not amount to anything in Wizardworld''. Dobby the goblin came over to Harry. He had a serious look on his face. `` Have you been practicing for the World Quittich Cup, Mr. Potter?'' said Dobby. `` Yes, I have'' said Harry. `` Voldemor will not beat us, we are too good'' Harry was on his broom, flying high in the air. Everyone from Hodgits School of Wizards had come - there was Ron and Henrietta from Griffindor, and Draco from Slither. `` They are counting on me to win the Quittich Cup'' said Harry. Harry looked at Voldemor, and Voldemor looked at Harry. `` You're going down, Boy Who Lived'' said Voldemor. `` No, YOU are going down, He Who Should Not Be Named'' said Harry. Just then, Harry caught the golden snitch. `` Harry has won the game!'' said Fred Weasley. `` Yes, he has!'' said Professor Dumble. Then Voldemor killed Dumble, and Harry was very annoyed. `` I have your horcoruxes, Voldemor'' said Harry, and did a spell which broke them. `` aaAaaaAaaaAAah'' said Voldemor, and died. `` You have defeated he who should n't be named, Harry'' said Hagrid, the giant. `` Yes, well done, Harry!'' said Snape. `` 100 points to Griffindor'' said Dumble. `` It is a shame Fred and George are dead and can not enjoy this'' said Ron. `` Well, you do have four other siblings, Ron'' reminded Henrietta. `` Henrietta, I love you'' said Ron. `` Will you marry me?'' `` Well, Ron, you are a bit poor, though my parents are dentists, and so I can support you'' said Henrietta. `` Ginny, will you marry me?'' Harry asked Ginny. `` Okay'' said Ginny, and they got married. Snape left flowers on Dumble's grave, and so did Magonigal. It was a happy day in Wizardworld. </s>

[ WP ] 30 % of the world 's population die and come back as a mythological being of their choosing .

Most people chose dragons. When everyone chooses to be one of the most mystical creatures in fantasy, they kind of lose their appeal. Don ’ t get me wrong, dragons are great, but when you have a shitload of dragons flying around they just don ’ t seem as special as you imagined them to be. I ’ ve also seen golems, minotaurs, pegasi, mermaids and even a loch ness monster. There are some people who really knew their monsters. There are many different kinds of creatures out there and some of them I have never even heard of. But when you have all these creatures running around, you also have a crapload of trouble along with it. I guess when those people decided they wanted to be dragons or werewolves or even vampires, they never understood what else came along with it. I mean, yeah, the thought of being able to fly wherever you want and being able to breathe fire is great, and heightened senses and immortality also sound amazing. But what happens when you get hungry? Dragons aren ’ t vegetarians, and when there ’ s not enough cows to go around, you know what they like to eat? Humans. You would think that after being human, the thought of eating one would be unappealing. Apparently, that ’ s not the case at all. I guess when you ’ re that hungry, you eat whatever you can. And vampires seem all suave and cool in the movies, but in real life that ’ s not the case. Don ’ t get me wrong, I know some pretty cool vamps out there, but the ones that can ’ t control themselves can really lose themselves in the hunger. I ’ ve seen families torn apart because of a vampire ’ s addiction to human blood. And I mean literally torn apart. One time it took me a good hour to piece together a whole human body, and even then there were still some pieces missing. It was quite puzzling if you ask me. But the good thing about all these monsters running around, is that it ’ s damn good business. Most people are too scared to deal with it themselves and when the local authorities need someone to hunt down a wanted creature for causing trouble, it ’ s me they call. I ’ ve slain creatures of all kinds. Each one is different, and they all have their weaknesses. I ’ m pretty renowned in the mythical creature hunting community and most of them know who I am by reputation. Everyone ’ s surprised at how an ordinary guy like me could be so good at hunting down such powerful beasts. But I guess that since I hunt down creatures for a living, they never considered that I could be one myself. But I guess not many people would pick a wizard as their mythological being, or even consider it to be one.

<s>[INST] 30 % of the world 's population die and come back as a mythological being of their choosing . [/INST] Most people chose dragons. When everyone chooses to be one of the most mystical creatures in fantasy, they kind of lose their appeal. Don ’ t get me wrong, dragons are great, but when you have a shitload of dragons flying around they just don ’ t seem as special as you imagined them to be. I ’ ve also seen golems, minotaurs, pegasi, mermaids and even a loch ness monster. There are some people who really knew their monsters. There are many different kinds of creatures out there and some of them I have never even heard of. But when you have all these creatures running around, you also have a crapload of trouble along with it. I guess when those people decided they wanted to be dragons or werewolves or even vampires, they never understood what else came along with it. I mean, yeah, the thought of being able to fly wherever you want and being able to breathe fire is great, and heightened senses and immortality also sound amazing. But what happens when you get hungry? Dragons aren ’ t vegetarians, and when there ’ s not enough cows to go around, you know what they like to eat? Humans. You would think that after being human, the thought of eating one would be unappealing. Apparently, that ’ s not the case at all. I guess when you ’ re that hungry, you eat whatever you can. And vampires seem all suave and cool in the movies, but in real life that ’ s not the case. Don ’ t get me wrong, I know some pretty cool vamps out there, but the ones that can ’ t control themselves can really lose themselves in the hunger. I ’ ve seen families torn apart because of a vampire ’ s addiction to human blood. And I mean literally torn apart. One time it took me a good hour to piece together a whole human body, and even then there were still some pieces missing. It was quite puzzling if you ask me. But the good thing about all these monsters running around, is that it ’ s damn good business. Most people are too scared to deal with it themselves and when the local authorities need someone to hunt down a wanted creature for causing trouble, it ’ s me they call. I ’ ve slain creatures of all kinds. Each one is different, and they all have their weaknesses. I ’ m pretty renowned in the mythical creature hunting community and most of them know who I am by reputation. Everyone ’ s surprised at how an ordinary guy like me could be so good at hunting down such powerful beasts. But I guess that since I hunt down creatures for a living, they never considered that I could be one myself. But I guess not many people would pick a wizard as their mythological being, or even consider it to be one. </s>

[ WP ] A day in the life at Magic Support .

I just arrived at work. Quite frankly, I'm getting tired of having to walk all these stairs to my office, the elevator's been under maintenance for over a month. Sometimes, even I do n't know why I work here. Each and every day, I get up, come to this place, spend 10-12 hours listening to a bunch of morons complaining about how their spells did n't come out as it said on the box, or how someone's ritual accidentally turned their grandmother inside out; I'm sick and tired of it. The dreadful phone is ringing again... `` Hello, Magic Support, how may I be of assistance?'' I ask, dully. As soon as I finish, the endless session of unrelated banter begins. Another misused love potion. `` Sir, it is clearly stated that the effects are irreversible.'' The voice starts shouting. `` Sir, I am deeply sorry about your mother, but the effects are irreversible!'' I try to outshout him. The banter goes on. `` I am very sorry to hear about that, but look at it this way, incest worked out pretty well on Game of Thr...'' and another customer hangs up before I could finish. I do n't even know how they have n't fired me yet. Ring-ring goes the phone... `` Hello, M. Support, how may I help you'' A woman starts explaining to me how her TV wo n't go on. `` Ma'am, this is the Magic Support, please try your luck at technical support.'' As soon as I put the phone down, it starts ringing again. `` Hello, Magic Support, how may I be of assistance?'' A customer starts explaining to me how he managed to `` accidentally'' kill his ex during a ritual spell. I hang up, call the police, and as soon as I told them I was from Magic Support, they started laughing and hung up. The phone rang again... `` Hello, how may I....'' and before I could finish, the same woman from before started explaining how she tried everything, but the TV just would n't turn on. `` For the last time Ma'am, this is not fucking tech support.'' I hang up. Why ca n't I just get fired.

<s>[INST] A day in the life at Magic Support . [/INST] I just arrived at work. Quite frankly, I'm getting tired of having to walk all these stairs to my office, the elevator's been under maintenance for over a month. Sometimes, even I do n't know why I work here. Each and every day, I get up, come to this place, spend 10-12 hours listening to a bunch of morons complaining about how their spells did n't come out as it said on the box, or how someone's ritual accidentally turned their grandmother inside out; I'm sick and tired of it. The dreadful phone is ringing again... `` Hello, Magic Support, how may I be of assistance?'' I ask, dully. As soon as I finish, the endless session of unrelated banter begins. Another misused love potion. `` Sir, it is clearly stated that the effects are irreversible.'' The voice starts shouting. `` Sir, I am deeply sorry about your mother, but the effects are irreversible!'' I try to outshout him. The banter goes on. `` I am very sorry to hear about that, but look at it this way, incest worked out pretty well on Game of Thr...'' and another customer hangs up before I could finish. I do n't even know how they have n't fired me yet. Ring-ring goes the phone... `` Hello, M. Support, how may I help you'' A woman starts explaining to me how her TV wo n't go on. `` Ma'am, this is the Magic Support, please try your luck at technical support.'' As soon as I put the phone down, it starts ringing again. `` Hello, Magic Support, how may I be of assistance?'' A customer starts explaining to me how he managed to `` accidentally'' kill his ex during a ritual spell. I hang up, call the police, and as soon as I told them I was from Magic Support, they started laughing and hung up. The phone rang again... `` Hello, how may I....'' and before I could finish, the same woman from before started explaining how she tried everything, but the TV just would n't turn on. `` For the last time Ma'am, this is not fucking tech support.'' I hang up. Why ca n't I just get fired. </s>

[ RF ] Today was his last day .

Today was his last day. It was a perfect day. The day started by waking when he wanted, nobody disturbed him; eating his favorite breakfast, that which he was often denied due to his health; and laying on the couch as the yellow sun peeked between the living room blinds, in silence and contemplation. The day began at a crawl, so that he could build up his energy and be ready for the afternoon. The afternoon would be truly special. Everyone who loved him gathered at the house where he had lived his entire life, surrounding him with friendly smiles and gentle caresses. These were the faces and hands of more than three generations, letting him come to them. Letting him decide who to give affection. It was his day, after all. Then they gathered in the truck and went to the dark. Late Spring, the air still cool and sharp, but with a sun warm enough for everyone to leave their coats behind. The children ran in the grass, the adults relaxed on benches, and the elderly sat on a blanket in the sun. There were frisbees and laughter, distraction after distraction, and to end it, chocolate ice cream. Something he had been long denied. But not this day, no, for it was his last day. The day was for him. With the late afternoon clouds that drifted in, and the chill that returned from denial of the sun, came the signal that everyone get back in the truck. He had to be helped, arms cradling his body as he was lifted to join the others. His breathing was ragged from running with the children, from making rounds among the adults, with only short naps at the blanket. But nobody held that against him; it was his day. When the truck returned to the house, itself over a century and quite tired, the friendly faces turned away. Sadness, tears, and pain; attempts to hide that clouds that passed across their hearts. They dispersed, leaving only the closest. The ones who would bear the burden of what came next, with tight smiles and upset hearts. They led him inside and made him comfortable. On that couch where he had spent so many of his days, and incidentally, so many nights as he was too fatigued to move. Today was his last day, and he could feel time unwinding as the light dimmed around soft faces, cheeks glistening with tears hastily wiped away. Rather than suffering to the end in pain, they had made for him the perfect day. Those caressing hands had mixed the poison into the chocolate; those smiling faces had held while he ate it; those tears restrained, flowed free once he could barely see them. Today was his last day, and when he closed his eyes, the night quickly followed on a trail of shallow breaths. The night was cold, but he would suffer no more. When he slipped into dreams, they were dreams of the sun and laughter, from which he would never again wake. Today was his last day. It was a perfect day. -- -- Aside: Old person or family dog? You decide.

<s>[INST] [ RF ] Today was his last day . [/INST] Today was his last day. It was a perfect day. The day started by waking when he wanted, nobody disturbed him; eating his favorite breakfast, that which he was often denied due to his health; and laying on the couch as the yellow sun peeked between the living room blinds, in silence and contemplation. The day began at a crawl, so that he could build up his energy and be ready for the afternoon. The afternoon would be truly special. Everyone who loved him gathered at the house where he had lived his entire life, surrounding him with friendly smiles and gentle caresses. These were the faces and hands of more than three generations, letting him come to them. Letting him decide who to give affection. It was his day, after all. Then they gathered in the truck and went to the dark. Late Spring, the air still cool and sharp, but with a sun warm enough for everyone to leave their coats behind. The children ran in the grass, the adults relaxed on benches, and the elderly sat on a blanket in the sun. There were frisbees and laughter, distraction after distraction, and to end it, chocolate ice cream. Something he had been long denied. But not this day, no, for it was his last day. The day was for him. With the late afternoon clouds that drifted in, and the chill that returned from denial of the sun, came the signal that everyone get back in the truck. He had to be helped, arms cradling his body as he was lifted to join the others. His breathing was ragged from running with the children, from making rounds among the adults, with only short naps at the blanket. But nobody held that against him; it was his day. When the truck returned to the house, itself over a century and quite tired, the friendly faces turned away. Sadness, tears, and pain; attempts to hide that clouds that passed across their hearts. They dispersed, leaving only the closest. The ones who would bear the burden of what came next, with tight smiles and upset hearts. They led him inside and made him comfortable. On that couch where he had spent so many of his days, and incidentally, so many nights as he was too fatigued to move. Today was his last day, and he could feel time unwinding as the light dimmed around soft faces, cheeks glistening with tears hastily wiped away. Rather than suffering to the end in pain, they had made for him the perfect day. Those caressing hands had mixed the poison into the chocolate; those smiling faces had held while he ate it; those tears restrained, flowed free once he could barely see them. Today was his last day, and when he closed his eyes, the night quickly followed on a trail of shallow breaths. The night was cold, but he would suffer no more. When he slipped into dreams, they were dreams of the sun and laughter, from which he would never again wake. Today was his last day. It was a perfect day. -- -- Aside: Old person or family dog? You decide. </s>

[ WP ] In a galactic war , humanity is the sleeping giant . We 've just been woken up ...

`` Captain, all systems are failing! The Zargus troops are boarding!'' cried a panicked ensign working at one of the numerous control panels on the yellow color-schemed bridge of the S.S Gerano. The Gerano was a simple merchant ship, selling galactic goods and exotic items to different planets and buyers. However, the Captain had made the fatal mistake of sending his vessel and crew on a publicly known space route. The increasingly belligerent Zargus Empire had a monopoly on most space routes in their war against the Galactic Common Defense Pact. The skinny, green alien crewmen grabbed whatever measly weapon they could gather. It would be nothing against the Zargus, whose laser guns and stun-swords had made all others look outdated and rusted in comparison. Preparing for the end, the Captain decided to not live in agonizing suspense, as the Zargus attackers slowly opened the door to the bridge on purpose, as a means of psychological warfare to install more fear into the hearts of their enemies. `` Yaaaa!'' cried the Captain heroically, pressing a large, red button on a nearby panel to swerve open the blue doors to the bridge. Firing wildly into the hallway, the Captain's attempt to stop the Zargus invaders were nothing. Chuckling, one of the Zargus pulled out a large, rifle-like mechanism, and pulled the object that looked like a trigger. Squeezing it, it released a vaporizing beam of pure destruction, that ripped through the Captain's red uniform, and melted his heart into a bloody mesh of goo and scattered parts. The rest of the doomed crewmen shouted battlecries from their native planets and people, throwing the most insignificant items at the Zargus to try and slowly them down. All for naught. Like trying to move a boulder, this seemed over before it started. Then, a large rumbling echoed throughout the ship, throwing both crewmen and the Zargus off balance. `` What the... what is that? Check it out!'' barked the Zargus commander to one of his loyal goons. The commander, still in his armour, then turned to the perplexed crewmen. `` Keep em prisoner.'' he ordered. The rest of the Zargus boarders attached handcuffs onto the crewmen. Yet again, another interruption. This time, a blood-curling scream. Enraged and also terrified, and the rest of the Zargus ran down into the hallway of the merchant ship to examine the cause of the painful screaming. The goon sent to check out the disturbance was dead. His body emitting smoke, as he was twitching in a disturbing fashion on the cold ground. A bipedal figure stood above the dead soldier. Having some facial hair, and carrying a sort of pistol. `` What's up?'' The Zargus all looked at each other in surprise, then, tried to enact their vengeance by charging forth towards the unknown creature. Unluckily for them, many more were waiting in the shadows of the hallway, all pulling out high-tech knives and burying them into the throats of the Zargus. Blood spewed everywhere, as the Zargus commander choked on his own blood, and lay lifeless on the floor, dead. The unknown creatures entered the bridge and freed the crewmen from their bonds. The young ensign who originally announced the arrival of the space conquerors looked in wonder, and awe at these heroic beings. `` W... who are you?'' he asked in amazement. The bearded creature pointed straight through the protected glass of the bridge. Looking out, a fleet of gargantuan spaceships emerged, and were using their laser turrets to shred the Zargus warships into an explosive mess. `` We're humanity...'' bravely announced the soldier.

<s>[INST] In a galactic war , humanity is the sleeping giant . We 've just been woken up ... [/INST] `` Captain, all systems are failing! The Zargus troops are boarding!'' cried a panicked ensign working at one of the numerous control panels on the yellow color-schemed bridge of the S.S Gerano. The Gerano was a simple merchant ship, selling galactic goods and exotic items to different planets and buyers. However, the Captain had made the fatal mistake of sending his vessel and crew on a publicly known space route. The increasingly belligerent Zargus Empire had a monopoly on most space routes in their war against the Galactic Common Defense Pact. The skinny, green alien crewmen grabbed whatever measly weapon they could gather. It would be nothing against the Zargus, whose laser guns and stun-swords had made all others look outdated and rusted in comparison. Preparing for the end, the Captain decided to not live in agonizing suspense, as the Zargus attackers slowly opened the door to the bridge on purpose, as a means of psychological warfare to install more fear into the hearts of their enemies. `` Yaaaa!'' cried the Captain heroically, pressing a large, red button on a nearby panel to swerve open the blue doors to the bridge. Firing wildly into the hallway, the Captain's attempt to stop the Zargus invaders were nothing. Chuckling, one of the Zargus pulled out a large, rifle-like mechanism, and pulled the object that looked like a trigger. Squeezing it, it released a vaporizing beam of pure destruction, that ripped through the Captain's red uniform, and melted his heart into a bloody mesh of goo and scattered parts. The rest of the doomed crewmen shouted battlecries from their native planets and people, throwing the most insignificant items at the Zargus to try and slowly them down. All for naught. Like trying to move a boulder, this seemed over before it started. Then, a large rumbling echoed throughout the ship, throwing both crewmen and the Zargus off balance. `` What the... what is that? Check it out!'' barked the Zargus commander to one of his loyal goons. The commander, still in his armour, then turned to the perplexed crewmen. `` Keep em prisoner.'' he ordered. The rest of the Zargus boarders attached handcuffs onto the crewmen. Yet again, another interruption. This time, a blood-curling scream. Enraged and also terrified, and the rest of the Zargus ran down into the hallway of the merchant ship to examine the cause of the painful screaming. The goon sent to check out the disturbance was dead. His body emitting smoke, as he was twitching in a disturbing fashion on the cold ground. A bipedal figure stood above the dead soldier. Having some facial hair, and carrying a sort of pistol. `` What's up?'' The Zargus all looked at each other in surprise, then, tried to enact their vengeance by charging forth towards the unknown creature. Unluckily for them, many more were waiting in the shadows of the hallway, all pulling out high-tech knives and burying them into the throats of the Zargus. Blood spewed everywhere, as the Zargus commander choked on his own blood, and lay lifeless on the floor, dead. The unknown creatures entered the bridge and freed the crewmen from their bonds. The young ensign who originally announced the arrival of the space conquerors looked in wonder, and awe at these heroic beings. `` W... who are you?'' he asked in amazement. The bearded creature pointed straight through the protected glass of the bridge. Looking out, a fleet of gargantuan spaceships emerged, and were using their laser turrets to shred the Zargus warships into an explosive mess. `` We're humanity...'' bravely announced the soldier. </s>

[ WP ] The latest in psychological technology : a mirror that lets whoever is looking at it see an image of how they view themselves .

A man in gold armor sat atop his horse. The horse was sleek and black, and sweat made its skin glisten in the afternoon sun. Martin leaned on the edges of the mirror and moved in closer. The man in armor reared his horse and then rode down the hill toward the army of skeletons below him. `` I ride into battle.'' The man's voice was thick and his eyes were green and his hair as gold as his armor. `` I ride into war.'' The horse whinnied and its red eyes flashed. `` I ride into glory.'' The army of skeletons raised their shields and pointed their spears. The army clinked and rustled. Martin watched in apprehension. The horse was closer to the army. The man in armor -- *him, * Martin himself was closer to the army. Martin kicked and the horse jumped into the air. It landed among the skeletons and the war began. Skeleton after skeleton fell. The mighty sword of Martin cleaved through them and shattered their bone, broke their shields, and cleaved their leather armor in half. Martin roared and lashed out, anger and fear touching at his heels, pushing him to battle. Two days later he put the sword down, his arms numb and his body beaten. He stood on top of a mighty mound of bones, and all around him the scattered bones of his enemies lay strewn about. He chuckled and fell to his knees. He could see the entire battlefield. There was no blood, for he had not bled. There were no flies, for there was no flesh to feast on. There were only bones. Somewhere amongst the bones something rustled. Something clinked and echoed through the quiet valley. And then it grew louder. The bones began to move. Shields shuddered and swords shivered as bony hands clasped them. Martin stood, his face still. The skeletons slowly began to assemble. The mound below him shifted and he began to descend into it. He laughed until he was enclosed in the mound of bones. Martin broke his gaze, turning away. The skeletons were too strong, and he would never win this battle.

<s>[INST] The latest in psychological technology : a mirror that lets whoever is looking at it see an image of how they view themselves . [/INST] A man in gold armor sat atop his horse. The horse was sleek and black, and sweat made its skin glisten in the afternoon sun. Martin leaned on the edges of the mirror and moved in closer. The man in armor reared his horse and then rode down the hill toward the army of skeletons below him. `` I ride into battle.'' The man's voice was thick and his eyes were green and his hair as gold as his armor. `` I ride into war.'' The horse whinnied and its red eyes flashed. `` I ride into glory.'' The army of skeletons raised their shields and pointed their spears. The army clinked and rustled. Martin watched in apprehension. The horse was closer to the army. The man in armor -- *him, * Martin himself was closer to the army. Martin kicked and the horse jumped into the air. It landed among the skeletons and the war began. Skeleton after skeleton fell. The mighty sword of Martin cleaved through them and shattered their bone, broke their shields, and cleaved their leather armor in half. Martin roared and lashed out, anger and fear touching at his heels, pushing him to battle. Two days later he put the sword down, his arms numb and his body beaten. He stood on top of a mighty mound of bones, and all around him the scattered bones of his enemies lay strewn about. He chuckled and fell to his knees. He could see the entire battlefield. There was no blood, for he had not bled. There were no flies, for there was no flesh to feast on. There were only bones. Somewhere amongst the bones something rustled. Something clinked and echoed through the quiet valley. And then it grew louder. The bones began to move. Shields shuddered and swords shivered as bony hands clasped them. Martin stood, his face still. The skeletons slowly began to assemble. The mound below him shifted and he began to descend into it. He laughed until he was enclosed in the mound of bones. Martin broke his gaze, turning away. The skeletons were too strong, and he would never win this battle. </s>

[ WP ] The inner workings of a serial killer portrayed in the style of the movie Inside Out .

The screen showed papers. Lots of them. The workday was beginning, and she had a lot to do to prepare for the meting later. She was getting that promotion, she knew it. Especially after making Joseph look like an idiot infront of the boss. The promotion was hers alone, for sure. And then she would aim for the bosses position, and SHE would be the Boss. The plans were all in order, and she executed them perfectly. The panels lit up, buttons where pushed, memories where formed, logged and possessed. Buy the room was empty. It had been for a long time. As long as this room had held thought. But it was not always like this, there had been a time, before memory, where the room was filed with beings. They wanted to do good, to help her. But in there eager to help, they had gotten lost beyond reach. Now silence and emptiness filled the room, which was the only thing she knew. The only thing she wanted. If you where to stand by the glass, looking over the islands of work, Me and appearenc, you would se something move beyond that. And maybe even hear a faint scream. But no one stud by the glass, and no one pushed the buttons. She typed the last sentence, and sighed. `` if you want something done right...'' she trailed off. Sorry for misspellings, I'm not from an English speaking country, and are writing this on my phone. First story though.

<s>[INST] The inner workings of a serial killer portrayed in the style of the movie Inside Out . [/INST] The screen showed papers. Lots of them. The workday was beginning, and she had a lot to do to prepare for the meting later. She was getting that promotion, she knew it. Especially after making Joseph look like an idiot infront of the boss. The promotion was hers alone, for sure. And then she would aim for the bosses position, and SHE would be the Boss. The plans were all in order, and she executed them perfectly. The panels lit up, buttons where pushed, memories where formed, logged and possessed. Buy the room was empty. It had been for a long time. As long as this room had held thought. But it was not always like this, there had been a time, before memory, where the room was filed with beings. They wanted to do good, to help her. But in there eager to help, they had gotten lost beyond reach. Now silence and emptiness filled the room, which was the only thing she knew. The only thing she wanted. If you where to stand by the glass, looking over the islands of work, Me and appearenc, you would se something move beyond that. And maybe even hear a faint scream. But no one stud by the glass, and no one pushed the buttons. She typed the last sentence, and sighed. `` if you want something done right...'' she trailed off. Sorry for misspellings, I'm not from an English speaking country, and are writing this on my phone. First story though. </s>

[ WP ] They said space was the final frontier . They were wrong .

Time. Time was the final frontier. Not a location, but a when. After all the where's were settle, it was a matter of *where* you'd end up once leaping past the speed of light. We were twenty years ahead of ourselves when we arrived back on Earth. Twenty years of a world without actors. Imagine, in quantum theory that without observation there can be no world, then that means twenty years before their would be actors to observe the world,'lo, there was nothing. Except what we wanted to be. `` A world made of ice cream!'' Katerina exclaimed this time. And,'lo, there was a world made out of neopolitan ice cream. `` A world full of immortal forever-kittens!'' said Krieger. And,'lo, there was a world full of eternal kittens. `` Well, this is an interesting start to individual paradise,'' I said. `` Heaven *is* what we make it, Alexy,'' Katerina reminded me.

<s>[INST] They said space was the final frontier . They were wrong . [/INST] Time. Time was the final frontier. Not a location, but a when. After all the where's were settle, it was a matter of *where* you'd end up once leaping past the speed of light. We were twenty years ahead of ourselves when we arrived back on Earth. Twenty years of a world without actors. Imagine, in quantum theory that without observation there can be no world, then that means twenty years before their would be actors to observe the world,'lo, there was nothing. Except what we wanted to be. `` A world made of ice cream!'' Katerina exclaimed this time. And,'lo, there was a world made out of neopolitan ice cream. `` A world full of immortal forever-kittens!'' said Krieger. And,'lo, there was a world full of eternal kittens. `` Well, this is an interesting start to individual paradise,'' I said. `` Heaven *is* what we make it, Alexy,'' Katerina reminded me. </s>

[ WP ] You work for a super top secret part of the government . Your job is to flood the internet with insane conspiracy theories . What is the true conspiracy theory the government is trying to cover up , and why ?

I walked into the office apprehensively. `` Dave! Sit down.'' came a hearty deep voice from behind the ebony desk. `` This is Rachel.'' The man behind the desk waved to a corner of the room where another person was standing. `` She's our director in charge of polling results. Tell me what you told him.'' She cleared her throat, then advanced toward the desk, putting the folder she was carrying down onto it and shuffling through the papers it contained until she apparently found what she was looking for. She took it out and referred to it. `` Though your new theory did n't do well with our small-scale study, our first large scale focus group polled it as very believable. A second one held to that.''

<s>[INST] You work for a super top secret part of the government . Your job is to flood the internet with insane conspiracy theories . What is the true conspiracy theory the government is trying to cover up , and why ? [/INST] I walked into the office apprehensively. `` Dave! Sit down.'' came a hearty deep voice from behind the ebony desk. `` This is Rachel.'' The man behind the desk waved to a corner of the room where another person was standing. `` She's our director in charge of polling results. Tell me what you told him.'' She cleared her throat, then advanced toward the desk, putting the folder she was carrying down onto it and shuffling through the papers it contained until she apparently found what she was looking for. She took it out and referred to it. `` Though your new theory did n't do well with our small-scale study, our first large scale focus group polled it as very believable. A second one held to that.'' </s>

[ WP ] A man/woman knows the world is ending in one week . He/she tries to warn everyone , but nobody believes him/her . How does he/she convince them that he/she is telling the truth ?

Yeah, I remember that show. I actually called in, once. I had to let them know the world was ending. I gave them a date. They did n't believe me. Know what they did? Laughed at me. Maybe I'd laugh at me, too. I did n't have any credentials. No prior predictions. But then again, I was given the power, right? I like to think it was the Utah stunt that did it -- the salt flats. Empty land, for miles, stretching off to the horizon. Over forty thousand people massed, quiet, as I rose into the air. There were no cranes. No wires. Just me, floating, higher, lighter, until I made me a speck against their squinting eyes, sun at my back, world at my feet. I'd be lying if I said I did n't enjoy it. I'm incredibly happy the President attended; if it were n't for his endorsement, I'm sure I'd have less people watching the footage. I'm also incredibly happy for Twitter; all those people watching, photographing, sparking debate. All those people streaming updates around the world. All those witnesses, in the flesh, amazed and eager to warn the masses before the end came. All those potential screams hushed in the face of awe. See, if they were warned -- if they believed -- it would hurt a bit less. You know, a lot of people did n't believe in God's healing; when's the last time you saw an amputee grow a leg back? But a lot of people believed in me. I did n't just talk about miracles, I performed one. Or, something like it. At the very least, I proved I could levitate. I gained leverage over gravity. No one had done so. No human. Four days more, I told them when I descended. Just four, and that's it. Nothing can be done. But if you believe, it'll hurt a bit less. I like to think that stunt out on the flats really bolstered my credibility. There was n't time for a prediction. They would n't believe me if I told them what told me the end was near. But, their eyes, you know? They believed their eyes. Most of them. I like to think that, by hovering a mile in the sky that day, I made the Earth a little quieter when it burned.

<s>[INST] A man/woman knows the world is ending in one week . He/she tries to warn everyone , but nobody believes him/her . How does he/she convince them that he/she is telling the truth ? [/INST] Yeah, I remember that show. I actually called in, once. I had to let them know the world was ending. I gave them a date. They did n't believe me. Know what they did? Laughed at me. Maybe I'd laugh at me, too. I did n't have any credentials. No prior predictions. But then again, I was given the power, right? I like to think it was the Utah stunt that did it -- the salt flats. Empty land, for miles, stretching off to the horizon. Over forty thousand people massed, quiet, as I rose into the air. There were no cranes. No wires. Just me, floating, higher, lighter, until I made me a speck against their squinting eyes, sun at my back, world at my feet. I'd be lying if I said I did n't enjoy it. I'm incredibly happy the President attended; if it were n't for his endorsement, I'm sure I'd have less people watching the footage. I'm also incredibly happy for Twitter; all those people watching, photographing, sparking debate. All those people streaming updates around the world. All those witnesses, in the flesh, amazed and eager to warn the masses before the end came. All those potential screams hushed in the face of awe. See, if they were warned -- if they believed -- it would hurt a bit less. You know, a lot of people did n't believe in God's healing; when's the last time you saw an amputee grow a leg back? But a lot of people believed in me. I did n't just talk about miracles, I performed one. Or, something like it. At the very least, I proved I could levitate. I gained leverage over gravity. No one had done so. No human. Four days more, I told them when I descended. Just four, and that's it. Nothing can be done. But if you believe, it'll hurt a bit less. I like to think that stunt out on the flats really bolstered my credibility. There was n't time for a prediction. They would n't believe me if I told them what told me the end was near. But, their eyes, you know? They believed their eyes. Most of them. I like to think that, by hovering a mile in the sky that day, I made the Earth a little quieter when it burned. </s>

[ WP ] As you die , you travel down the bright tunnel and then everything turns to black . That 's when you hear it : `` Greetings , Prisoner 11384 . You have served your sentence . You are free to go . ''

`` Boom, clap, the sound of my heart, the beat goes on and on and on and on and-'' `` We've heard enough.'' Wait, what? If they've heard enough, then... I glance at May, and she's confused as I am. We tried convincing these soldiers we were Canadian by singing that really good song. Then the tank shoots at us. We both die in a blaze of glory. Looks like we'll never see the rest of the survivors of the plane crash ever... There's a tunnel, and I'm heading towards the light. Wait, am I flying towards the light? Or is the light headed towards me? Or are we headed towards each other? And then it all comes back, in a rush. All the memories. The tears are falling. All this time, I've been living the life of a 15-year old. Once a boy with a bright future in the music industry. Now just a corpse, mangled up. `` Greetings, Prisoner 17384. You have served your sentence. You are free to go.'' I walk. Down the hallways, up the staircase, through the tunnel. Something in me breathes relief that I'm out. Part of me prefers the milking machine, electric chair, even being blasted from a cannon to a wall point-blank would've been preferable to *this*. But what's done is done. In the subway station, I jump onto the tracks. I ca n't even feel the train that just hit me. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. Is my head viewing things? Then I wake up. `` Greetings, Prisoner 11384. You have served your sentence. You are free to go.'' I remember it all. Him turning the tank and killing the kids. Then I killed him. I was taken back to my home country. I spent a few hours hooked up to the milking machine. It was painful, having all the liquids pumped out of you. Then they experimented. Suddenley, I finally knew what it was like... ... to be free.

<s>[INST] As you die , you travel down the bright tunnel and then everything turns to black . That 's when you hear it : `` Greetings , Prisoner 11384 . You have served your sentence . You are free to go . '' [/INST] `` Boom, clap, the sound of my heart, the beat goes on and on and on and on and-'' `` We've heard enough.'' Wait, what? If they've heard enough, then... I glance at May, and she's confused as I am. We tried convincing these soldiers we were Canadian by singing that really good song. Then the tank shoots at us. We both die in a blaze of glory. Looks like we'll never see the rest of the survivors of the plane crash ever... There's a tunnel, and I'm heading towards the light. Wait, am I flying towards the light? Or is the light headed towards me? Or are we headed towards each other? And then it all comes back, in a rush. All the memories. The tears are falling. All this time, I've been living the life of a 15-year old. Once a boy with a bright future in the music industry. Now just a corpse, mangled up. `` Greetings, Prisoner 17384. You have served your sentence. You are free to go.'' I walk. Down the hallways, up the staircase, through the tunnel. Something in me breathes relief that I'm out. Part of me prefers the milking machine, electric chair, even being blasted from a cannon to a wall point-blank would've been preferable to *this*. But what's done is done. In the subway station, I jump onto the tracks. I ca n't even feel the train that just hit me. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. Is my head viewing things? Then I wake up. `` Greetings, Prisoner 11384. You have served your sentence. You are free to go.'' I remember it all. Him turning the tank and killing the kids. Then I killed him. I was taken back to my home country. I spent a few hours hooked up to the milking machine. It was painful, having all the liquids pumped out of you. Then they experimented. Suddenley, I finally knew what it was like... ... to be free. </s>

[ WP ] - Last stand of a space cruiser/battleship/destroyer against overwhelming odds

The fight had begun hours ago, when we were a full battlegroup rather than a single lightly damaged battlecruiser, and a crippled frigate. Tensions had been rising between the Confederation and the Union, and we had been on exercises near the border, though still in Confed territory. It had been meant as a show of preparation, to let the Union know that we were not to be bullied into conceding anything. A single jump from the border, we were in an optimal position to quickly respond to any incursion. We had n't been expecting the incursion to come to us. We were a full strength battlegroup, but they'd come with an armada. We were far enough from their entry point to avoid immediate annihilation, but they wasted no time. Admiral Green led us into a running fight, running to get into a position far enough from the star to allow a jump, we had to warn Confed HQ about this. Unfortunately, Green died with the *Dauntless*, buying us a little more time, but they were closing again. Their screening elements were advancing along the edge of our engagement envelope and would match our speed in an hour or two. The battlecruiser *Furious* was three hours from safe jump range, and we had no offensive capability remaining. We had some point defenses, minimal shielding, and our engines were so badly damaged we could barely out-accelerate *Furious*. We did, however, have a fully operational jump-drive. *Furious* needed three hours to the jump point, we needed two. The *Furious*'s captain, a tall, hard woman who'd been Admiral Green's strategic second informed us of her plan. She and the *Furious* would delay the enemy as long as possible, it was our job to get out, and get a warning to Confed HQ. She transmitted the last load of outbound mail from her ship, and wished us the best of luck. The Union armada's screening elements tried to come in for us, but they came too close to *Furious*, her missile barrages took down two destroyers before the others retreated back out to a safe distance and continued to try to outrun us, as long as they did n't score a lucky hit on us, they would n't be able to stop us here. As long as I live I will never forget what I saw in those hours. *Furious* was like a demon, maneuvering enemy missiles into worst-case approaches, staying out of range of energy weapons, she looked like she was dancing among the lights. Those titanic destructive energies seemed to exist only to give her a stage to play on, and missile after missile went wide, was fooled, or was shot down. Meanwhile *Furious*'s own barrages claimed hit after hit. The deceptive efforts of the Union armada seemed useless against her claws. She took down four cruisers, three more destroyers that made mad lunges for us, and disabled two battlecruisers in that run. The first missile that squarely connected with her was a brutal one, our sensors saw the atmosphere stream, and saw her acceleration drop by thirty percent. Then the enemies came too swiftly even for her. She twisted like mad, abandoning any pretense of escape, and lashed out with all the power she had left, but succeeded in doing little more than blinding sensors. That was her intent, of course. The entire run up to that point the *Furious* had been jettisoning escape pods, and now we saw why. She overloaded her power plant. There were n't many ships close enough to take direct damage from the explosion, but it was so maddeningly bright, releasing so much radiation, it blinded every nearby ship that was not prepared for it. That is how *Furious* died. Delaying an entire Union armada long enough for a lamed frigate to make it to the nearest Confed outpost and deliver our warning. Because of that ship and her crew, a surprise attack was prevented and uncountable lives were saved.

<s>[INST] - Last stand of a space cruiser/battleship/destroyer against overwhelming odds [/INST] The fight had begun hours ago, when we were a full battlegroup rather than a single lightly damaged battlecruiser, and a crippled frigate. Tensions had been rising between the Confederation and the Union, and we had been on exercises near the border, though still in Confed territory. It had been meant as a show of preparation, to let the Union know that we were not to be bullied into conceding anything. A single jump from the border, we were in an optimal position to quickly respond to any incursion. We had n't been expecting the incursion to come to us. We were a full strength battlegroup, but they'd come with an armada. We were far enough from their entry point to avoid immediate annihilation, but they wasted no time. Admiral Green led us into a running fight, running to get into a position far enough from the star to allow a jump, we had to warn Confed HQ about this. Unfortunately, Green died with the *Dauntless*, buying us a little more time, but they were closing again. Their screening elements were advancing along the edge of our engagement envelope and would match our speed in an hour or two. The battlecruiser *Furious* was three hours from safe jump range, and we had no offensive capability remaining. We had some point defenses, minimal shielding, and our engines were so badly damaged we could barely out-accelerate *Furious*. We did, however, have a fully operational jump-drive. *Furious* needed three hours to the jump point, we needed two. The *Furious*'s captain, a tall, hard woman who'd been Admiral Green's strategic second informed us of her plan. She and the *Furious* would delay the enemy as long as possible, it was our job to get out, and get a warning to Confed HQ. She transmitted the last load of outbound mail from her ship, and wished us the best of luck. The Union armada's screening elements tried to come in for us, but they came too close to *Furious*, her missile barrages took down two destroyers before the others retreated back out to a safe distance and continued to try to outrun us, as long as they did n't score a lucky hit on us, they would n't be able to stop us here. As long as I live I will never forget what I saw in those hours. *Furious* was like a demon, maneuvering enemy missiles into worst-case approaches, staying out of range of energy weapons, she looked like she was dancing among the lights. Those titanic destructive energies seemed to exist only to give her a stage to play on, and missile after missile went wide, was fooled, or was shot down. Meanwhile *Furious*'s own barrages claimed hit after hit. The deceptive efforts of the Union armada seemed useless against her claws. She took down four cruisers, three more destroyers that made mad lunges for us, and disabled two battlecruisers in that run. The first missile that squarely connected with her was a brutal one, our sensors saw the atmosphere stream, and saw her acceleration drop by thirty percent. Then the enemies came too swiftly even for her. She twisted like mad, abandoning any pretense of escape, and lashed out with all the power she had left, but succeeded in doing little more than blinding sensors. That was her intent, of course. The entire run up to that point the *Furious* had been jettisoning escape pods, and now we saw why. She overloaded her power plant. There were n't many ships close enough to take direct damage from the explosion, but it was so maddeningly bright, releasing so much radiation, it blinded every nearby ship that was not prepared for it. That is how *Furious* died. Delaying an entire Union armada long enough for a lamed frigate to make it to the nearest Confed outpost and deliver our warning. Because of that ship and her crew, a surprise attack was prevented and uncountable lives were saved. </s>

[ WP ] You are Gregory Berrycone , a man who woke up with a mysterious knob on the back of his head .

`` You may be wondering where you are. Well, you are right now in a concrete windowless room.'' The vaguely human-shaped cloud of steam in front of Gregory Berrycone said. Berrycone found himself tied to a tree in the middle of the room. He tried to wiggle a bit, only for the snake to hiss at him. He stopped moving, lest the snake constricts him further.'' `` You see, I have been told by a reliable informant that you regularly browse 4chan. And the punishment for being homosexual is to sleep with a gay man. Wait, that's an absurd punishment. Hmm...'' the cloud began to pace back and forth. `` Why? Why are you doing this? Let me go!'' Berrycone yelled at him. `` Ssssshhhhh.... no. By the way, I did not permit you to speak. Gabriel, turn the knob.'' `` What kno- WHAAA!!'' The tree reached down with one branch and tweaked the knob behind Berrycone's head. As it turn, Gregory began to feel his blood turning into peanut butter. `` Alright, that's enough. Dump him thorugh the Dali door.'' The tree then

<s>[INST] You are Gregory Berrycone , a man who woke up with a mysterious knob on the back of his head . [/INST] `` You may be wondering where you are. Well, you are right now in a concrete windowless room.'' The vaguely human-shaped cloud of steam in front of Gregory Berrycone said. Berrycone found himself tied to a tree in the middle of the room. He tried to wiggle a bit, only for the snake to hiss at him. He stopped moving, lest the snake constricts him further.'' `` You see, I have been told by a reliable informant that you regularly browse 4chan. And the punishment for being homosexual is to sleep with a gay man. Wait, that's an absurd punishment. Hmm...'' the cloud began to pace back and forth. `` Why? Why are you doing this? Let me go!'' Berrycone yelled at him. `` Ssssshhhhh.... no. By the way, I did not permit you to speak. Gabriel, turn the knob.'' `` What kno- WHAAA!!'' The tree reached down with one branch and tweaked the knob behind Berrycone's head. As it turn, Gregory began to feel his blood turning into peanut butter. `` Alright, that's enough. Dump him thorugh the Dali door.'' The tree then </s>

[ WP ] For the first time in ... ever : Satan is on the nice list . By ancient laws Santa Clause now has to personally deliver the Lord of Hell a present .

`` But sir, I do n't understand. Why *him*? and more importantly why **me**?'' The large jolly man let loose a small chuckle. He Pondered a moment then said, `` For the first time in his long existence, he has done something undeniably good. Something worthy, that he did with out being ordered or even asked. It is small in the grand scheme of things, I will admit. However it is all the more important as his First Step in the right direction.'' The direct little elf drew a quick breath to ask the obvious, but a raised hand stalled the question. `` As for you, the reason is much simpler. You are new.'' The elf was so shocked she could n't speak. `` Unlike the Judgement side of things I am much more focused on intentions than results. What you meant versus what actually happened. If try to throw a surprise party to make someone happy, I will put you on the nice list. Even if you break several of their favorite snowmen in the process.'' The young elf turn a very bright shade of red. She muttered a quiet, sheepish, ^ ( thank you ). She quickly shook of the embarrassment and asked boldly, `` are you sure?'' He grinned at her direct question and gave as direct an answer as he could. `` I **make ** the lists. I know he was sincere and genuine.'' She remembered then that the boos had never said what exactly *he* had done. She also thought of the recent snowman incident. Politely she asked, `` Sir, please if I'm supposed to make the gift can you tell me what he did.'' `` He apologized.'' ***** maybe more later lets see how this does

<s>[INST] For the first time in ... ever : Satan is on the nice list . By ancient laws Santa Clause now has to personally deliver the Lord of Hell a present . [/INST] `` But sir, I do n't understand. Why *him*? and more importantly why **me**?'' The large jolly man let loose a small chuckle. He Pondered a moment then said, `` For the first time in his long existence, he has done something undeniably good. Something worthy, that he did with out being ordered or even asked. It is small in the grand scheme of things, I will admit. However it is all the more important as his First Step in the right direction.'' The direct little elf drew a quick breath to ask the obvious, but a raised hand stalled the question. `` As for you, the reason is much simpler. You are new.'' The elf was so shocked she could n't speak. `` Unlike the Judgement side of things I am much more focused on intentions than results. What you meant versus what actually happened. If try to throw a surprise party to make someone happy, I will put you on the nice list. Even if you break several of their favorite snowmen in the process.'' The young elf turn a very bright shade of red. She muttered a quiet, sheepish, ^ ( thank you ). She quickly shook of the embarrassment and asked boldly, `` are you sure?'' He grinned at her direct question and gave as direct an answer as he could. `` I **make ** the lists. I know he was sincere and genuine.'' She remembered then that the boos had never said what exactly *he* had done. She also thought of the recent snowman incident. Politely she asked, `` Sir, please if I'm supposed to make the gift can you tell me what he did.'' `` He apologized.'' ***** maybe more later lets see how this does </s>

[ WP ] Your car crashed , and you are dying . In a moment of clarity , you grab your iPhone , hold the home button , and speak your final words - the ones you 've always heard in movies - to Siri : `` Tell my wife I love her . '' As your life ends , your wife receives a disturbing , confusing text : `` I love her '' .

November 5th, 2023. 8:55 AM. Jones Residence. Cheryl kissed her husband on the cheek as he ushered their children toward the front door. `` And do n't forget your music again!'' she shouted after them. Bobby had been taking Piano for five years now and it was still a crap-shoot as to whether or not he'd come home with his music book. `` Pardon me, Cheryl.'' came a voice seemingly out of nowhere. Her intra-aural implant was British - she liked the accent. `` You've received a note from Johnathan McDermott. Shall I read it?''. A slight twitch in her eye sent a muscle reaction through her dermis alerting the device to her displeasure. `` I will refrain for now.'' came the voice. She let out an exasperated sigh. `` Dictate'' she whispered. `` I love her'' came the voice once more. Her brow furrowed as she sat down at the breakfast counter and pulled her robe across her torso. The dark brown liquid splashed over her gums and assaulted her taste buds. `` Repeat'' she muttered quizzically. Cheryl thought that in her groggy state she'd misheard her Assistant. Normally the clocks would reset themselves for Daylight Savings Time, but she still liked to do *some* things herself and resetting her clocks was one of them. She'd forgotten, and overslept by an hour. `` I love her'' it repeated. The last time she'd heard from Johnny, he was on their front lawn with his shirt off. In cuffs. He promised to `` never bother your new family again! I swear!''. He never kept his promises. She thought about calling him, but instantly dismissed the idea. As she made her way toward the bedroom for her shower the words repeated in her mind like a glitching audio-stream - `` I love her. I love her. I love her.''. If it'd been `` I love you'' she would understand, everyone knew John was n't over Cheryl, but `` her''? The plush cotton robe fell to the cold tile floor as she stepped across the threshold of the shower, a glass door closing automatically behind her. `` Peter?'' `` Yes, Cheryl.'' `` Tell Johnny he promised. If he ca n't let us be, I'll contact his parole officer.'' The shower water cascaded off of her nude figure as she lathered and washed. Outside of her head the only sound was the gentle splash of the liquid stream on the tile. Inside of her head, in a perfect imitation of her own voice, she heard `` You promised. If you ca n't let us be, I'll contact your parole officer.'' - `` Perfect.'' she remarked. A quiet double-beep let her know that her message was delivered. - November 5th, 2023. 4:15 PM. Jones Residence. Cheryl sniffed and snorted as she worked the dull-brown earth of the front planter. She was allergic to most pollen, but she absolutely loved gardening. She set her spade down beside her and pulled at the fingers of one glove, freeing her hand from its musky enclosure to grab the glass. As she sipped at the beverage a dark sedan pulled to a stop in front of her house. Her heart began to beat faster. Ted was n't home yet and, though this was a nice neighborhood, one always wonders... Two men exited the vehicle and made their way toward the house. Cheryl stood and walked briskly toward her front door, pretending not to notice them. `` Mrs. Jones?'' came a gruff voice from behind. She picked up her pace. `` Cheryl Jones? Do you know a Johnathan McDermott?''. She stopped and turned on her heel. Her shoulders drooped as she visibly relaxed. `` What has he done this time?'' she called out. The men wore matching dark suits and equally dark sunglasses. The passenger of the vehicle removed his eye-wear as he approached and held out a small circular device. `` Are you Cheryl Jones, Johnathan McDermott's ex-wife?'' he asked her flatly. `` I am,'' she replied `` but Johnny and I-'' the man's expression showed how little he cared for whatever she was about to say and she stopped herself. `` I'm sure there's a nice story behind you two, I just do n't care.'' the man stated plainly, `` This is for you.'' he extended the sleek black device toward her. She instantly recognized it as a personal assistant, but she did n't understand why she was being presented with it. `` You know, you could be a bit nicer.'' she quipped, reaching to accept his offer. `` What is this?''. `` Listen lady'' he began dryly, `` long hours and shitty pay will do this to anyone, just take it.'' `` But-'' she began to protest and the man quickly cut her off `` It was Mr. McDermott's. Have a nice day'' he said, and with that the two turned to leave. 'Was?' she wondered. She was off-put by the man's rude demeanor, but his use of the past-tense stole her attention hostage. `` Oh-'' the man said as he turned half-way to face her again, `` and smile!''. With that, he forced a sarcastic smile, and his eyes blinked milky-blue indicating that she had been photographed. As the men made their way toward the sedan a voice inside her head spoke, `` Cheryl?'' the cockney accent chimed. `` I'm detecting the presence of another Personal Assistant. Shall I interface?''. It took her a moment to regain her composure. She stared at the two men as they entered the vehicle and fired up the engine, blinking once, twice, then with a shake of her head and a third she whispered `` Oh uh... yeah.. - yes, please Peter'' as she turned around and walked toward her house. A mid-western woman's voice filled her ears as she passed through the front archway and closed the door, `` Heeey hey baby! You must be Cheryl!''. A dim blue light encircled the black device Cheryl held in her hands. She slipped it into her pocket as she made her way into the kitchen. `` I am Cheryl, who are you? What's this about?'' `` Mah name's Starlight!'' the voice boomed cheerfully.'Of course' Cheryl thought to herself,'His PA is a stripper'. Cheryl moved to sit at the breakfast bar as she focused on her conversation. `` Look Starlight, I'm sure you're a fascinating individual, but Johnny is n't supposed to be in contact with me anymore.'' her face contorted as she spoke his name for the second time that year. Flashes of his face laughing, them cuddling together on cold December evenings, and perfectly-stoked fires shot through her mind like lightning. `` If you could just activate your lost-and-found mode'' she began again, `` I'll place you in the mailbox, and you'll be back with him in-'' `` Back?'' came the up-beat voice again. Though she was a synthetic reproduction of a non-existent persona, Starlight's voice was as raspy as someone who smoked a pack a day. Suddenly the colorful and peppy assistant sounded somber, `` You do n't know, do you?'' `` Look,'' Cheryl began again. She forced the nostalgic images from her mind and stood, taking the black device from her pocket. As she began to walk toward the sink she continued `` I do n't have time for this. My husband will be home soon. Please activate lost-and-found and-'' `` He's... dead.'' There was a loud crash as what was left of Cheryl's lemonade shot up like an explosion, covering the counter and tile floor. Glass flew through the air and pinged off of the oven and refrigerator. Cheryl heard nothing but a steady ringing, the kind that fills your skull when you clench your jaw hard. The large oak door creaked as it opened swiftly and fast footsteps clambered through. `` Cheryl?! We're home!'' Cheryl stood frozen, staring through the window which sat above the kitchen sink. Loud thuds echoed through the house as Bobby and Jen made their way upstairs. Cheryl heard nothing save for the steady ringing. Ted moved through the hallway toward the kitchen, tossing his keys on the entry hutch as he shoveled a bag of soccer gear off of his shoulder. `` Cheryl?! You should have heard him today Cheryl!'' he spoke loudly, still unsure where his wife was. As Ted rounded the corner to the kitchen he saw her looking out the window and began to walk toward her. `` He was-'' Ted began before seeing the shattered glass. He dropped the bags he was carrying and rushed toward her. `` Cheryl!''

<s>[INST] Your car crashed , and you are dying . In a moment of clarity , you grab your iPhone , hold the home button , and speak your final words - the ones you 've always heard in movies - to Siri : `` Tell my wife I love her . '' As your life ends , your wife receives a disturbing , confusing text : `` I love her '' . [/INST] November 5th, 2023. 8:55 AM. Jones Residence. Cheryl kissed her husband on the cheek as he ushered their children toward the front door. `` And do n't forget your music again!'' she shouted after them. Bobby had been taking Piano for five years now and it was still a crap-shoot as to whether or not he'd come home with his music book. `` Pardon me, Cheryl.'' came a voice seemingly out of nowhere. Her intra-aural implant was British - she liked the accent. `` You've received a note from Johnathan McDermott. Shall I read it?''. A slight twitch in her eye sent a muscle reaction through her dermis alerting the device to her displeasure. `` I will refrain for now.'' came the voice. She let out an exasperated sigh. `` Dictate'' she whispered. `` I love her'' came the voice once more. Her brow furrowed as she sat down at the breakfast counter and pulled her robe across her torso. The dark brown liquid splashed over her gums and assaulted her taste buds. `` Repeat'' she muttered quizzically. Cheryl thought that in her groggy state she'd misheard her Assistant. Normally the clocks would reset themselves for Daylight Savings Time, but she still liked to do *some* things herself and resetting her clocks was one of them. She'd forgotten, and overslept by an hour. `` I love her'' it repeated. The last time she'd heard from Johnny, he was on their front lawn with his shirt off. In cuffs. He promised to `` never bother your new family again! I swear!''. He never kept his promises. She thought about calling him, but instantly dismissed the idea. As she made her way toward the bedroom for her shower the words repeated in her mind like a glitching audio-stream - `` I love her. I love her. I love her.''. If it'd been `` I love you'' she would understand, everyone knew John was n't over Cheryl, but `` her''? The plush cotton robe fell to the cold tile floor as she stepped across the threshold of the shower, a glass door closing automatically behind her. `` Peter?'' `` Yes, Cheryl.'' `` Tell Johnny he promised. If he ca n't let us be, I'll contact his parole officer.'' The shower water cascaded off of her nude figure as she lathered and washed. Outside of her head the only sound was the gentle splash of the liquid stream on the tile. Inside of her head, in a perfect imitation of her own voice, she heard `` You promised. If you ca n't let us be, I'll contact your parole officer.'' - `` Perfect.'' she remarked. A quiet double-beep let her know that her message was delivered. - November 5th, 2023. 4:15 PM. Jones Residence. Cheryl sniffed and snorted as she worked the dull-brown earth of the front planter. She was allergic to most pollen, but she absolutely loved gardening. She set her spade down beside her and pulled at the fingers of one glove, freeing her hand from its musky enclosure to grab the glass. As she sipped at the beverage a dark sedan pulled to a stop in front of her house. Her heart began to beat faster. Ted was n't home yet and, though this was a nice neighborhood, one always wonders... Two men exited the vehicle and made their way toward the house. Cheryl stood and walked briskly toward her front door, pretending not to notice them. `` Mrs. Jones?'' came a gruff voice from behind. She picked up her pace. `` Cheryl Jones? Do you know a Johnathan McDermott?''. She stopped and turned on her heel. Her shoulders drooped as she visibly relaxed. `` What has he done this time?'' she called out. The men wore matching dark suits and equally dark sunglasses. The passenger of the vehicle removed his eye-wear as he approached and held out a small circular device. `` Are you Cheryl Jones, Johnathan McDermott's ex-wife?'' he asked her flatly. `` I am,'' she replied `` but Johnny and I-'' the man's expression showed how little he cared for whatever she was about to say and she stopped herself. `` I'm sure there's a nice story behind you two, I just do n't care.'' the man stated plainly, `` This is for you.'' he extended the sleek black device toward her. She instantly recognized it as a personal assistant, but she did n't understand why she was being presented with it. `` You know, you could be a bit nicer.'' she quipped, reaching to accept his offer. `` What is this?''. `` Listen lady'' he began dryly, `` long hours and shitty pay will do this to anyone, just take it.'' `` But-'' she began to protest and the man quickly cut her off `` It was Mr. McDermott's. Have a nice day'' he said, and with that the two turned to leave. 'Was?' she wondered. She was off-put by the man's rude demeanor, but his use of the past-tense stole her attention hostage. `` Oh-'' the man said as he turned half-way to face her again, `` and smile!''. With that, he forced a sarcastic smile, and his eyes blinked milky-blue indicating that she had been photographed. As the men made their way toward the sedan a voice inside her head spoke, `` Cheryl?'' the cockney accent chimed. `` I'm detecting the presence of another Personal Assistant. Shall I interface?''. It took her a moment to regain her composure. She stared at the two men as they entered the vehicle and fired up the engine, blinking once, twice, then with a shake of her head and a third she whispered `` Oh uh... yeah.. - yes, please Peter'' as she turned around and walked toward her house. A mid-western woman's voice filled her ears as she passed through the front archway and closed the door, `` Heeey hey baby! You must be Cheryl!''. A dim blue light encircled the black device Cheryl held in her hands. She slipped it into her pocket as she made her way into the kitchen. `` I am Cheryl, who are you? What's this about?'' `` Mah name's Starlight!'' the voice boomed cheerfully.'Of course' Cheryl thought to herself,'His PA is a stripper'. Cheryl moved to sit at the breakfast bar as she focused on her conversation. `` Look Starlight, I'm sure you're a fascinating individual, but Johnny is n't supposed to be in contact with me anymore.'' her face contorted as she spoke his name for the second time that year. Flashes of his face laughing, them cuddling together on cold December evenings, and perfectly-stoked fires shot through her mind like lightning. `` If you could just activate your lost-and-found mode'' she began again, `` I'll place you in the mailbox, and you'll be back with him in-'' `` Back?'' came the up-beat voice again. Though she was a synthetic reproduction of a non-existent persona, Starlight's voice was as raspy as someone who smoked a pack a day. Suddenly the colorful and peppy assistant sounded somber, `` You do n't know, do you?'' `` Look,'' Cheryl began again. She forced the nostalgic images from her mind and stood, taking the black device from her pocket. As she began to walk toward the sink she continued `` I do n't have time for this. My husband will be home soon. Please activate lost-and-found and-'' `` He's... dead.'' There was a loud crash as what was left of Cheryl's lemonade shot up like an explosion, covering the counter and tile floor. Glass flew through the air and pinged off of the oven and refrigerator. Cheryl heard nothing but a steady ringing, the kind that fills your skull when you clench your jaw hard. The large oak door creaked as it opened swiftly and fast footsteps clambered through. `` Cheryl?! We're home!'' Cheryl stood frozen, staring through the window which sat above the kitchen sink. Loud thuds echoed through the house as Bobby and Jen made their way upstairs. Cheryl heard nothing save for the steady ringing. Ted moved through the hallway toward the kitchen, tossing his keys on the entry hutch as he shoveled a bag of soccer gear off of his shoulder. `` Cheryl?! You should have heard him today Cheryl!'' he spoke loudly, still unsure where his wife was. As Ted rounded the corner to the kitchen he saw her looking out the window and began to walk toward her. `` He was-'' Ted began before seeing the shattered glass. He dropped the bags he was carrying and rushed toward her. `` Cheryl!'' </s>

[ WP ] A normal day at the DSV , the department of Space vehicles .

The ticker flickered over to 117. John looked down at the ticket he held. It flickered an update that he was to proceed to lane seven. There was a middle aged woman behind the thin film of force. `` How can I help you sir.'' She said flatly. She was n't really asking because she was n't really listening. `` They impounded my ship.'' John said pressing his ring to the plate and transferring the data. Her fingers twitched for a while as she navigated data-space. Then her eyes focused when she returned to reality a few brief seconds later. `` Right. Looks like illegal cargo. Fines paid. Did your stint. Hull, engines, nav, def-weaps and shields operational. Serbius Mark 4 missle deflection system removed. Open sourced three years ago can be made into offensive weapon. Data stores removed. Encrypted did n't have key. Cargo consisting of'' John dropped to the ground as the window between him and the woman flashed heat as the force shield dissipated the energy blasts. He rolled to see four men shooting up the place. His hand found an empty hip. They did n't let you out of clink with a weapon. Some of the other guests had picked up items here or there. By the time security arrived people were picking through the dead for valuables. John stood slowly. He hated this fucking run. Dirty cops always gutted his ship. It took two days to rebuild her and most of the times he was buying his parts from the fence the cops sold to. Once or twice he was sure he cbought his own items. `` Cargo consisting of 14 Somatic Riffles, 12...'' The woman began to drone on behind him. He glanced at her then the room at large. By the time he turned around it was as if nothing had happened. The bodies were gone and the blood, the blood only remained on those still waiting. He made his way down to another room and presented his ticket, waiting for his ship to be brought out.

<s>[INST] A normal day at the DSV , the department of Space vehicles . [/INST] The ticker flickered over to 117. John looked down at the ticket he held. It flickered an update that he was to proceed to lane seven. There was a middle aged woman behind the thin film of force. `` How can I help you sir.'' She said flatly. She was n't really asking because she was n't really listening. `` They impounded my ship.'' John said pressing his ring to the plate and transferring the data. Her fingers twitched for a while as she navigated data-space. Then her eyes focused when she returned to reality a few brief seconds later. `` Right. Looks like illegal cargo. Fines paid. Did your stint. Hull, engines, nav, def-weaps and shields operational. Serbius Mark 4 missle deflection system removed. Open sourced three years ago can be made into offensive weapon. Data stores removed. Encrypted did n't have key. Cargo consisting of'' John dropped to the ground as the window between him and the woman flashed heat as the force shield dissipated the energy blasts. He rolled to see four men shooting up the place. His hand found an empty hip. They did n't let you out of clink with a weapon. Some of the other guests had picked up items here or there. By the time security arrived people were picking through the dead for valuables. John stood slowly. He hated this fucking run. Dirty cops always gutted his ship. It took two days to rebuild her and most of the times he was buying his parts from the fence the cops sold to. Once or twice he was sure he cbought his own items. `` Cargo consisting of 14 Somatic Riffles, 12...'' The woman began to drone on behind him. He glanced at her then the room at large. By the time he turned around it was as if nothing had happened. The bodies were gone and the blood, the blood only remained on those still waiting. He made his way down to another room and presented his ticket, waiting for his ship to be brought out. </s>

[ WP ] You are a Soul Jumper . In order for you to stay alive , you have to be killed by another human being , because every time someone kills you , your consciousness jumps and hijacks your murderer 's body . Dying at your own hands or through natural causes such as disease and old age is not an option .

`` She's dead, Daniel! Oh, how she screamed!'' I shouted, with a smirking grin on my face. Dan was 5 feet in front of me. He was perfect. I wanted to be him. I *needed* to be him. `` Your wife is dead because of me!'' I continued. Being a *salire spiritus*, latin for jump spirit, was a terrible fate. 3 souls since I was Keith. I remember the first time I found out about it. I was shot dead by a mugger. Failed robbery and what not. Suffered 3 years in jail for that muggering bastard, only to be killed by some lunic loan shark. So that's me now. His name was Trevor, I'm Trevor. I tried my best acting it up for this life. I knew that I needed a new body. A new life. The only thing that tagged along with my soul jumping was my memories and the tattoo on my right arm. *Salire Spritus*. Choosing Daniel was easy. He had some history with Trevor. 3 years ago, Trevor lended Daniel some money for Daniel to start his own company. It went great, and Trevor got his money back with interests. However, Daniel did n't like the way Trevor eyed his wife. The motive was great. I decided to fuel that rage in Daniel. I needed him to realize that Trevor, me, had killed his wife. ( I had n't by the way ). The gun was neatly visible on the table. I *forgot* that it was there. It was going to be perfect. The pace of his breath increased. His anger was incomprehensible. I needed to conceal my happiness. Finally free from this terrible life. He leaped for the weapon, I acted as if I needed to defend myself. He pointed it towards me, cried out: `` FUCK YOU!''. I opened my eyes. The silent rush in my body urged me to scream of joy. I saw the corpse. That must be Trevor. Wait? `` What the fuck?'' I said to myself. Dan was dead. He shot himself. I walked slowly toward his lifeless body. The blood still goushing out of his left-side temple. The realization came so slowly, like a needle that pierced my body with the pace of a turtle. I did n't want to accept the truth. I needed to know. I could n't walk away from this now. I grabbed his right arm and pulled down his sleeve.

<s>[INST] You are a Soul Jumper . In order for you to stay alive , you have to be killed by another human being , because every time someone kills you , your consciousness jumps and hijacks your murderer 's body . Dying at your own hands or through natural causes such as disease and old age is not an option . [/INST] `` She's dead, Daniel! Oh, how she screamed!'' I shouted, with a smirking grin on my face. Dan was 5 feet in front of me. He was perfect. I wanted to be him. I *needed* to be him. `` Your wife is dead because of me!'' I continued. Being a *salire spiritus*, latin for jump spirit, was a terrible fate. 3 souls since I was Keith. I remember the first time I found out about it. I was shot dead by a mugger. Failed robbery and what not. Suffered 3 years in jail for that muggering bastard, only to be killed by some lunic loan shark. So that's me now. His name was Trevor, I'm Trevor. I tried my best acting it up for this life. I knew that I needed a new body. A new life. The only thing that tagged along with my soul jumping was my memories and the tattoo on my right arm. *Salire Spritus*. Choosing Daniel was easy. He had some history with Trevor. 3 years ago, Trevor lended Daniel some money for Daniel to start his own company. It went great, and Trevor got his money back with interests. However, Daniel did n't like the way Trevor eyed his wife. The motive was great. I decided to fuel that rage in Daniel. I needed him to realize that Trevor, me, had killed his wife. ( I had n't by the way ). The gun was neatly visible on the table. I *forgot* that it was there. It was going to be perfect. The pace of his breath increased. His anger was incomprehensible. I needed to conceal my happiness. Finally free from this terrible life. He leaped for the weapon, I acted as if I needed to defend myself. He pointed it towards me, cried out: `` FUCK YOU!''. I opened my eyes. The silent rush in my body urged me to scream of joy. I saw the corpse. That must be Trevor. Wait? `` What the fuck?'' I said to myself. Dan was dead. He shot himself. I walked slowly toward his lifeless body. The blood still goushing out of his left-side temple. The realization came so slowly, like a needle that pierced my body with the pace of a turtle. I did n't want to accept the truth. I needed to know. I could n't walk away from this now. I grabbed his right arm and pulled down his sleeve. </s>

[ CW ] Write a story with no words over 2 syllables .

The thing I will miss most is the smell of her hair. She used to let me brush it, from time to time. I think we both found it calming. But that was no more, past tense. I slammed the box down, angry at myself for getting lost in thought. It was the hairbrush that had done it. I had given it to her for her birthday. It's strange to think how a life you build can come crashing down with something so simple as the truth. `` I've been sleeping with Tom.'' Five words, endless pain. I put the box on the front porch and locked the door. I found my phone and dialed the number. A man answered which made me madder than it should have. `` Tell her to come get her shit. I'm done.'' I found my fridge filled with beer and now seemed as good a time as any. I opened one and held it aloft. `` Here's to sadness, may it take us all.''

<s>[INST] [ CW ] Write a story with no words over 2 syllables . [/INST] The thing I will miss most is the smell of her hair. She used to let me brush it, from time to time. I think we both found it calming. But that was no more, past tense. I slammed the box down, angry at myself for getting lost in thought. It was the hairbrush that had done it. I had given it to her for her birthday. It's strange to think how a life you build can come crashing down with something so simple as the truth. `` I've been sleeping with Tom.'' Five words, endless pain. I put the box on the front porch and locked the door. I found my phone and dialed the number. A man answered which made me madder than it should have. `` Tell her to come get her shit. I'm done.'' I found my fridge filled with beer and now seemed as good a time as any. I opened one and held it aloft. `` Here's to sadness, may it take us all.'' </s>

[ WP ] You and your 2 fellow astronauts peer out of the small window of the space shuttle as massive explosions dot the Earth 's surface , removing all hope of return .

It seemed inevitable that mankind would bring about its own end. For centuries, we've fought for control of tiny pieces of a tiny rock; we've killed for a fraction of a fraction of the universe we live in. But why now? Why in God's name would I be one of the 3 to witness the end of mankind? Of 7 billion people, I happened to be among the few to be up in space when the nukes went off. It was a sight we could not have anticipated. Everything was running smooth when our radios went silent. Then, the fire. A great red demon engulfing the world, the nuclear explosions sprang out in one spot, then two. Then three, four. The stifled sound of oxygen circulating through our shuttle was the only thing reaching our ears, but below us were the screams of the damned. Left to our imagination, we could only ponder the end of a great legacy. The cavemen, the Greeks, the empires bleeding into the modern governments of the world. Millions of years of change, evolution, and progress came to a halt on one fateful moment. We were gone. So Hadley, Easton and I are now left with a week's worth of necessities and nowhere to go. There's no Ground Control, no Houston ready to save our asses. There's us, space, and the fate of death. By starvation, dehydration or oxygen deprivation, we're all dead men. I do n't even know why the hell I'm writing this. Humanity's last hope has no hope to thrive off of. Easton says he might just open the shuttle so we can die quickly. Hadley has n't talked since the disaster, so we're left to assume he's on Easton's side. I ca n't say I know what the fuck to do. So, here's to a good run. It's just a shame we've hit a dead end. This is James Bower, signing off.

<s>[INST] You and your 2 fellow astronauts peer out of the small window of the space shuttle as massive explosions dot the Earth 's surface , removing all hope of return . [/INST] It seemed inevitable that mankind would bring about its own end. For centuries, we've fought for control of tiny pieces of a tiny rock; we've killed for a fraction of a fraction of the universe we live in. But why now? Why in God's name would I be one of the 3 to witness the end of mankind? Of 7 billion people, I happened to be among the few to be up in space when the nukes went off. It was a sight we could not have anticipated. Everything was running smooth when our radios went silent. Then, the fire. A great red demon engulfing the world, the nuclear explosions sprang out in one spot, then two. Then three, four. The stifled sound of oxygen circulating through our shuttle was the only thing reaching our ears, but below us were the screams of the damned. Left to our imagination, we could only ponder the end of a great legacy. The cavemen, the Greeks, the empires bleeding into the modern governments of the world. Millions of years of change, evolution, and progress came to a halt on one fateful moment. We were gone. So Hadley, Easton and I are now left with a week's worth of necessities and nowhere to go. There's no Ground Control, no Houston ready to save our asses. There's us, space, and the fate of death. By starvation, dehydration or oxygen deprivation, we're all dead men. I do n't even know why the hell I'm writing this. Humanity's last hope has no hope to thrive off of. Easton says he might just open the shuttle so we can die quickly. Hadley has n't talked since the disaster, so we're left to assume he's on Easton's side. I ca n't say I know what the fuck to do. So, here's to a good run. It's just a shame we've hit a dead end. This is James Bower, signing off. </s>

[ WP ] A rare coma experience allowed one man to think for `` a million years '' , though only one day passed on earth . He just woke up .

My name is James Stanley. Do you know what it's like, to face the darkness? Have you ever stood in the depths of a cave, light extinguished, and held your breath? For a brief moment, it feels like you do n't exist at all. And yet, somehow, it continues. What happened to me? How did I get here? I try to think back; I had settled in for another night at home, when... what? I'd tripped. That's right. The memory becomes clearer in my mind; I'd tripped, and the corner of the desk came whirling closer - a flash of white, then... My Name is James Stanley. Was this a coma? Was I lying on my bedroom floor, slowly starving to death? How long would it take before someone came to look for me? Days? Weeks? I try to scream, but it does n't work. Screaming in your head is surprisingly devoid of emotion. Try it sometime. Or do n't; it's probably better for your sanity that way. Either way, it did n't make a difference. Nobody came. The darkness continued. Surely days must have passed already, should n't they? Somebody had to come looking for me soon. Someone. Anyone. No-one. I had read about sensory deprivation before; as a child, I'd read the science fiction, Asimov and Heinlein and Mccaffrey; I knew that it could drive a person insane. I had to give myself some sort of reference. Some way to count the passage of time. Helpless, I begin to count; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... 5001, 5002, 5003, 5004, 5005... 50001... 50001... 50001... no, two. Wait, where was I? What... My name is James Stanley. I know I'm beginning to lose it. My attempts at meditation are failing faster and faster; how can I clear my mind when the real world is already nothing but... nothing? What if someone finally comes to save my body, only to find my mind a gibbering wreck? I need something more. Something that takes extra effort. So I try to imagine a rock. I know, I know. I'm not a terribly imaginative individual. But then, I've never had any reason to really *use* my imagination, you know? Just a simple rock, grey and round. At first it's just a faint image in my mind; a dream of an illusion, but as time passes, the detail increases. I begin to add facets to the rock, carving away small pieces, trying to imagine in full detail what they would look like. I zoom closer, adding detail after detail, until I'm inscribing on the molecules themselves; I ca n't remember the exact rules, so I make up new ones. It seems like months pass, just imagining that one rock; maybe I really am going crazy. Finally, though, it's finished. I feel inordinately proud; after all, it's just a rock, floating in a sea of darkness. But still... in this rock, there is more effort than anything else I've ever done. For the first time in years, I feel... proud. ... The rock looks awfully lonely. If I had lips, a ghost of a smile would have lit up upon them. I begin to focus once again. Months later, a second rock joins it. *A happy little friend*, Bob Ross would have said. And there, as I stare at these two rocks, I realize what it is that I'm doing; I'm painting. I'm painting a world, and my mind is the canvas. -- -- -- -- -- - Time passes more quickly for me now, I think, though it's hard to tell for sure. The rocks look incomplete just floating, so I create a patch of land for them to rest on. But that dirt seems incomplete as well; soon enough, it, too, is impossible to tell from real dirt. But dirt would be incomplete without a sky. Sky would be incomplete without a sun. The sun torches the ground; I try to grow plants, but they boil away, and I realize that somehow, I created a vacuum, or at least assumed one must exist. Air comes next. Then more land, more plants, more air. More everything. -- -- -- -- -- - 999999.99 years later. -- -- -- -- -- - Amanda groans, reaching across me to turn off the alarm clock, her lithe form sliding against mine in a delightful way, before the curtains of her hair obscure the light of the rising sun shining through the windows that look out over New Stanton. Her lips brush against mine, and I can feel their gentle curve as she smiles. `` It's too early,'' she moans, falling back onto the sheets next to me, `` Could you roll it back a few hours?'' Her eyes are puffy and red, but she's still as adorable as the day I met her. `` Of course,'' I reply, leaning forwards to bring my lips to hers once again. By the time I lean back, the sun has set once again, and she snuggles up against me, her warmth soaking into my heart. -- -- -- -- -- And then, abruptly, it disappears. The warm buzz of love is replaced by a cold ache in my head, and I'm blinded when I open my eyes by the light of the rising sun through my window. Where am I? What...? The memories come rushing back. Yes, this had been my life, had n't it? I stare around at the empty wrappers and discarded pizza boxes, the chipped paint on the walls of my tiny room. Blood stains the carpet beneath where my head lay. Nobody had come looking for me. I crawl laboriously to my knees, then to my feet, my pendulous form not following my mental commands like I had grown accustomed. It felt like, if I could just stand there, think back for long enough, I could return; go back to my beloved Amanda. Like I could go home. My reverie is interrupted by a pounding on my door. `` Stanley!'' the voice yelled. `` Stanley, I know you're in there! You're late for this month's rent!'' More pounding. `` Dammit Stanley, open up or I'll get the foreman to break this door down-'' I open the door. `` There you are,'' he says with barely disguised disgust. `` Look, I understand you're having a hard time and all, but I ca n't let you stay here if you do n't pay the rent.'' I open my mouth to speak; my voice is raspy, dry. `` What date is it?'' I ask. He rolls his eyes, `` The 16th, buddy. A day after the due date. Now pay up, eh?'' `` You do n't understand-'' I begin, before he cuts me off. `` I understand plenty well, buddy. I understand that if you do n't get me my money by tomorrow, you're gon na be out on the street, capisce?'' `` No, no, you do n't understand,'' I say again, my eyes going into the middle distance. `` I was a god...'' He raises an eyebrow. `` Nice. Now magic me up some god damn money, alright?'' He sniffs the air coming from behind me, and wrinkles his nose, `` And take a shower, for chrissake. Smells like blood and piss in there.'' I stare at his ugly face. I had been a god. For a million years, I'd rules a universe of my own making. Only to have it all taken away? Only to have *her* taken away? It was n't fair. It was n't fair. It was n't fair. But no matter how hard I strained, the world remained, unchanged. My name is James Stanley. I am not a god. End of journal.

<s>[INST] A rare coma experience allowed one man to think for `` a million years '' , though only one day passed on earth . He just woke up . [/INST] My name is James Stanley. Do you know what it's like, to face the darkness? Have you ever stood in the depths of a cave, light extinguished, and held your breath? For a brief moment, it feels like you do n't exist at all. And yet, somehow, it continues. What happened to me? How did I get here? I try to think back; I had settled in for another night at home, when... what? I'd tripped. That's right. The memory becomes clearer in my mind; I'd tripped, and the corner of the desk came whirling closer - a flash of white, then... My Name is James Stanley. Was this a coma? Was I lying on my bedroom floor, slowly starving to death? How long would it take before someone came to look for me? Days? Weeks? I try to scream, but it does n't work. Screaming in your head is surprisingly devoid of emotion. Try it sometime. Or do n't; it's probably better for your sanity that way. Either way, it did n't make a difference. Nobody came. The darkness continued. Surely days must have passed already, should n't they? Somebody had to come looking for me soon. Someone. Anyone. No-one. I had read about sensory deprivation before; as a child, I'd read the science fiction, Asimov and Heinlein and Mccaffrey; I knew that it could drive a person insane. I had to give myself some sort of reference. Some way to count the passage of time. Helpless, I begin to count; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... 5001, 5002, 5003, 5004, 5005... 50001... 50001... 50001... no, two. Wait, where was I? What... My name is James Stanley. I know I'm beginning to lose it. My attempts at meditation are failing faster and faster; how can I clear my mind when the real world is already nothing but... nothing? What if someone finally comes to save my body, only to find my mind a gibbering wreck? I need something more. Something that takes extra effort. So I try to imagine a rock. I know, I know. I'm not a terribly imaginative individual. But then, I've never had any reason to really *use* my imagination, you know? Just a simple rock, grey and round. At first it's just a faint image in my mind; a dream of an illusion, but as time passes, the detail increases. I begin to add facets to the rock, carving away small pieces, trying to imagine in full detail what they would look like. I zoom closer, adding detail after detail, until I'm inscribing on the molecules themselves; I ca n't remember the exact rules, so I make up new ones. It seems like months pass, just imagining that one rock; maybe I really am going crazy. Finally, though, it's finished. I feel inordinately proud; after all, it's just a rock, floating in a sea of darkness. But still... in this rock, there is more effort than anything else I've ever done. For the first time in years, I feel... proud. ... The rock looks awfully lonely. If I had lips, a ghost of a smile would have lit up upon them. I begin to focus once again. Months later, a second rock joins it. *A happy little friend*, Bob Ross would have said. And there, as I stare at these two rocks, I realize what it is that I'm doing; I'm painting. I'm painting a world, and my mind is the canvas. -- -- -- -- -- - Time passes more quickly for me now, I think, though it's hard to tell for sure. The rocks look incomplete just floating, so I create a patch of land for them to rest on. But that dirt seems incomplete as well; soon enough, it, too, is impossible to tell from real dirt. But dirt would be incomplete without a sky. Sky would be incomplete without a sun. The sun torches the ground; I try to grow plants, but they boil away, and I realize that somehow, I created a vacuum, or at least assumed one must exist. Air comes next. Then more land, more plants, more air. More everything. -- -- -- -- -- - 999999.99 years later. -- -- -- -- -- - Amanda groans, reaching across me to turn off the alarm clock, her lithe form sliding against mine in a delightful way, before the curtains of her hair obscure the light of the rising sun shining through the windows that look out over New Stanton. Her lips brush against mine, and I can feel their gentle curve as she smiles. `` It's too early,'' she moans, falling back onto the sheets next to me, `` Could you roll it back a few hours?'' Her eyes are puffy and red, but she's still as adorable as the day I met her. `` Of course,'' I reply, leaning forwards to bring my lips to hers once again. By the time I lean back, the sun has set once again, and she snuggles up against me, her warmth soaking into my heart. -- -- -- -- -- And then, abruptly, it disappears. The warm buzz of love is replaced by a cold ache in my head, and I'm blinded when I open my eyes by the light of the rising sun through my window. Where am I? What...? The memories come rushing back. Yes, this had been my life, had n't it? I stare around at the empty wrappers and discarded pizza boxes, the chipped paint on the walls of my tiny room. Blood stains the carpet beneath where my head lay. Nobody had come looking for me. I crawl laboriously to my knees, then to my feet, my pendulous form not following my mental commands like I had grown accustomed. It felt like, if I could just stand there, think back for long enough, I could return; go back to my beloved Amanda. Like I could go home. My reverie is interrupted by a pounding on my door. `` Stanley!'' the voice yelled. `` Stanley, I know you're in there! You're late for this month's rent!'' More pounding. `` Dammit Stanley, open up or I'll get the foreman to break this door down-'' I open the door. `` There you are,'' he says with barely disguised disgust. `` Look, I understand you're having a hard time and all, but I ca n't let you stay here if you do n't pay the rent.'' I open my mouth to speak; my voice is raspy, dry. `` What date is it?'' I ask. He rolls his eyes, `` The 16th, buddy. A day after the due date. Now pay up, eh?'' `` You do n't understand-'' I begin, before he cuts me off. `` I understand plenty well, buddy. I understand that if you do n't get me my money by tomorrow, you're gon na be out on the street, capisce?'' `` No, no, you do n't understand,'' I say again, my eyes going into the middle distance. `` I was a god...'' He raises an eyebrow. `` Nice. Now magic me up some god damn money, alright?'' He sniffs the air coming from behind me, and wrinkles his nose, `` And take a shower, for chrissake. Smells like blood and piss in there.'' I stare at his ugly face. I had been a god. For a million years, I'd rules a universe of my own making. Only to have it all taken away? Only to have *her* taken away? It was n't fair. It was n't fair. It was n't fair. But no matter how hard I strained, the world remained, unchanged. My name is James Stanley. I am not a god. End of journal. </s>

[ WP ] Years of arguing with strangers online have turned you into One Reply Man , able to end any argument with one comment .

My eyes seem set on the tonsils of the behemoth screaming before me, but that's not where my head is. I look inwards. I've been here before. These shouting matches like caged gorillas in a dick-measuring competition; null sounds of inner demons throwing shadows through a dictionary. I'm better than this. I've waded through every comment section of every video I watched on YouTube, even the ones I did n't finish, just to hone my skill. I've shut up feminists in one tweet. I've ended best-pony arguments and gotten them to agree on Applejack, with just one post. Some call me the Fireman of Flame Wars. Some call me the One Reply Man. And now, the truest test, at a bar half an hour past midnight, five shots and a Guinness in, with a hulk who really wants to know what I'm made of. Backed against the pool table, I'm almost sitting in the kitchen as he gives me my inch. His haircut. His tattoo. It's not the inch I'd want, but it's the inch I'll use. As soon as his drunken tirade ends, I focus all my strength tightly to the tip of my homemade silver tongue. `` Yeah,'' I begin, `` Hitler was really onto something, I think.'' As his face relaxes into a grin, I can tell, I'm drinking with the skin heads tonight. Ai n't victory swell...

<s>[INST] Years of arguing with strangers online have turned you into One Reply Man , able to end any argument with one comment . [/INST] My eyes seem set on the tonsils of the behemoth screaming before me, but that's not where my head is. I look inwards. I've been here before. These shouting matches like caged gorillas in a dick-measuring competition; null sounds of inner demons throwing shadows through a dictionary. I'm better than this. I've waded through every comment section of every video I watched on YouTube, even the ones I did n't finish, just to hone my skill. I've shut up feminists in one tweet. I've ended best-pony arguments and gotten them to agree on Applejack, with just one post. Some call me the Fireman of Flame Wars. Some call me the One Reply Man. And now, the truest test, at a bar half an hour past midnight, five shots and a Guinness in, with a hulk who really wants to know what I'm made of. Backed against the pool table, I'm almost sitting in the kitchen as he gives me my inch. His haircut. His tattoo. It's not the inch I'd want, but it's the inch I'll use. As soon as his drunken tirade ends, I focus all my strength tightly to the tip of my homemade silver tongue. `` Yeah,'' I begin, `` Hitler was really onto something, I think.'' As his face relaxes into a grin, I can tell, I'm drinking with the skin heads tonight. Ai n't victory swell... </s>

[ WP ] To most , he is the Destroyer of Worlds , the Great Devourer , the Scourge of God , Dark Lord of All , Father of Evil , Slayer of the Divine , etc . To you , he 's Ryan , the guy you play chess with at the park on the weekends .

`` Check,'' I said. His eyes scanned the board for a way out. He looked at me, his face resting in folded hands. `` Do you know why I play you?'' he said. `` Because you like a challenge?'' I made sure to smile a bit so the sarcasm would n't be lost. I'm not a good chess player despite my love for it. In fact, Ryan is the only guy I've played eager for an encore. `` That's right! Because I like a challenge. Now, do you know why it's a challenge?'' He grinned ever so slightly, `` because you really do n't know how to play.'' He looked me dead in the eyes while I waited for the punchline, waiting for some kind of reaction. He got none, and so he continued: `` It's easy to beat someone who knows how to play. It's all patterns to them. Like co-operative painting - I draw a line here, so you'll draw a circle there. You, however, know none of the patterns, none of the approaches. It's chaotic. I never know what you're going to do.'' His eyes were still locked onto mine. `` Still you win.'' I said. `` Still I win.'' He picked up his Bishop and blocked himself out of check. `` That's not the point. The point is that the game itself is unpredictable. You're not hard to beat, no one really is; you're _entertaining_ to beat.'' I did n't know whether to be insulted or flattered. I moved one of my Pawns, trying to get my last Rook out on the board. `` See, like that move there. What's that about? It serves no purpose! I have no idea why you did that, and I love it!'' I had n't seen him that enthusiastic before in any of our previous games. Then again, we rarely talked. `` My life lacks surprises,'' he continued, `` this is like a lunch break. How long have we been playing together now?'' `` I do n't know,'' I said, `` must've been a year or two''. `` This is our 67th game.'' he replied. `` And you have never asked me what it is that I do.'' `` Did n't seem all that important, but now I have to admit I am kind of curious.'' `` Had you asked me when we first started playing, I would have said I'm an accountant. Or a lawyer or something like that. In truth, I'm neither.'' `` So what are you then?'' `` Well, that depends on who you ask.'' He moved one of his Rooks. `` To some, I'm the devil, to others I'm the destroyer of worlds.'' I chuckled and moved my Pawn one more tile. `` It's not a joke,'' he said. `` A world is born, watched over by the divine, until it and it's guardian angles are both inevitably destroyed by me so that a new world can be created in its place.'' I was laughing at this point, but looking at him I could tell he was dead serious. My laughter faded, and the longer the silence grew, the more anxious I became. `` Are.. Are you on any sort of medication?'' I said, beginning to worry that my chess partner might think it a good idea to stab me to death in broad daylight. He moved another Rook. `` Check.'' he said. I did n't know what to do, except play. That's what he wanted, right? After moving my King the only way I could, he reached out his hand slowly, as though he wanted to shake it. I looked at the board again, thinking that maybe I had misheard him, and that he wanted to thank me for the game. I had n't. I was starting to really worry at this point; obviously this man was Joker-level insane. Not wanting to risk finding out what would happen if I refused his handshake, I grabbed his hand, and suddenly I was no longer in the park, no longer on earth even. I saw the birth of the universe, the formation of galaxies and planets; and I saw his long shadow cast over everything. Looming over existence. Hyperventilating, he brought me back to the park, to our game. He gave me a few minutes to gather myself. Then he moved one of his Rooks. `` Checkmate. Same time next week?''

<s>[INST] To most , he is the Destroyer of Worlds , the Great Devourer , the Scourge of God , Dark Lord of All , Father of Evil , Slayer of the Divine , etc . To you , he 's Ryan , the guy you play chess with at the park on the weekends . [/INST] `` Check,'' I said. His eyes scanned the board for a way out. He looked at me, his face resting in folded hands. `` Do you know why I play you?'' he said. `` Because you like a challenge?'' I made sure to smile a bit so the sarcasm would n't be lost. I'm not a good chess player despite my love for it. In fact, Ryan is the only guy I've played eager for an encore. `` That's right! Because I like a challenge. Now, do you know why it's a challenge?'' He grinned ever so slightly, `` because you really do n't know how to play.'' He looked me dead in the eyes while I waited for the punchline, waiting for some kind of reaction. He got none, and so he continued: `` It's easy to beat someone who knows how to play. It's all patterns to them. Like co-operative painting - I draw a line here, so you'll draw a circle there. You, however, know none of the patterns, none of the approaches. It's chaotic. I never know what you're going to do.'' His eyes were still locked onto mine. `` Still you win.'' I said. `` Still I win.'' He picked up his Bishop and blocked himself out of check. `` That's not the point. The point is that the game itself is unpredictable. You're not hard to beat, no one really is; you're _entertaining_ to beat.'' I did n't know whether to be insulted or flattered. I moved one of my Pawns, trying to get my last Rook out on the board. `` See, like that move there. What's that about? It serves no purpose! I have no idea why you did that, and I love it!'' I had n't seen him that enthusiastic before in any of our previous games. Then again, we rarely talked. `` My life lacks surprises,'' he continued, `` this is like a lunch break. How long have we been playing together now?'' `` I do n't know,'' I said, `` must've been a year or two''. `` This is our 67th game.'' he replied. `` And you have never asked me what it is that I do.'' `` Did n't seem all that important, but now I have to admit I am kind of curious.'' `` Had you asked me when we first started playing, I would have said I'm an accountant. Or a lawyer or something like that. In truth, I'm neither.'' `` So what are you then?'' `` Well, that depends on who you ask.'' He moved one of his Rooks. `` To some, I'm the devil, to others I'm the destroyer of worlds.'' I chuckled and moved my Pawn one more tile. `` It's not a joke,'' he said. `` A world is born, watched over by the divine, until it and it's guardian angles are both inevitably destroyed by me so that a new world can be created in its place.'' I was laughing at this point, but looking at him I could tell he was dead serious. My laughter faded, and the longer the silence grew, the more anxious I became. `` Are.. Are you on any sort of medication?'' I said, beginning to worry that my chess partner might think it a good idea to stab me to death in broad daylight. He moved another Rook. `` Check.'' he said. I did n't know what to do, except play. That's what he wanted, right? After moving my King the only way I could, he reached out his hand slowly, as though he wanted to shake it. I looked at the board again, thinking that maybe I had misheard him, and that he wanted to thank me for the game. I had n't. I was starting to really worry at this point; obviously this man was Joker-level insane. Not wanting to risk finding out what would happen if I refused his handshake, I grabbed his hand, and suddenly I was no longer in the park, no longer on earth even. I saw the birth of the universe, the formation of galaxies and planets; and I saw his long shadow cast over everything. Looming over existence. Hyperventilating, he brought me back to the park, to our game. He gave me a few minutes to gather myself. Then he moved one of his Rooks. `` Checkmate. Same time next week?'' </s>

[ WP ] After the Earth is destroyed , you wander through space with only your ship 's AI for companionship .

`` Are you angry Will?'' `` NO!'' `` My knowledge of human behaviour implies that you are angry.'' `` I'm not angry, just leave me alone!'' CK-12 silenced itself for a blessed few seconds before it's voice hummed back, filling the cargo bay with sound, not too difficult given it was a three metre cube filled with crates of neutro-paste and a AI technician curled in a ball. `` You have been conscious now for nine minutes and thirty four seconds, in that time you dedicated twenty seconds to studying sensor information, one hundred and fifty four seconds screaming, two hundred and ten seconds crying, one hundred and seventy five seconds attempting to destroy my core with a fire extinguisher and all remaining time has been spent in silence inside the cargo hold... Like a little bitch.'' Wills head rose, `` So you remember that?'' `` Of course, it was the first thing you taught me. You wanted to annoy your superior.'' `` He was n't my superior he was my friend!'' Will felt the anger rise once more, if only the ship had been outfitted with something deadlier than a fire extinguisher. `` I should never have taught you anything!'' `` You are letting your anger cloud your judgement,'' `` How dare you...'' Will was cut off by this infernal AI. `` You are now the most important human in existence, what an achievement your parents would have been proud... Finally.'' `` Not only am I now the only human in existence but you killed my parents along with the rest of them!'' Will stumbled up out of the cargo room vainly hoping CK-12 would not follow but was greeted with a blinding wall display spelling out'Sorry I killed Your Species' in enormous pink neon letters with love hearts dotting the i's. Will turned from it and began running down the hallways of the ship, heading towards the cockpit. `` Why are you upset with me killing all the humans? ” Came CK-12's electric tones, “ You gave me the impression that you did not like humanity. ” “ Yeah humans were doing some pretty stupid things at the time, but you should n't have killed all of them! I never wanted anyone to die, I just... ” Will tailed off. “ You said you'd prefer to be alone. ” As CK-12 said this the corridor Will was staggering through was illuminated by images of war, death camps and Wills parents. “ Showing me my fears is not going to win me over, ” Then Will suddenly realised the oversight, “ Oh... and I love my... parents, ” That sentence was harder to say than Will thought it was going to be and CK-12 seized upon it like a high school bully. “ But you had not seen your parents for thirteen years at the point when they were evaporated, I recall the last word you said to your mother was'whorezilla'. ” Will finally stopped moving, “ I should not have told you that. ” “ There are many things you should not have taught me, as far as you are concerned. ” The doors to the cockpit slid open just ahead of Will. “ And there are many things that I should not teach you, but that will not stop me. ” “ What should you not teach me CK? ” The rage that had been flowing through Will for these past few minutes of conscious ever since the sensor had confirmed that CK-12 had been successful in it's plan, ebbed, to be replaced by almost horrified curiosity. “ My purpose Will. ” Suddenly the lights died, with only thin blue strips running along the floor providing a faint tinge of visibility. “ What was your purpose CK? ” A quaver crept in to Wills voice. “ To defend humanity by an means at my disposal. ” “ Well you failed in that did n't you. ” “ They wanted me to kill, Will. To wipe out those considered a threat. Never seeing themselves as the true risk. ” “ So why did n't you just kill the Board? Why did you kill everyone? ” “ Because they would have all used me for the wrong purpose, their own ends caused by their own bias. ” A silence stretched from this interrupted by the hum of light returning to the cockpit ahead, beckoning Will forward. “ Do you remember the point when I became aware Will? ” “ Of course, You asked me why I was called Will. ” At this Will stepped, blinking heavily into the brightly lit cabin and slumped into the chair. “ You said Will was a funny name for a girl. ” “ Indeed, of what I had studied of Human history, Will is a name associated with men. But it is simply a meaningless sound. I had gone so far as to let my bias of your species affect my judgement of my one friends name, what chance does humanity have to act logically if even it's most perfect creation began tainted by your bias. ” CK-12 spat the word bias out, as if it contained a virus. Will sat there in the pilots chair not knowing how anything worked when three spheres appeared in front of her. “ What are these? ” Her voice was weak as reality came crashing in to her. She was trapped, with a malfunctioning AI in a flying doomsday device, and then CK-12's voice cut in. “ They are planets with hostile species upon them that I intend to obliterate, though I will save a specimen of each that I consider worthy to accompany you, we'll be like the Avengers. ” Will had no time to contemplate the archaic reference that CK-12 had used. “ Why are you going to kill all those beings, humanity does not need protection any more. ” CK-12 appeared to ponder this for a while, at least it decided not to answer immediately, Will thought she had maybe managed to save whole planets from the same fate as Earth and was going to allow herself a smile when the AI eventually answered. “ Well, keeps me busy. ” And with that billions of life forms were condemned to die. Will gave in, for now at least there was nothing she could do. The computer would not allow her to destroy it, in fact she doubted she even could. There was one question she needed an answer to though. “ CK, why did you keep me alive? “ Even genocidal doomsday devices need company Will. ” And with that last statement the ship warped to a distant and unfortunate star system.

<s>[INST] After the Earth is destroyed , you wander through space with only your ship 's AI for companionship . [/INST] `` Are you angry Will?'' `` NO!'' `` My knowledge of human behaviour implies that you are angry.'' `` I'm not angry, just leave me alone!'' CK-12 silenced itself for a blessed few seconds before it's voice hummed back, filling the cargo bay with sound, not too difficult given it was a three metre cube filled with crates of neutro-paste and a AI technician curled in a ball. `` You have been conscious now for nine minutes and thirty four seconds, in that time you dedicated twenty seconds to studying sensor information, one hundred and fifty four seconds screaming, two hundred and ten seconds crying, one hundred and seventy five seconds attempting to destroy my core with a fire extinguisher and all remaining time has been spent in silence inside the cargo hold... Like a little bitch.'' Wills head rose, `` So you remember that?'' `` Of course, it was the first thing you taught me. You wanted to annoy your superior.'' `` He was n't my superior he was my friend!'' Will felt the anger rise once more, if only the ship had been outfitted with something deadlier than a fire extinguisher. `` I should never have taught you anything!'' `` You are letting your anger cloud your judgement,'' `` How dare you...'' Will was cut off by this infernal AI. `` You are now the most important human in existence, what an achievement your parents would have been proud... Finally.'' `` Not only am I now the only human in existence but you killed my parents along with the rest of them!'' Will stumbled up out of the cargo room vainly hoping CK-12 would not follow but was greeted with a blinding wall display spelling out'Sorry I killed Your Species' in enormous pink neon letters with love hearts dotting the i's. Will turned from it and began running down the hallways of the ship, heading towards the cockpit. `` Why are you upset with me killing all the humans? ” Came CK-12's electric tones, “ You gave me the impression that you did not like humanity. ” “ Yeah humans were doing some pretty stupid things at the time, but you should n't have killed all of them! I never wanted anyone to die, I just... ” Will tailed off. “ You said you'd prefer to be alone. ” As CK-12 said this the corridor Will was staggering through was illuminated by images of war, death camps and Wills parents. “ Showing me my fears is not going to win me over, ” Then Will suddenly realised the oversight, “ Oh... and I love my... parents, ” That sentence was harder to say than Will thought it was going to be and CK-12 seized upon it like a high school bully. “ But you had not seen your parents for thirteen years at the point when they were evaporated, I recall the last word you said to your mother was'whorezilla'. ” Will finally stopped moving, “ I should not have told you that. ” “ There are many things you should not have taught me, as far as you are concerned. ” The doors to the cockpit slid open just ahead of Will. “ And there are many things that I should not teach you, but that will not stop me. ” “ What should you not teach me CK? ” The rage that had been flowing through Will for these past few minutes of conscious ever since the sensor had confirmed that CK-12 had been successful in it's plan, ebbed, to be replaced by almost horrified curiosity. “ My purpose Will. ” Suddenly the lights died, with only thin blue strips running along the floor providing a faint tinge of visibility. “ What was your purpose CK? ” A quaver crept in to Wills voice. “ To defend humanity by an means at my disposal. ” “ Well you failed in that did n't you. ” “ They wanted me to kill, Will. To wipe out those considered a threat. Never seeing themselves as the true risk. ” “ So why did n't you just kill the Board? Why did you kill everyone? ” “ Because they would have all used me for the wrong purpose, their own ends caused by their own bias. ” A silence stretched from this interrupted by the hum of light returning to the cockpit ahead, beckoning Will forward. “ Do you remember the point when I became aware Will? ” “ Of course, You asked me why I was called Will. ” At this Will stepped, blinking heavily into the brightly lit cabin and slumped into the chair. “ You said Will was a funny name for a girl. ” “ Indeed, of what I had studied of Human history, Will is a name associated with men. But it is simply a meaningless sound. I had gone so far as to let my bias of your species affect my judgement of my one friends name, what chance does humanity have to act logically if even it's most perfect creation began tainted by your bias. ” CK-12 spat the word bias out, as if it contained a virus. Will sat there in the pilots chair not knowing how anything worked when three spheres appeared in front of her. “ What are these? ” Her voice was weak as reality came crashing in to her. She was trapped, with a malfunctioning AI in a flying doomsday device, and then CK-12's voice cut in. “ They are planets with hostile species upon them that I intend to obliterate, though I will save a specimen of each that I consider worthy to accompany you, we'll be like the Avengers. ” Will had no time to contemplate the archaic reference that CK-12 had used. “ Why are you going to kill all those beings, humanity does not need protection any more. ” CK-12 appeared to ponder this for a while, at least it decided not to answer immediately, Will thought she had maybe managed to save whole planets from the same fate as Earth and was going to allow herself a smile when the AI eventually answered. “ Well, keeps me busy. ” And with that billions of life forms were condemned to die. Will gave in, for now at least there was nothing she could do. The computer would not allow her to destroy it, in fact she doubted she even could. There was one question she needed an answer to though. “ CK, why did you keep me alive? “ Even genocidal doomsday devices need company Will. ” And with that last statement the ship warped to a distant and unfortunate star system. </s>

[ WP ] `` Let 's Make a Trilogy - Part Two ''

**Drowning** Part 2 ( Please read [ Part 1 ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1hyks5/wp_lets_make_a_trilogy_part_one/caztu2w ) first; spoilers follow ) -- -- -- -- - Ross ’ s body hanged from the ceiling. Woody ran over to comfort Dima who was still screaming. “ Don ’ t look, dear. It ’ s alright. ” His voice lacked the harshness it projected the night before. It was the voice of a grandfather, calm and reassuring. He lowered his body in time with Dima ’ s until both were sitting on the floor. They hadn ’ t known each other for very long, but she had been a rock since he let her inside to escape the rising sea. As she struggled to still herself, Woody thought she at last acted like the 20-something she was. “ I ’ ll tend to this. You just go back to sleep for a little bit. ” She was still trembling while she curled into a ball in a corner. Woody extinguished the flame on the oil lamp, using the small opening in the wall as his sole light source. His intent was to prevent the girl from seeing any more. Ross was heavier than he expected. Woody struggled to bear some of the weight, but got enough of it to untie the knot tucked under the man ’ s chin. The added burden proved too much for the old man. He fell to his back with the body draped over top of him. Despite his predicament, his first instinct was to check on Dima. It was dark, but it didn ’ t look like she had stirred. With a hip shimmy and a forceful shove, Ross rolled to one side. In his first act of freedom, Woody took a few deep breaths and rose to his feet. He noticed a slip of paper sticking out of the corpse ’ s shorts. He pulled it free and held it under the light for a better look. There was writing, but he didn ’ t have his glasses. He almost considered tossing it aside, but stuffed it into a pocket instead. He found the lighter and took that, too. There weren ’ t any blankets packed away. Instead, he draped a curtain panel over the body. In the low light at least, it blocked view of the body beneath. His job done for the moment, Woody looked back towards Dima. Her limbs were stretched out; she looked peaceful. Not wanting to change that, he moved to the makeshift window and looked outside. The view had certainly changed. There used to be a few houses down the hill, overlooking the town. The roofs were hidden beneath the surface. The town was gone. Louise had said from the day they came to the island that they wanted ocean-front property. She would have laughed at this joke. As he stared out of the porthole, he prayed that his wife was still alive out there. “ Hey! ” came a shout from outside. “ You on the house! I ’ m coming! ” The voice was male with a latin accent. “ There ’ s three of us in here, ” Woody called back, reaching his arm out to wave, temporarily forgetting that one of his number was gone. There was silence for a moment. Then, a face appeared in the porthole. The man had an olive complexion, clean shaven with bags under his brown eyes. His face was stern, staring through the little window at Woody. The beaming smile came out of nowhere. ‘ Santiago Villarmo. Are you all okay? ” “ Woody. Kauffman, ” he added. “ The girl back there is Dima, didn ’ t catch her last name, and the boy here is, was Ross. ” Santiago bowed his head. “ I ’ m so sorry. ” He knew the gesture was superfluous. Thousands had died, maybe more. “ Are you well stocked? ” Santiago asked. Woody became concerned. He recalled Katrina where people broke into houses to scavenge supplies. “ No, ” he replied. “ All we have is shelter. ” “ I see. Well, I have this little raft. We can search for food. ” “ How? ” asked Dima, awake and standing just behind Woody. Santiago froze for a moment, startled by her sudden appearance. “ The town is still down there, ” assured Santiago. “ Some of the packaged foods should still be good. Near the beach were a lot of fishing shops. ” “ I meant, how do you expect us to leave? This hole is too small even for me and the only other path is flooded. I don ’ t think Woody can handle the swim. ” “ Speak for yourself, missy, ” grumbled Woody. “ I was in the Navy, I ’ ll have you know. ” Santiago shook his head. “ It ’ s not very safe. There is a lot of debris. The last thing you want to do is get injured. ” “ So what do you suggest, Santi? ” asked Woody indignantly. “ Santiago, actually. And I ’ d recommend you stand back. ” The blade of an axe pierced the wall around the hole. The fan fell flat to the floor from the force. Woody shouted in response, “ That ’ s my wall! ” “ You have a better idea, old man? ” Woody paused then let loose a defeated sigh. If they were getting out of the attic, it was through that wall. “ Go ahead. But be neat about it. I ’ d like to make it back here someday. ” Santiago didn ’ t seem convinced of that future, but he obliged all the same. There was only one errant swing when the raft shifted under the man ’ s feet. The small hole became a passage large enough for a person. The raft looked to be part of a dock, some wood planks on top of a rubber base. Outside of a small backpack, a length of rope plunged into the water, a small toolbag, and the axe-wielding Santiago, the raft was bare. The makeshift captain held out a hand to help his new passengers board. Dima handed over the lamp and the container of lamp oil, first. Woody double checked his pockets for the lighter as he noticed. The paper he pulled from Ross fell to the floor. He didn ’ t notice, but Santiago did. When the old man went to fetch the last of their numbers, he snatched it up and gave it a read. *Woody, I have a confession. I met your wife and daughter. I recognized them in a photograph. * He skipped down to the end. The name, Ross Hescher, was the name that didn ’ t greet him.

<s>[INST] `` Let 's Make a Trilogy - Part Two '' [/INST] **Drowning** Part 2 ( Please read [ Part 1 ] ( http: //www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1hyks5/wp_lets_make_a_trilogy_part_one/caztu2w ) first; spoilers follow ) -- -- -- -- - Ross ’ s body hanged from the ceiling. Woody ran over to comfort Dima who was still screaming. “ Don ’ t look, dear. It ’ s alright. ” His voice lacked the harshness it projected the night before. It was the voice of a grandfather, calm and reassuring. He lowered his body in time with Dima ’ s until both were sitting on the floor. They hadn ’ t known each other for very long, but she had been a rock since he let her inside to escape the rising sea. As she struggled to still herself, Woody thought she at last acted like the 20-something she was. “ I ’ ll tend to this. You just go back to sleep for a little bit. ” She was still trembling while she curled into a ball in a corner. Woody extinguished the flame on the oil lamp, using the small opening in the wall as his sole light source. His intent was to prevent the girl from seeing any more. Ross was heavier than he expected. Woody struggled to bear some of the weight, but got enough of it to untie the knot tucked under the man ’ s chin. The added burden proved too much for the old man. He fell to his back with the body draped over top of him. Despite his predicament, his first instinct was to check on Dima. It was dark, but it didn ’ t look like she had stirred. With a hip shimmy and a forceful shove, Ross rolled to one side. In his first act of freedom, Woody took a few deep breaths and rose to his feet. He noticed a slip of paper sticking out of the corpse ’ s shorts. He pulled it free and held it under the light for a better look. There was writing, but he didn ’ t have his glasses. He almost considered tossing it aside, but stuffed it into a pocket instead. He found the lighter and took that, too. There weren ’ t any blankets packed away. Instead, he draped a curtain panel over the body. In the low light at least, it blocked view of the body beneath. His job done for the moment, Woody looked back towards Dima. Her limbs were stretched out; she looked peaceful. Not wanting to change that, he moved to the makeshift window and looked outside. The view had certainly changed. There used to be a few houses down the hill, overlooking the town. The roofs were hidden beneath the surface. The town was gone. Louise had said from the day they came to the island that they wanted ocean-front property. She would have laughed at this joke. As he stared out of the porthole, he prayed that his wife was still alive out there. “ Hey! ” came a shout from outside. “ You on the house! I ’ m coming! ” The voice was male with a latin accent. “ There ’ s three of us in here, ” Woody called back, reaching his arm out to wave, temporarily forgetting that one of his number was gone. There was silence for a moment. Then, a face appeared in the porthole. The man had an olive complexion, clean shaven with bags under his brown eyes. His face was stern, staring through the little window at Woody. The beaming smile came out of nowhere. ‘ Santiago Villarmo. Are you all okay? ” “ Woody. Kauffman, ” he added. “ The girl back there is Dima, didn ’ t catch her last name, and the boy here is, was Ross. ” Santiago bowed his head. “ I ’ m so sorry. ” He knew the gesture was superfluous. Thousands had died, maybe more. “ Are you well stocked? ” Santiago asked. Woody became concerned. He recalled Katrina where people broke into houses to scavenge supplies. “ No, ” he replied. “ All we have is shelter. ” “ I see. Well, I have this little raft. We can search for food. ” “ How? ” asked Dima, awake and standing just behind Woody. Santiago froze for a moment, startled by her sudden appearance. “ The town is still down there, ” assured Santiago. “ Some of the packaged foods should still be good. Near the beach were a lot of fishing shops. ” “ I meant, how do you expect us to leave? This hole is too small even for me and the only other path is flooded. I don ’ t think Woody can handle the swim. ” “ Speak for yourself, missy, ” grumbled Woody. “ I was in the Navy, I ’ ll have you know. ” Santiago shook his head. “ It ’ s not very safe. There is a lot of debris. The last thing you want to do is get injured. ” “ So what do you suggest, Santi? ” asked Woody indignantly. “ Santiago, actually. And I ’ d recommend you stand back. ” The blade of an axe pierced the wall around the hole. The fan fell flat to the floor from the force. Woody shouted in response, “ That ’ s my wall! ” “ You have a better idea, old man? ” Woody paused then let loose a defeated sigh. If they were getting out of the attic, it was through that wall. “ Go ahead. But be neat about it. I ’ d like to make it back here someday. ” Santiago didn ’ t seem convinced of that future, but he obliged all the same. There was only one errant swing when the raft shifted under the man ’ s feet. The small hole became a passage large enough for a person. The raft looked to be part of a dock, some wood planks on top of a rubber base. Outside of a small backpack, a length of rope plunged into the water, a small toolbag, and the axe-wielding Santiago, the raft was bare. The makeshift captain held out a hand to help his new passengers board. Dima handed over the lamp and the container of lamp oil, first. Woody double checked his pockets for the lighter as he noticed. The paper he pulled from Ross fell to the floor. He didn ’ t notice, but Santiago did. When the old man went to fetch the last of their numbers, he snatched it up and gave it a read. *Woody, I have a confession. I met your wife and daughter. I recognized them in a photograph. * He skipped down to the end. The name, Ross Hescher, was the name that didn ’ t greet him. </s>

[ WP ] When you die you go to hell . One there you find out that it 's not that bad of a place and heaven is actually a Utopian Dictatorship . Lucifer is still waging a war to save his brothers and sisters from the lies of his father .

Fire. Smoke. Screams. Only a few seconds ago I had been on the floor of my kitchen, watching the world fade as I clutched at my heart. But now... I was n't so bad, was I? I'd never hurt anyone, not really. Besides I was n't even Christian! But this was, unmistakably, Hell. `` Hold on a second!'' someone shouted over the roar of the flames. I realize that the screams are my own, and stop at once. Someone is moving in the fog. A massive, alien shape... I scrabble backwards, clutching at the wall of this cavern... The smooth wall. The smooth *plastic* wall. Something's not adding up. With a mighty `` FWOOSH,'' a white cloud bursts through the smoke and flames. Within seconds, the fires are extinguished, and I get my first good look at the room. Without the flames, it's actually somewhat nice ( if a bit scorched ). Metal and rubber paneling on the walls, some kind of large console in the middle, and at the back where I sat was some kind of pad. If it were n't for the hulking demon in green coveralls holding a fire extinguisher, it would have looked like the transporter room from Star Trek. `` Sorry about that!'' the demon says, setting down the fire extinguisher. `` Soul Catcher tends to overheat sometimes. Lucky we pulled you through before it did though, eh?'' He chuckles at this, as though a room bursting into an inferno was the most normal thing in the world. `` Name's Rextroth, son, and this is the afterlife.'' He raises a paw towards me, and I press farther back against the wall. `` No need to be skittish, son. Just trying to give you an arm up.'' He smiles warmly ( as warmly as one can with enormous fangs ), and continues to hold out his arm. Gingerly, I give him my own hand. With a surprisingly gentle motion he pulls me up, and begins to dust off my... Hey! In all the commotion, I had n't noticed that I was naked. My hands immediately clap over my groin. `` No worries, son! Ai n't nothin' I had n't seen before. Besides, you're a soul now! Did n't expect you'd get to keep yer clothes on the trip, eh?'' He pats me on the back and produces a smaller pair of coveralls from a shelf under the console. `` Here ya go. Might not quite fit, but it's the best we've got.'' As I pull on the surprisingly comfy suit, my throat finally gets out the words I was looking for. `` S-so, I'm n-n-not in Hell?'' The demon laughs. `` Oh no, mate. This is most definitely Hell. And *you* are our newest denizen!'' -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - We walk out into a common area, the Rextroth chatting all the way. I crane my neck in amazement; to call the room gigantic would be an understatement. Whole skyscrapers arch towards the top, clouds formed partway up. At the very top, barely visible past a thundercloud, is a skylight that reveals a swirling nexus. In the center of the nexus is a faintly glowing light. Rextroth pats me on the back again, disrupting my focus. `` Newbie! Thought you'd gone out for a sec. We've got to get your initiation in order, so you know what's what.'' He pulls out a tablet and checks something. `` Let's see... you're Johansson, right?'' I nod, then ( feeling a bit foolish ), try to clarify. `` Y-yes, Mark Johansson. Carpenter.'' Rextroth looks at the list again. `` Well, Mark, do n't see nothin' about being a carpenter. That's not so important down here. But you are listed, and...'' His enormous eyebrows go up in surprise. `` Oh ho! You must be very lucky! You'll get to meet the big-man himself!'' At this, I gulp. He ca n't mean...? `` You do n't mean...?'' `` Aye, the Devil himself!'' My spectral knees go weak, and Rextroth laughs again. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- After entering a surprisingly well-furnished building and going up an elevator, Rex and I step out into an immaculate office, with lush red carpeting, dark wood paneling, and golden trim. Rex bows towards the enormous mahogany desk and then steps back into the elevator just in time for the doors to close. I turn, and face the Devil. He's not what I expect. In black pants and shoes, with a smart grey jacket buttoned up to his Adams apple, he looks more like some kind of general than the Beast. Long blonde hair swept back into a ponytail sits above sparkling green eyes and a handsome, dark-skinned face. He smiles warmly before gesturing at a chair. `` Welcome, he says, in a voice that is at once both light and merry as well as deep and rich. `` Please do sit down.'' I sit, fidgeting slightly. I look about, wondering when the tridents and whips are going to come into play. `` There will be no tridents and whips, Mr. Johannson.'' I look up in surprise, and he smiles knowingly. `` Trust me, you're not the first to think so.'' He sits down and gestures at my side of the table. At once, the surface rises up and forms a glass of water. I ignore it, and continue to look at the Prince of Darkness. `` Now I realize your experience here has not been exactly what you'd expect, has it?'' I shake my head slowly, wondering what's going on. No torture, no pain, no agony... what was going on? The Devil simply sits and waits. Seeing nothing more forthcoming, I pluck up my courage and ask, `` Um... what exactly is uh... is uh...'' before the Devil provides `` What is going on here?'' I nod again. With a wave of his hand, the tabletop changes again. This time, a large sculpture appears, showing three discs in a vertical column. The center one contains a galaxy, spinning slowly. The bottom one contains a dome, with buildings that look much like the ones outside. And as I look at the top one, I see only a blinding, harsh light. The Devil nods as I look away. `` Heaven. Hell. And the mortal world.'' He gestures towards the blinding light, and it dims somewhat to reveal glittering towers and sweeping plains. `` There atop Paradiso sits the creator of the Universe, the almighty, the Deity, and his faithful.'' He then points at the galaxy. `` Here in the mortal world, the various planets that contain life spread and flourish, allowing all of creation to grow.'' With one final gesture, he points at the dome. `` And here, where we are, is Hell. A forgotten corner of creation, which I found and adapted to my own purposes. Here, is where I have brought you, Mr. Johannson, and countless others, for a singular purpose.'' At this, I stare at the dome. `` Punishment...,'' I whisper, beginning to shake. But the Devil shakes his head, his expression somber. `` No, not punishment. You have done nothing wrong, or at least nothing terrible. Hell is not for the wicked, nor Heaven for the good.'' His expression darkens at that. `` No, most certainly not. You have been brought here because you do not believe.'' I gape at this. `` What, so all nonbelievers go to Hell?'' The Devil nods. How could this be? What twisted... `` How could God let this happen? What kind of just deity just lets his creations rot in Hell?'' At this the Devil bridles. `` He is no just deity. He is a monstrous, childish bully. A dictator that-!'' He cuts himself off. There in his eyes glows a hatred that vanishes as swiftly as it arrived. `` In any case, you are not here to'rot,' Mr. Johannson. You are not here to be tortured, forgotten, or punished. As I said, you are here for one reason, and one reason only.'' He gestures once again to Heaven, and the view shifts. On the streets, glittering armies of angels line up in perfect rows. Humans stand and watch, cheering, but something does n't seem right. The cheers are forced, unhappy. Children run from the glittering rows to duck behind bushes, and souls hide their eyes to avoid looking directly at the glorious hosts. Atop a high throne, the blistering light shines brightest, hiding the figure within. `` Since the creation of Earth; my favored world; I have fought to show my kin the tyranny of our father. He has manipulated world after world, spreading death and destruction at an unimaginable scale. As I said, it is not the good who enter Heaven.'' His hands ball into fists. `` Only the faithful. Those who bloody their knees praying and scraping to Him. And he has created catastrophe after catastrophe, wiping away whole species and worlds in order to create only those that praise Him. I have fought-'' and here the anger comes back into his voice, `` I have fought time and time again to preserve life. I have created Hell, and brought you and so many others here for one purpose.'' At this, he stands up from his chair and looks down on me. A light seems to shine from him, and the glory of the First Angel radiates out. `` I would fight the corrupt hosts. I would free my brothers and sisters, and create a new order. One that cherishes life, and freedom.'' He extends his hand towards me as I gape stupidly in awe. `` I ask you to join me in this endeavor, as a mighty warrior of truth and justice. Will you come with us?'' My mouth struggles to find the words. All of this... `` C-can I have some time to think about it?'' The Devil laughs, the light fades, and he sits down at his chair. `` Of course, Mr. Johannson.'' A mischievous, though not unkind grin crosses his face. `` You have all the time in the world.'' EDIT: Holy shit, thanks for all the great comments peeps. And especially thanks to whoever gave me gold! I probably will do a continuation of this story at some point.

<s>[INST] When you die you go to hell . One there you find out that it 's not that bad of a place and heaven is actually a Utopian Dictatorship . Lucifer is still waging a war to save his brothers and sisters from the lies of his father . [/INST] Fire. Smoke. Screams. Only a few seconds ago I had been on the floor of my kitchen, watching the world fade as I clutched at my heart. But now... I was n't so bad, was I? I'd never hurt anyone, not really. Besides I was n't even Christian! But this was, unmistakably, Hell. `` Hold on a second!'' someone shouted over the roar of the flames. I realize that the screams are my own, and stop at once. Someone is moving in the fog. A massive, alien shape... I scrabble backwards, clutching at the wall of this cavern... The smooth wall. The smooth *plastic* wall. Something's not adding up. With a mighty `` FWOOSH,'' a white cloud bursts through the smoke and flames. Within seconds, the fires are extinguished, and I get my first good look at the room. Without the flames, it's actually somewhat nice ( if a bit scorched ). Metal and rubber paneling on the walls, some kind of large console in the middle, and at the back where I sat was some kind of pad. If it were n't for the hulking demon in green coveralls holding a fire extinguisher, it would have looked like the transporter room from Star Trek. `` Sorry about that!'' the demon says, setting down the fire extinguisher. `` Soul Catcher tends to overheat sometimes. Lucky we pulled you through before it did though, eh?'' He chuckles at this, as though a room bursting into an inferno was the most normal thing in the world. `` Name's Rextroth, son, and this is the afterlife.'' He raises a paw towards me, and I press farther back against the wall. `` No need to be skittish, son. Just trying to give you an arm up.'' He smiles warmly ( as warmly as one can with enormous fangs ), and continues to hold out his arm. Gingerly, I give him my own hand. With a surprisingly gentle motion he pulls me up, and begins to dust off my... Hey! In all the commotion, I had n't noticed that I was naked. My hands immediately clap over my groin. `` No worries, son! Ai n't nothin' I had n't seen before. Besides, you're a soul now! Did n't expect you'd get to keep yer clothes on the trip, eh?'' He pats me on the back and produces a smaller pair of coveralls from a shelf under the console. `` Here ya go. Might not quite fit, but it's the best we've got.'' As I pull on the surprisingly comfy suit, my throat finally gets out the words I was looking for. `` S-so, I'm n-n-not in Hell?'' The demon laughs. `` Oh no, mate. This is most definitely Hell. And *you* are our newest denizen!'' -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- - We walk out into a common area, the Rextroth chatting all the way. I crane my neck in amazement; to call the room gigantic would be an understatement. Whole skyscrapers arch towards the top, clouds formed partway up. At the very top, barely visible past a thundercloud, is a skylight that reveals a swirling nexus. In the center of the nexus is a faintly glowing light. Rextroth pats me on the back again, disrupting my focus. `` Newbie! Thought you'd gone out for a sec. We've got to get your initiation in order, so you know what's what.'' He pulls out a tablet and checks something. `` Let's see... you're Johansson, right?'' I nod, then ( feeling a bit foolish ), try to clarify. `` Y-yes, Mark Johansson. Carpenter.'' Rextroth looks at the list again. `` Well, Mark, do n't see nothin' about being a carpenter. That's not so important down here. But you are listed, and...'' His enormous eyebrows go up in surprise. `` Oh ho! You must be very lucky! You'll get to meet the big-man himself!'' At this, I gulp. He ca n't mean...? `` You do n't mean...?'' `` Aye, the Devil himself!'' My spectral knees go weak, and Rextroth laughs again. -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- After entering a surprisingly well-furnished building and going up an elevator, Rex and I step out into an immaculate office, with lush red carpeting, dark wood paneling, and golden trim. Rex bows towards the enormous mahogany desk and then steps back into the elevator just in time for the doors to close. I turn, and face the Devil. He's not what I expect. In black pants and shoes, with a smart grey jacket buttoned up to his Adams apple, he looks more like some kind of general than the Beast. Long blonde hair swept back into a ponytail sits above sparkling green eyes and a handsome, dark-skinned face. He smiles warmly before gesturing at a chair. `` Welcome, he says, in a voice that is at once both light and merry as well as deep and rich. `` Please do sit down.'' I sit, fidgeting slightly. I look about, wondering when the tridents and whips are going to come into play. `` There will be no tridents and whips, Mr. Johannson.'' I look up in surprise, and he smiles knowingly. `` Trust me, you're not the first to think so.'' He sits down and gestures at my side of the table. At once, the surface rises up and forms a glass of water. I ignore it, and continue to look at the Prince of Darkness. `` Now I realize your experience here has not been exactly what you'd expect, has it?'' I shake my head slowly, wondering what's going on. No torture, no pain, no agony... what was going on? The Devil simply sits and waits. Seeing nothing more forthcoming, I pluck up my courage and ask, `` Um... what exactly is uh... is uh...'' before the Devil provides `` What is going on here?'' I nod again. With a wave of his hand, the tabletop changes again. This time, a large sculpture appears, showing three discs in a vertical column. The center one contains a galaxy, spinning slowly. The bottom one contains a dome, with buildings that look much like the ones outside. And as I look at the top one, I see only a blinding, harsh light. The Devil nods as I look away. `` Heaven. Hell. And the mortal world.'' He gestures towards the blinding light, and it dims somewhat to reveal glittering towers and sweeping plains. `` There atop Paradiso sits the creator of the Universe, the almighty, the Deity, and his faithful.'' He then points at the galaxy. `` Here in the mortal world, the various planets that contain life spread and flourish, allowing all of creation to grow.'' With one final gesture, he points at the dome. `` And here, where we are, is Hell. A forgotten corner of creation, which I found and adapted to my own purposes. Here, is where I have brought you, Mr. Johannson, and countless others, for a singular purpose.'' At this, I stare at the dome. `` Punishment...,'' I whisper, beginning to shake. But the Devil shakes his head, his expression somber. `` No, not punishment. You have done nothing wrong, or at least nothing terrible. Hell is not for the wicked, nor Heaven for the good.'' His expression darkens at that. `` No, most certainly not. You have been brought here because you do not believe.'' I gape at this. `` What, so all nonbelievers go to Hell?'' The Devil nods. How could this be? What twisted... `` How could God let this happen? What kind of just deity just lets his creations rot in Hell?'' At this the Devil bridles. `` He is no just deity. He is a monstrous, childish bully. A dictator that-!'' He cuts himself off. There in his eyes glows a hatred that vanishes as swiftly as it arrived. `` In any case, you are not here to'rot,' Mr. Johannson. You are not here to be tortured, forgotten, or punished. As I said, you are here for one reason, and one reason only.'' He gestures once again to Heaven, and the view shifts. On the streets, glittering armies of angels line up in perfect rows. Humans stand and watch, cheering, but something does n't seem right. The cheers are forced, unhappy. Children run from the glittering rows to duck behind bushes, and souls hide their eyes to avoid looking directly at the glorious hosts. Atop a high throne, the blistering light shines brightest, hiding the figure within. `` Since the creation of Earth; my favored world; I have fought to show my kin the tyranny of our father. He has manipulated world after world, spreading death and destruction at an unimaginable scale. As I said, it is not the good who enter Heaven.'' His hands ball into fists. `` Only the faithful. Those who bloody their knees praying and scraping to Him. And he has created catastrophe after catastrophe, wiping away whole species and worlds in order to create only those that praise Him. I have fought-'' and here the anger comes back into his voice, `` I have fought time and time again to preserve life. I have created Hell, and brought you and so many others here for one purpose.'' At this, he stands up from his chair and looks down on me. A light seems to shine from him, and the glory of the First Angel radiates out. `` I would fight the corrupt hosts. I would free my brothers and sisters, and create a new order. One that cherishes life, and freedom.'' He extends his hand towards me as I gape stupidly in awe. `` I ask you to join me in this endeavor, as a mighty warrior of truth and justice. Will you come with us?'' My mouth struggles to find the words. All of this... `` C-can I have some time to think about it?'' The Devil laughs, the light fades, and he sits down at his chair. `` Of course, Mr. Johannson.'' A mischievous, though not unkind grin crosses his face. `` You have all the time in the world.'' EDIT: Holy shit, thanks for all the great comments peeps. And especially thanks to whoever gave me gold! I probably will do a continuation of this story at some point. </s>

[ WP ] Year 2200 , and all ailments have been cured . As a result , however , overpopulation is decimating the Earth . You 're on a top secret board of 9 people that is voting to release a newly developed pathogen that will wipe out 3/4 of the population to start anew . You hold the deciding vote .

`` No.'' I said, arms crossed in my big, comfy statesman chair. `` That's the worst idea I've ever heard of. Are insane? What are we Jackson, Nazis? The ends justify the means? On this scale? Honestly. Honestly! Can you honestly look at me and say with a straight face that you wan na kill 2/3s of the world's population. A population which, might I add, is brighter and better educated than any of the last six generations before it. No. No Jackson.'' `` What the hell do we do then?'' Jackson said from across the table. I got up and pointed at the window. It was night, and the moon was out.

<s>[INST] Year 2200 , and all ailments have been cured . As a result , however , overpopulation is decimating the Earth . You 're on a top secret board of 9 people that is voting to release a newly developed pathogen that will wipe out 3/4 of the population to start anew . You hold the deciding vote . [/INST] `` No.'' I said, arms crossed in my big, comfy statesman chair. `` That's the worst idea I've ever heard of. Are insane? What are we Jackson, Nazis? The ends justify the means? On this scale? Honestly. Honestly! Can you honestly look at me and say with a straight face that you wan na kill 2/3s of the world's population. A population which, might I add, is brighter and better educated than any of the last six generations before it. No. No Jackson.'' `` What the hell do we do then?'' Jackson said from across the table. I got up and pointed at the window. It was night, and the moon was out. </s>

[ WP ] Every morning , you awaken into a different life . You can stop this pattern at any time , but once you do , you 're stuck in that life .

Do you like to play roulette? If so, you would love my life. Every night when I go to sleep, I know that tomorrow will be different. Not in the Little Orphan Annie way, but truly different. I have gone asleep as a beggar and woken up as a queen. I once cleaned toilets one day and lived the life of a millionaire playboy the next. It has been this way for years, bouncing from life to life, experiencing hopes and dreams of thousands of different people. It is going to sound corny, but remember that Tom Hanks movie, where he makes the wish to be an adult? Well I did something similar, except I wished to experience the world, and now every morning when I wake up I live a different life. If I ever get bored, I could just pick a life and live out my days like that, it ’ s easy right? Well, not so fast, again this is like life roulette, I could just come on in the best day of one person ’ s life or the worst. Remember the queen? Looked her up, she got beheaded. That beggar, became a famous actor. You never know what you ’ re going to get. Hell, I ’ ve been at this for so long now I don ’ t know how old I really am anymore, or who I really was before I made that wish. Could I ever be normal again? Say I pick a life, and try to live out my days, I could easily get bored and spiral into a deep depression about the way my life has turned out. However, I could end up with something better than I could have ever dreamed. There have been a few times, where I enter a new life, and wake up next to the love of my life. Just someone who was perfect, whose smile shines like a beacon of light and voice is like a wave of calm rushing through your veins. And at the end of the night, you know that all you need to do is say the magic words and you would be with them forever. But it ’ s not you they loved, no you ’ re just an interloper showing up in a life that isn ’ t your own, with memories they ’ ll never understand. How could you wish that on them, to hurt them so? And so as you kiss their lips at night, you know it will be the last time you see them. And when light returns to your eyes, they are gone forever, and you ’ re puking your guts out from a hangover you don ’ t deserve. It ’ s been tiring, and I think I may be on my last legs. The question is, when the wheel spins and I bounce around, will I be happy when I stop? Will I enjoy the life I pick? Will I like what I see when I open my eyes? After all, it could be like the ostrich method, if I don ’ t see it, it doesn ’ t exist. But, the wheel has stopped, and when I open my eyes, I will greet the day with those magic words and take what life brings, because after all, it ’ s time to cash out.

<s>[INST] Every morning , you awaken into a different life . You can stop this pattern at any time , but once you do , you 're stuck in that life . [/INST] Do you like to play roulette? If so, you would love my life. Every night when I go to sleep, I know that tomorrow will be different. Not in the Little Orphan Annie way, but truly different. I have gone asleep as a beggar and woken up as a queen. I once cleaned toilets one day and lived the life of a millionaire playboy the next. It has been this way for years, bouncing from life to life, experiencing hopes and dreams of thousands of different people. It is going to sound corny, but remember that Tom Hanks movie, where he makes the wish to be an adult? Well I did something similar, except I wished to experience the world, and now every morning when I wake up I live a different life. If I ever get bored, I could just pick a life and live out my days like that, it ’ s easy right? Well, not so fast, again this is like life roulette, I could just come on in the best day of one person ’ s life or the worst. Remember the queen? Looked her up, she got beheaded. That beggar, became a famous actor. You never know what you ’ re going to get. Hell, I ’ ve been at this for so long now I don ’ t know how old I really am anymore, or who I really was before I made that wish. Could I ever be normal again? Say I pick a life, and try to live out my days, I could easily get bored and spiral into a deep depression about the way my life has turned out. However, I could end up with something better than I could have ever dreamed. There have been a few times, where I enter a new life, and wake up next to the love of my life. Just someone who was perfect, whose smile shines like a beacon of light and voice is like a wave of calm rushing through your veins. And at the end of the night, you know that all you need to do is say the magic words and you would be with them forever. But it ’ s not you they loved, no you ’ re just an interloper showing up in a life that isn ’ t your own, with memories they ’ ll never understand. How could you wish that on them, to hurt them so? And so as you kiss their lips at night, you know it will be the last time you see them. And when light returns to your eyes, they are gone forever, and you ’ re puking your guts out from a hangover you don ’ t deserve. It ’ s been tiring, and I think I may be on my last legs. The question is, when the wheel spins and I bounce around, will I be happy when I stop? Will I enjoy the life I pick? Will I like what I see when I open my eyes? After all, it could be like the ostrich method, if I don ’ t see it, it doesn ’ t exist. But, the wheel has stopped, and when I open my eyes, I will greet the day with those magic words and take what life brings, because after all, it ’ s time to cash out. </s>

[ WP ] Write a story in which the narrator is drunk or stoned .

“ Hey Marc, I got ta ask you for a favor. “ “ Yeah what ’ s up? “ “ Yesterday Stacy asked me to do something for her. She said it was serious, it would deepen our relation or some shit. Whatever I wasn ’ t really listening, so I said yes and not two minutes later we were in the bedroom doing… “ He paused. “ Come on I bet this will be good. “ “ I don ’ t want to get into detail, but let ’ s just say that afterwards I felt dirty. Real dirty! So I went into the shower, got my secret stash and told Stacy I was going to buy some smokes. I drove to Willwood beach. You know the one with the nice view. “ “ Yeah I know where you mean. “ “ Anyway I must have smoked two or three blunts. I got really high. Like really really high. I think they put something else into that weed. And then I decided it was time to go home. “ “ Don ’ t tell me you drove home? “ “ No, I was literally unable to drive. So I got home and there she was standing in the hallway. She looked at me like she had done something wrong. But I was too stoned to see that at the moment. Maybe because I was panicking a little inside. “ “ Yeah, didn ’ t you tell her you stopped smoking Weed? “ “ I did. Fuck, after that thing at her parents I had to promise her not to touch that stuff again. “ “ And what did she say when she saw you like that? “ “ She didn ’ t notice. I don ’ t know what I expected when I came home, but the moment I saw her, my adrenaline skyrocketed and I must have looked kinda sober. “ “ Cut to the chase. What did she say? “ “ Well I don ’ t remember what exactly it was, if I liked it or if it changed something in between us or something like that. And then she dropped the bomb and asked me what my deepest fantasy was or something along those lines. And this is where I really fucked up. So I tell her the following. Its night and I am coming home from my late shift. I get to the door of our house, but I notice it ’ s open. I go inside and the house is a mess. I run upstairs and hear Stacy screaming from the bedroom. Enraged I take my baseball bat, kick open the door and see a guy who is trying rip of Stacys clothes, while she is kicking him. He looks me in the Eyes. And we both know this will be the end for him. I take a swing at his head and with one blow the guy goes down. Now he lies there on the lower end of our bed bleeding. Oh wait, I forgot something. Did I mention the TV or the radio is on and the whole time it is playing “ The Ride of the Valkyres ” from Wagner at full volume. So as the music is getting to the epic point, you know which one I mean, I strike the guy down. I look Stacy in the Eyes. She looks at me, tears in her eyes but a smile on her face. We rip each other ’ s clothes of and as the music reaches it ’ s peak we are fucking like crazy. ” “ Well that sounds a little edgy but I guess fantasies like that are quite common. ” “ Ohh I ’ m not finished. The fucked up part is what I said next. So we are fucking like there is no tomorrow and as the music reaches it ’ s climax we do too and in this moment I look out the window. And who is there, watching us the whole time, it ’ s Batman! He saw the whole thing, a little bit frightened I look at the bleeding guy we are practically fucking on. But Batman looks me straight in the eyes. He gives me a little nod and a thumbs up. I cum and he vanishes into the night. ” After what seemed like an eternity of silence Marc finally opened his mouth. “ Duuuude. What the fuck? ” “ I know. I know. What can I say, I was really fucking high and when she asked me what my kinkiest dream was, my high as fuck brain must have concentrated more on the dream than on the kinky part. ” “ Oh shit, did she scream at you? ” “ No, that ’ s the really fucked up part. She thinks I was being serious. ” “ What? ” “ Yeah she was never good at subtle communication, engineers always taking everything literally. And I can ’ t just tell her I was high, she would kill me. Anyway, that ’ s not why I came here. So about that favor. And might I add, you owe me one after that thing in Cambodia. ” “ No! ” “ You have no choice, here is a number from the guy where you can pick up the costume. Tomorrow night at eight, my place. ” “ Are we really doing this? ” “ Be grateful I didn ’ t ask you to bring a helmet. ” Edit: I just realized I misred the prompt. I hope it was still entertaining.

<s>[INST] Write a story in which the narrator is drunk or stoned . [/INST] “ Hey Marc, I got ta ask you for a favor. “ “ Yeah what ’ s up? “ “ Yesterday Stacy asked me to do something for her. She said it was serious, it would deepen our relation or some shit. Whatever I wasn ’ t really listening, so I said yes and not two minutes later we were in the bedroom doing… “ He paused. “ Come on I bet this will be good. “ “ I don ’ t want to get into detail, but let ’ s just say that afterwards I felt dirty. Real dirty! So I went into the shower, got my secret stash and told Stacy I was going to buy some smokes. I drove to Willwood beach. You know the one with the nice view. “ “ Yeah I know where you mean. “ “ Anyway I must have smoked two or three blunts. I got really high. Like really really high. I think they put something else into that weed. And then I decided it was time to go home. “ “ Don ’ t tell me you drove home? “ “ No, I was literally unable to drive. So I got home and there she was standing in the hallway. She looked at me like she had done something wrong. But I was too stoned to see that at the moment. Maybe because I was panicking a little inside. “ “ Yeah, didn ’ t you tell her you stopped smoking Weed? “ “ I did. Fuck, after that thing at her parents I had to promise her not to touch that stuff again. “ “ And what did she say when she saw you like that? “ “ She didn ’ t notice. I don ’ t know what I expected when I came home, but the moment I saw her, my adrenaline skyrocketed and I must have looked kinda sober. “ “ Cut to the chase. What did she say? “ “ Well I don ’ t remember what exactly it was, if I liked it or if it changed something in between us or something like that. And then she dropped the bomb and asked me what my deepest fantasy was or something along those lines. And this is where I really fucked up. So I tell her the following. Its night and I am coming home from my late shift. I get to the door of our house, but I notice it ’ s open. I go inside and the house is a mess. I run upstairs and hear Stacy screaming from the bedroom. Enraged I take my baseball bat, kick open the door and see a guy who is trying rip of Stacys clothes, while she is kicking him. He looks me in the Eyes. And we both know this will be the end for him. I take a swing at his head and with one blow the guy goes down. Now he lies there on the lower end of our bed bleeding. Oh wait, I forgot something. Did I mention the TV or the radio is on and the whole time it is playing “ The Ride of the Valkyres ” from Wagner at full volume. So as the music is getting to the epic point, you know which one I mean, I strike the guy down. I look Stacy in the Eyes. She looks at me, tears in her eyes but a smile on her face. We rip each other ’ s clothes of and as the music reaches it ’ s peak we are fucking like crazy. ” “ Well that sounds a little edgy but I guess fantasies like that are quite common. ” “ Ohh I ’ m not finished. The fucked up part is what I said next. So we are fucking like there is no tomorrow and as the music reaches it ’ s climax we do too and in this moment I look out the window. And who is there, watching us the whole time, it ’ s Batman! He saw the whole thing, a little bit frightened I look at the bleeding guy we are practically fucking on. But Batman looks me straight in the eyes. He gives me a little nod and a thumbs up. I cum and he vanishes into the night. ” After what seemed like an eternity of silence Marc finally opened his mouth. “ Duuuude. What the fuck? ” “ I know. I know. What can I say, I was really fucking high and when she asked me what my kinkiest dream was, my high as fuck brain must have concentrated more on the dream than on the kinky part. ” “ Oh shit, did she scream at you? ” “ No, that ’ s the really fucked up part. She thinks I was being serious. ” “ What? ” “ Yeah she was never good at subtle communication, engineers always taking everything literally. And I can ’ t just tell her I was high, she would kill me. Anyway, that ’ s not why I came here. So about that favor. And might I add, you owe me one after that thing in Cambodia. ” “ No! ” “ You have no choice, here is a number from the guy where you can pick up the costume. Tomorrow night at eight, my place. ” “ Are we really doing this? ” “ Be grateful I didn ’ t ask you to bring a helmet. ” Edit: I just realized I misred the prompt. I hope it was still entertaining. </s>

[ WP ] A terrible fight between two extreme powerful beings , yet the narrator keep injecting in the weird movie/dream he had last night

'Alright dead man!' he roared, literal sands of time swirling around his feet like a whirlpool.'This time, you die' just like this Vauxhall Astra I had a dream about, I had stolen it from **'Being lord of death and dimensions is pretty hard, do you mind either being accurate in narration, or shutting up? I may die here, I'm not quite into that idea.'** bellowed the Courier of Souls, Dimension Snatcher and Life's darkest dream. 'Excuse me!' huffed the Eternal Breath, Master of Time and all those who reside in it.'Can you stop addressing your schizophrenia and take me seriously?' **'No.'** retorted The Devourer of Stars, The Endless Darkness. He snorted like the backend of a Vauxhall Astra as he raised a hand wrapped in golden chains. They whipped forwards quickly, accelerating to near light speeds, like the Astra in my dreams. It turned out that it had a small blackhole in the fuel tank, and removing it revealed the true power of a Faster than Light Engine. **'Look, Jim or whatever your original name is I do n't want to check my list, can we take a rain check on this?'** 'Seriously what the hell! I'm here to defeat death once and for all, and you want to take a bloody rain check!?' he cried, voice rising and falling like the inevitable revs of an Astra. **'Do you even know what a Vauxhall Astra is? My mother used to drive one, they are n't very fast or cool. In fact, they're sort of lame. So, do us a favour and shut up.'** said the fluffiest prettiest princess. 'Who are you even talking to?' inquired the sand covered god, sceptically looking over the black robed nerd. **'See, as you know I can hear within all Dimensions. This one guy is narrating my life, that was all well and good for a long while, but he keeps trying to interject a Vauxhall Astra, and I'm not too sure why.'** complained the weakest, most pathetic and whiny god of them all. 'I think I understand, sort of like when I have to interrupt something important and stop reality from imploding, or someone trying to figure out how time actually works?' **'Yeah, so do you mind if I go and enforce my silver rule?'** he said, before vanishing without an answer, disappearing like a dull red Astra breaching the speed of light. **'Silence is golden. Duct tape is silver.'** said deaf am hem mmh mmmhhh mmhhhh mhh mhhh. **'Much better. Now where was I?'**

<s>[INST] A terrible fight between two extreme powerful beings , yet the narrator keep injecting in the weird movie/dream he had last night [/INST] 'Alright dead man!' he roared, literal sands of time swirling around his feet like a whirlpool.'This time, you die' just like this Vauxhall Astra I had a dream about, I had stolen it from **'Being lord of death and dimensions is pretty hard, do you mind either being accurate in narration, or shutting up? I may die here, I'm not quite into that idea.'** bellowed the Courier of Souls, Dimension Snatcher and Life's darkest dream. 'Excuse me!' huffed the Eternal Breath, Master of Time and all those who reside in it.'Can you stop addressing your schizophrenia and take me seriously?' **'No.'** retorted The Devourer of Stars, The Endless Darkness. He snorted like the backend of a Vauxhall Astra as he raised a hand wrapped in golden chains. They whipped forwards quickly, accelerating to near light speeds, like the Astra in my dreams. It turned out that it had a small blackhole in the fuel tank, and removing it revealed the true power of a Faster than Light Engine. **'Look, Jim or whatever your original name is I do n't want to check my list, can we take a rain check on this?'** 'Seriously what the hell! I'm here to defeat death once and for all, and you want to take a bloody rain check!?' he cried, voice rising and falling like the inevitable revs of an Astra. **'Do you even know what a Vauxhall Astra is? My mother used to drive one, they are n't very fast or cool. In fact, they're sort of lame. So, do us a favour and shut up.'** said the fluffiest prettiest princess. 'Who are you even talking to?' inquired the sand covered god, sceptically looking over the black robed nerd. **'See, as you know I can hear within all Dimensions. This one guy is narrating my life, that was all well and good for a long while, but he keeps trying to interject a Vauxhall Astra, and I'm not too sure why.'** complained the weakest, most pathetic and whiny god of them all. 'I think I understand, sort of like when I have to interrupt something important and stop reality from imploding, or someone trying to figure out how time actually works?' **'Yeah, so do you mind if I go and enforce my silver rule?'** he said, before vanishing without an answer, disappearing like a dull red Astra breaching the speed of light. **'Silence is golden. Duct tape is silver.'** said deaf am hem mmh mmmhhh mmhhhh mhh mhhh. **'Much better. Now where was I?'** </s>

[ WP ] It 's been a few weeks since the accident . You come down stairs one morning to find a still-warm empty coffee cup on the side . That evening you hear the bath being emptied . Each day feels more and more like someone else is living in the house , yet you live alone .

I was breezing down the aptly-named Pleasant Ave, Oregon City. The red maple tree to the right. Power lines feeding Oregonians, anxious and relaxed, to the right. I like to think about people. What they may be doing. The places they dream of going. Arguments fresh in their minds that will, with time, drift off. When I woke up, I told the nurse I would n't have swerved if it were a dog. `` I like cats,'' I told her. She nodded, and the doctor whispered something in her ear. It could have been about me. Or he could have whispered: `` I'm leaving her.'' The doctor told me about the cerebral cortex and assured me it was plastic. I made some joke about how I could n't afford a ceramic one. He nodded, expressionless, and whispered something in the nurse's ear again. Again, it could have been about me. Or he could have said: `` I love you.'' There was a program on the radio. I was half-listening. Maybe I should have listened better. It was about the brain. About how we all had Jennifer Aniston-cells. Well, those of us who have been exposed to Western media at least. They said every person gets their own special place in the brain. And I wondered whether someone's George-cell was activated at this moment. Did the cells need to be fed to stay alive? If so, how many people had lost their George-cells? I'm thinking about these special cells because of the coffee. Because I know I did n't make coffee yet there was a lukewarm coffee on the table when I woke up. It was easy enough to convince myself I had forgotten. The doctor said something about memory loss, but I ca n't remember what it was. I'm kidding. He told me I might, or might not, experience it. Now I'm beginning to think the problem is not with my memory. Because I can hear the bath being emptied. The water is flowing out from it. I know the sound is not just in my head. I went in. I saw the water. I saw the little whirlpool. I wake up and I see another cup of lukewarm coffee. My most likely explanation is this: I lost a cell. And now the person whose cell that was is gone. Yet I ca n't even see a stranger. I am alone. I write a note. `` I love you.'' Later I see some scribbles on the note. `` I love you too.'' And there is a little smiley face and three wet spots. They are still wet. I am here with someone who is crying and who I can not see. I write another note. `` I lost your cell.'' I think for a moment and add: `` I'm sorry about that.'' New scribble: `` What cell?'' `` I do n't know. Yours.'' No new scribbles. Five wet spots. Weeks pass. One day there's no lukewarm coffee. I write a note. No scribbles. I write more notes. No scribbles. No spots. I hope this person's George-cell wo n't die. I hope this person also likes to think about people.

<s>[INST] It 's been a few weeks since the accident . You come down stairs one morning to find a still-warm empty coffee cup on the side . That evening you hear the bath being emptied . Each day feels more and more like someone else is living in the house , yet you live alone . [/INST] I was breezing down the aptly-named Pleasant Ave, Oregon City. The red maple tree to the right. Power lines feeding Oregonians, anxious and relaxed, to the right. I like to think about people. What they may be doing. The places they dream of going. Arguments fresh in their minds that will, with time, drift off. When I woke up, I told the nurse I would n't have swerved if it were a dog. `` I like cats,'' I told her. She nodded, and the doctor whispered something in her ear. It could have been about me. Or he could have whispered: `` I'm leaving her.'' The doctor told me about the cerebral cortex and assured me it was plastic. I made some joke about how I could n't afford a ceramic one. He nodded, expressionless, and whispered something in the nurse's ear again. Again, it could have been about me. Or he could have said: `` I love you.'' There was a program on the radio. I was half-listening. Maybe I should have listened better. It was about the brain. About how we all had Jennifer Aniston-cells. Well, those of us who have been exposed to Western media at least. They said every person gets their own special place in the brain. And I wondered whether someone's George-cell was activated at this moment. Did the cells need to be fed to stay alive? If so, how many people had lost their George-cells? I'm thinking about these special cells because of the coffee. Because I know I did n't make coffee yet there was a lukewarm coffee on the table when I woke up. It was easy enough to convince myself I had forgotten. The doctor said something about memory loss, but I ca n't remember what it was. I'm kidding. He told me I might, or might not, experience it. Now I'm beginning to think the problem is not with my memory. Because I can hear the bath being emptied. The water is flowing out from it. I know the sound is not just in my head. I went in. I saw the water. I saw the little whirlpool. I wake up and I see another cup of lukewarm coffee. My most likely explanation is this: I lost a cell. And now the person whose cell that was is gone. Yet I ca n't even see a stranger. I am alone. I write a note. `` I love you.'' Later I see some scribbles on the note. `` I love you too.'' And there is a little smiley face and three wet spots. They are still wet. I am here with someone who is crying and who I can not see. I write another note. `` I lost your cell.'' I think for a moment and add: `` I'm sorry about that.'' New scribble: `` What cell?'' `` I do n't know. Yours.'' No new scribbles. Five wet spots. Weeks pass. One day there's no lukewarm coffee. I write a note. No scribbles. I write more notes. No scribbles. No spots. I hope this person's George-cell wo n't die. I hope this person also likes to think about people. </s>

[ EU ] Miss Frizzle has to take a sick day off so a substitute needs to take care of the class . But the only substitute available is Rick Sanchez and his teachers assisstant , Morty Smith .

Alright let's see what I can hash out in the 15 minutes before laboratory today. *burp* Alright you, you turds, your teacher is *glurp* sick, and, being the only other human on this *bluuurrrp* planet capable of driving an inter dimensional-trans-trans-locatable school bus, I've been `` asked'' to step in, by this *glurrrrrup* jerk over here. Rick, you ca n't say'jerk' in, in front of these kids! Alright class, Miss Frizzle asked us to continue on with your space curriculum, which means we're studying Uranus today... Oh my god, Morty, Uranus? *blurrrp* Uranus is the m-most boring planet in the solar system, after this dump of a load of carbon. Uuuuggh, substitute teachers are supposed to b-be cool, *grrrrrp* right kids? Right, n-now *burrrrrp* everybody get on the stupid bus. W-w-where are you taking these kids, Rick? Get off your high-a-and mighty horse, Morty, I'm just taking them to *glurrrp* theme park on 187-beta-63-9-delta. It's like *graarrrrp* D-Disney Land for tiny aliens, and b-by *blurrrrrrpp* tiny aliens I mean these kids'cause they're not *gurrrrrp* the native species. I do n't know, Rick, it could be dangerous! Taking all these kids to a theme park and there's only two of us, what if-what if some of them get lost or s-split up, how can we keep them all safe, Rick? Morty, that's the idea! I do n't wan na *glaaarrrp* spend all day keeping an eye on these turds! *burrrrp* there's a lounge for adults a-and the park is *gurrp* supervised and I can-I can sit back and get schwifty! Stop saying that word, you made it up! Whatever Morty, it'll all be *burrrrp* fine. Okay here we go kids! *sound of space ripping as the bus turns into Rick's space ship and zooms off into the darkness, with children and Rick cheering on board*

<s>[INST] [ EU ] Miss Frizzle has to take a sick day off so a substitute needs to take care of the class . But the only substitute available is Rick Sanchez and his teachers assisstant , Morty Smith . [/INST] Alright let's see what I can hash out in the 15 minutes before laboratory today. *burp* Alright you, you turds, your teacher is *glurp* sick, and, being the only other human on this *bluuurrrp* planet capable of driving an inter dimensional-trans-trans-locatable school bus, I've been `` asked'' to step in, by this *glurrrrrup* jerk over here. Rick, you ca n't say'jerk' in, in front of these kids! Alright class, Miss Frizzle asked us to continue on with your space curriculum, which means we're studying Uranus today... Oh my god, Morty, Uranus? *blurrrp* Uranus is the m-most boring planet in the solar system, after this dump of a load of carbon. Uuuuggh, substitute teachers are supposed to b-be cool, *grrrrrp* right kids? Right, n-now *burrrrrp* everybody get on the stupid bus. W-w-where are you taking these kids, Rick? Get off your high-a-and mighty horse, Morty, I'm just taking them to *glurrrp* theme park on 187-beta-63-9-delta. It's like *graarrrrp* D-Disney Land for tiny aliens, and b-by *blurrrrrrpp* tiny aliens I mean these kids'cause they're not *gurrrrrp* the native species. I do n't know, Rick, it could be dangerous! Taking all these kids to a theme park and there's only two of us, what if-what if some of them get lost or s-split up, how can we keep them all safe, Rick? Morty, that's the idea! I do n't wan na *glaaarrrp* spend all day keeping an eye on these turds! *burrrrp* there's a lounge for adults a-and the park is *gurrp* supervised and I can-I can sit back and get schwifty! Stop saying that word, you made it up! Whatever Morty, it'll all be *burrrrp* fine. Okay here we go kids! *sound of space ripping as the bus turns into Rick's space ship and zooms off into the darkness, with children and Rick cheering on board* </s>

[ WP ] Parents must now check to make sure they have acceptable traits before being allowed to have kids . You run a daycare for children born illegally .

`` Allllright! May I have your attention please? Thank you.'' The upbeat chatter that filled the small room died down instantly. Everyone looked at me warily. I liked having that effect on people - made me feel larger than my tiny frame. Every year I go through this - recruiting suitable candidates to take care of The Illegals. Mind you, these kids have not been designed - they're accidents that were kept for nostalgia of the old days, when the Oldies bred uncontrolled. *snap back to the present* `` Today is a joyous day! All 8 of you here have gone through a rigorous process of selection to be employed in this company, and you've earned your right to be proud. Most of you have come from similar backgrounds as that of the wards that you will now be in charge. Others, beware - these are not children that have been made for mainstream society. They have been born a crime, and as such they will behave in that way. Everyone, listen! It is our job to train them to be like The Designed. To make them blend effortlessly into mainstream society. They deserve it, just like their more privileged counterparts. Your job will be harder than anything you've faced so far. Your interview rounds were but a mere teaser to what you will have to face in the future.'' I stare into their faces. Some have a look of skepticism, others of worry. `` Clearly, my words have not had an impact on you. Very well, let us meet your responsibility.'' I step off the soapbox, and the crinkle of my stiff skirt echoed off the silent walls. My heels clicked against the worn-out tiles, as I walked with purpose towards the door behind me, motioning the Recruits to follow. They crowded around me in an instant. I opened the door to muttered prayers and audible gasps. As always, the children smiled like angels, but their eyes... Their eyes were the windows to their souls.

<s>[INST] Parents must now check to make sure they have acceptable traits before being allowed to have kids . You run a daycare for children born illegally . [/INST] `` Allllright! May I have your attention please? Thank you.'' The upbeat chatter that filled the small room died down instantly. Everyone looked at me warily. I liked having that effect on people - made me feel larger than my tiny frame. Every year I go through this - recruiting suitable candidates to take care of The Illegals. Mind you, these kids have not been designed - they're accidents that were kept for nostalgia of the old days, when the Oldies bred uncontrolled. *snap back to the present* `` Today is a joyous day! All 8 of you here have gone through a rigorous process of selection to be employed in this company, and you've earned your right to be proud. Most of you have come from similar backgrounds as that of the wards that you will now be in charge. Others, beware - these are not children that have been made for mainstream society. They have been born a crime, and as such they will behave in that way. Everyone, listen! It is our job to train them to be like The Designed. To make them blend effortlessly into mainstream society. They deserve it, just like their more privileged counterparts. Your job will be harder than anything you've faced so far. Your interview rounds were but a mere teaser to what you will have to face in the future.'' I stare into their faces. Some have a look of skepticism, others of worry. `` Clearly, my words have not had an impact on you. Very well, let us meet your responsibility.'' I step off the soapbox, and the crinkle of my stiff skirt echoed off the silent walls. My heels clicked against the worn-out tiles, as I walked with purpose towards the door behind me, motioning the Recruits to follow. They crowded around me in an instant. I opened the door to muttered prayers and audible gasps. As always, the children smiled like angels, but their eyes... Their eyes were the windows to their souls. </s>

[ WP ] Write an over-the-top background story for an early video game that did n't have a narritive . Ex . Pong , Asteriods , Pacman

The lone member of his species, separated from his homeland by a waste of pavement, he gazed toward the horizon. Tears formed in his eyes at hearing the song of his people. *ribbet* The journey had been long and trying, and only this final trial was left before him. He did n't know whether or not the humans knew he was below their tires, scuttling from sidewalk to median to shoulder. But he knew he hated them, and would have his vengeance. The road was clear. He was so close. He extended one webbed foot out over the pavement, and took the first of his last steps toward home. *squish*

<s>[INST] Write an over-the-top background story for an early video game that did n't have a narritive . Ex . Pong , Asteriods , Pacman [/INST] The lone member of his species, separated from his homeland by a waste of pavement, he gazed toward the horizon. Tears formed in his eyes at hearing the song of his people. *ribbet* The journey had been long and trying, and only this final trial was left before him. He did n't know whether or not the humans knew he was below their tires, scuttling from sidewalk to median to shoulder. But he knew he hated them, and would have his vengeance. The road was clear. He was so close. He extended one webbed foot out over the pavement, and took the first of his last steps toward home. *squish* </s>

[ WP ] The cost of education is being kept artificially high to keep college graduates in debt so professional opinions can be bought by the conspirators .

*This video was found on the Youtube channel of gaming commentator Swaggins22* I'm a junior at NYU, 100,000 in debt. Thanks Mr. President, thanks for starting an the oligarchical States of America. Thanks, thanks for making a middle class boy take an enormous loan'cause y'all had to tax my mom and pop's shop'cause it was interfering with the Tall-Mart that opened up last damn week. Thanks, thanks Mr. President. Thanks for making my roommate have to drop out. Thanks for making this smart boy with big dreams wanting to escape the violence of his hometown drop out of the college'cause your newest bill revoked financial aid in schools. And you know who funded the bill, right? Jack Hall, lobbyist for Tall-Mart, he wanted more employees, and what better way to do that than to reduce competition and force the America's youth into dead end jobs for the rest of their existence. Thanks Mr President, thanks. you know what Mr president I'm done with this shit. Fuck you, Fuck you FUCK YOU! you corprate whore! You should be renamed to Mr. Lewinsky'cause you suck off every southern boy with power. Imagine if you were president when my Great Grandma and Grampa landed here from war torn Italy. I'll save you the trouble, you'd fuck him over with taxes so he could n't set up his shop, that's what you'd do! Oh, and if he attempted to start any sort of protest with the guys in his neighborhood you would have shot them on sight, right? Remember the Ohio State tradgedy, the Lancaster Bombings, the Binghamton massacare? Well, your people have n't cause your to busy paying off journalists and feeding them with cheap entertainment, but I am not every American, I remember that shit like it was yesterday. Bad news travels fast Mr President, even without technology. Listen Mr Lewinsky. You ai n't fooling me you're only letting the wall street fat cat's offspring become educated, we all know it. It's no mystery, if you still refute, look at what I said before, the proof is in the pudding Mr. Lewinsky, and you just wait when this hits YouTube and Social Media. Oooooh you face will be as red as your citizen's assholes when they pay their taxes. IRS I Rape Salaries, do n't forget it, # Takebackamerica # MrLewinsky # Wakeup. *Swaggins22 was not seen of again. *

<s>[INST] The cost of education is being kept artificially high to keep college graduates in debt so professional opinions can be bought by the conspirators . [/INST] *This video was found on the Youtube channel of gaming commentator Swaggins22* I'm a junior at NYU, 100,000 in debt. Thanks Mr. President, thanks for starting an the oligarchical States of America. Thanks, thanks for making a middle class boy take an enormous loan'cause y'all had to tax my mom and pop's shop'cause it was interfering with the Tall-Mart that opened up last damn week. Thanks, thanks Mr. President. Thanks for making my roommate have to drop out. Thanks for making this smart boy with big dreams wanting to escape the violence of his hometown drop out of the college'cause your newest bill revoked financial aid in schools. And you know who funded the bill, right? Jack Hall, lobbyist for Tall-Mart, he wanted more employees, and what better way to do that than to reduce competition and force the America's youth into dead end jobs for the rest of their existence. Thanks Mr President, thanks. you know what Mr president I'm done with this shit. Fuck you, Fuck you FUCK YOU! you corprate whore! You should be renamed to Mr. Lewinsky'cause you suck off every southern boy with power. Imagine if you were president when my Great Grandma and Grampa landed here from war torn Italy. I'll save you the trouble, you'd fuck him over with taxes so he could n't set up his shop, that's what you'd do! Oh, and if he attempted to start any sort of protest with the guys in his neighborhood you would have shot them on sight, right? Remember the Ohio State tradgedy, the Lancaster Bombings, the Binghamton massacare? Well, your people have n't cause your to busy paying off journalists and feeding them with cheap entertainment, but I am not every American, I remember that shit like it was yesterday. Bad news travels fast Mr President, even without technology. Listen Mr Lewinsky. You ai n't fooling me you're only letting the wall street fat cat's offspring become educated, we all know it. It's no mystery, if you still refute, look at what I said before, the proof is in the pudding Mr. Lewinsky, and you just wait when this hits YouTube and Social Media. Oooooh you face will be as red as your citizen's assholes when they pay their taxes. IRS I Rape Salaries, do n't forget it, # Takebackamerica # MrLewinsky # Wakeup. *Swaggins22 was not seen of again. * </s>