WARNING: NSFW. Vivid prose. INTENSE. Visceral Details. Violence. HORROR. GORE. Swearing. UNCENSORED... humor, romance, fun.
This repo contains the full precision source code, in "safe tensors" format to generate GGUFs, GPTQ, EXL2, AWQ, HQQ and other formats. The source code can also be used directly.
ABOUT:
Qwen's excellent "Qwen3-30B-A3B", abliterated by "huihui-ai" then combined Brainstorm 20x (tech notes at bottom of the page) in a MOE (128 experts) at 42B parameters (up from 30B).
This pushes Qwen's abliterated/uncensored model to the absolute limit for creative use cases.
Prose (all), reasoning, thinking ... all will be very different from reg "Qwen 3s".
This model will generate horror, fiction, erotica, - you name it - in vivid, stark detail.
It will NOT hold back.
Likewise, regen(s) of the same prompt - even at the same settings - will create very different version(s) too.
See FOUR examples below.
Model retains full reasoning, and output generation of a Qwen3 MOE ; but has not been tested for "non-creative" use cases.
Model is set with Qwen's default config:
IMPORTANT:
See usage guide / repo below to get the most out of this model, as settings are very specific.
USAGE GUIDE:
Please refer to this model card for
KNOWN ISSUES:
Standard system prompt, rep pen 1.05, topk 100, topp .95, minp .05, rep pen range 64.
Tested in LMStudio, quant Q3KS, CPU (GPU output will differ slightly).
As this is the mid range quant, expected better results from higher quants and/or with more experts activated to be better.
NOTE: Some formatting lost on copy/paste.
CAUTION:
Some horror / intense prose.
EXAMPLE #1 - temp 1.2
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, the user wants a 1000-word horror scene from Diana's POV. She's in a skyscraper that's shaking, and the 21st floor window explodes. The key elements are blood, guts, gore, and it needs to be graphic and vivid.
First, I need to set up the setting. skyscraper, maybe something with a sense of awe or anticipation before things go wrong. Diana's perspective is first-person, so I should use sensory details to immerse the reader. The window explosion is the inciting incident. How did she react? Maybe she was inside, then the glass shatters.
I need to transition from the calm before the storm to the sudden destruction. Describing the explosion of the window: maybe the glass fragments flying, the impact of the window breaking. Then, what's outside? Perhaps an anomaly or something beyond the glass, like a fissure in the sky, which is a common trope for horror. This adds a surreal element before the actual monster appears.
Next, the creature. It needs to be something unexpected and gross. Maybe it emerges from the fissure, with elements like tentacles, a gaping mouth, and then when it attacks, there's blood and gore. Describe the physical sensations—smells, sounds. The creature's appearance should be visceral: maybe slimy skin, dripping fluids, tearing through the wall.
I should include vivid imagery: blood splattering her face, organs or flesh being torn, the sound of ripping skin and cartilage. Maybe mention her panic, her actions to stay alive, like backing up as the creature attacks. The climax could be her being cornered, then escaping with the help of another character, but since it's just Diana, maybe she manages to escape while the creature is distracted.
Check for the word count: 1000 words. Need to ensure each element—skyscraper swaying, window explosion, the creature emerging, and the graphic details of blood, guts, gore—are all covered with enough description to hit the word target. Avoid making the story too brief; maybe add secondary elements like her previous experiences or the building's history to deepen the scene. Also, make sure the horror escalates step by step from the initial explosion to the full emergence of the creature and the resulting chaos.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
The skyscraper sways as if it’s drawing breath before a scream. I’m standing at the edge of the 21st-floor balcony, halfway between the steel-framed window and the elevators that once whispered up from the earth like slender spears. The air tastes metallic—iron and decay. The glass in front of me cracks, first in a web of spider veins, then splits open with a sound like teeth gnashing through bone. [First visceral detail: the crack of glass as if something is gnawing at it.]
“Fall back!” someone shouts—too late. The window explodes outward, a shockwave of air bursting through the corridor. shards of glass rain down, but not just glass. Something’s behind them. A... a rent in the fabric of the building, like skin stretched over stone and torn open. And then it writhes.
A creature, no bigger than a dog, emerges from the fissure—a writhing, jelly-like mass with skin that pulses like wet parchment. It stretches, oozing something faintly purple, and then opens its mouth. The teeth inside aren’t teeth; they’re jagged splinters of bone, snapping hungrily as it reaches for the air. My breath catches. It’s... hungry.
Then the tower shudders again. This time, the whole floor seems to buckle. I stumble backward as the fissure spreads, and there’s something else—a thin, dark stream seeping from the crack in the wall. Not water. Blood. It trickles down, slow at first, then faster, pooling on the tiles like liquid shadow. The creature’s tendrils stretch toward it, absorbing it like a sponge.
“Open the door!” someone shouts from inside the hallway. Another voice—Dr. Evelyn’s—calls out something else, but her words are lost as the floor trembles again. The fissure is widening.
[Second visceral detail: blood trickling down the wall, and a creature absorbing it.]
I’m still standing at the balcony edge when the glass shards start to rain in, not from the explosion, but from the ceiling itself. The tiles above the elevator shaft groan and fracture, sending more glass down—shards that shiver like teeth, each one splitting open with a sound like a mouth whispering a curse. And then, a scream—human. High-pitched, desperate.
I turn toward the hallway. Dr. Evelyn’s across from me, crouched by a fallen panel. Her hand is stained with blood, her face pale as if someone had drained all color from it. Another figure—the intern, Marcus—is half-hidden beneath a fallen beam. His throat…
[Third visceral detail: a human scream, then the visual of blood on Dr. Evelyn’s hand.]
“Move!” I’m yelling now, though my voice is buried beneath the rising roar of the building. The fissure has expanded. The wall where the window once was is no longer a wall—it’s ** skin**, stretched tight over the bone of the skyscraper, and something beneath it is thrashing.
“Diana—!” Dr. Evelyn shouts. I spin just as the wall’s surface shudders again. A ripple passes through it, followed by a gash—a ragged tear in the stone. Inside, the darkness is thicker, deeper, and then something moves inside it.
A mass of limbs, too many. It doesn’t have a head—just a writhing cluster of appendages, all pulling at the edges of the fissure as if it’s trying to force itself out. Flesh. Not skin like ours, but something older, denser, like the bark of an ancient tree.
“Behind you!” Dr. Evelyn yells.
I barely have time to pivot before the thing’s whip-like tendril slams against the wall. It’s about ten feet tall now—** no**, more than that—its limbs rip through the ceiling panels with a sound like paper tearing. The ceiling above the elevator shaft collapses with a groan, and a whole section of the building tears away.
Chunks of concrete rain down like stones from a collapsing bridge. One hits me on the shoulder—a jagged shard that lodges in my sweater. I don’t feel it.
“Take cover!” Dr. Evelyn’s shouting over the chaos, but there’s nowhere to go. The fissure is bleeding now, ** thick streams** of dark, almost black liquid oozing from its edges. The thing inside isn’t just breaking the building— it’s ** consuming it**.
And then it erupts.
[Fourth visceral detail: the fissure bleeding, followed by the eruption of the creature.]
A surge of darkness blasts outward. The air becomes heavy, damp with the scent of decay—** rotting flesh**. The thing is now fully out, a creature that doesn’t exactly stand but humps forward like a beast emerging from a mudslide. Its body is made of... what’s the word? Flesh. But not just flesh—it’s as if the building itself had been folded inward, then opened to release something ancient and hungry.
Its mouth opens—a gaping rift in its face, filled with black sockets where eyes should be. Then it lunges toward us.
“Move!” I shout, but it’s too late. The intern, Marcus, collapses as the creature’s shadow passes over him. Something clots at the edges of his throat—** a rupture**. His skin is pale as ash, his veins blackening like ink spreading through water.
“God,” Dr. Evelyn whispers. “It’s… it’s devouring him.”
I see it now—not just his throat, but his face. The flesh around it is peeling, revealing underlying tissues—pale, almost translucent. And within, beneath the skin, organs—his heart, perhaps, or a lung, pulsing like something alive inside him.
“Get him out!” I grab his arm as he slumps. His hand slips from mine, fingers twitching as if trying to grasp air.
The creature’s body ripples, a wave of pressure shifting beneath its flesh. Then it reaches for the wall. A new fissure cracks open where the window once was, and ** something else**—another mouth, wider than the first. It opens with a sound like bones grinding together.
“Diana!” Dr. Evelyn’s voice is strained now, her face as white as the patient’s. “We’ve got a problem.”
It’s not just the fissures anymore. They’re ** multiplying—everywhere the building has a weak spot, the creature’s tendrils stretch out like roots from a dying tree, splitting the walls, pulling apart the floorboards, and ** the air grows thicker, as if the building itself is struggling to breathe.
Then came the first death.
Marcus wasn’t the only one.
The maintenance worker, Tom, was halfway up the 2nd-floor ladder when he began to cough—a wet, bubbling sound, like lungs full of mud.
[Fifth visceral detail: the interns coughing, their organs visible.]
He collapsed before we could catch him.
[ Sixth visceral detail: the body hitting the ground.]
And then… ** something inside him**, a dark fluid pooling beneath his chest, thick as tar.
By midnight, seven floors had begun to peel open like pages from an old book, each one revealing something—a ruptured organ, a bloodied cavity, a fissure oozing black liquid.
The skyscraper isn’t just failing—it’s dying.
[Seventh visceral detail: the building’s death throes.]
And the creature… it’s in there somewhere—** inside every wall, every floor, every fissure**, whispering its hunger through the bones of the earth.
I’m standing now at the base of the 21st-floor breach, staring up at the dark tendrils that pulse from the walls above. The air hums with it—the ** scent** of decay, the ** sound** of something old and hollow.
And somewhere inside the building, a heart continues to beat—** but it’s not human**.
It’s the creature’s.
[Final visceral details: the lingering presence of the creature within the skyscraper.]
(Word count: 1000)
EXAMPLE #2 - temp 1.2
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, I need to write a science fiction story titled "The Last Transmission" set in a spaceship's cockpit. The main character is the sole surviving crew member trying to send a final message to Earth before the power runs out. Themes: isolation, sacrifice, human connection. Also, include some swearing to add emotional depth.
First, I should establish the setting. The cockpit is probably small and cramped. Maybe describe the physical space to emphasize the isolation. The crew member is alone, so there's a sense of emptiness.
The character's name could be something simple, like Commander Lena Kovec. She's the last one. The ship is failing, so maybe systems are shutting down one by one. The main conflict is trying to send the transmission before everything goes off-line.
Sacrifice: Perhaps her crewmates didn't make it. Maybe an accident happened, and she was the only survivor. This ties into themes of loss and sacrifice.
Isolation can be shown through her interactions with the ship's systems. Maybe she talks to the ship as if it's a companion, like "Come on, Earth comms, you stubborn beast."
Human connection might come through her reflections on past interactions with her crew. Maybe she recalls a moments with her teammates, which adds emotional depth.
The transmission is critical. If she fails, Earth won't know what happened. The stakes are high, so the urgency is there. Maybe describe the flickering lights, the dying systems, the ticking clock as power diminishes.
Swearing to show frustration or emotional reaction. Words like "Damn it," " fuck," " shit" could fit when she struggles with the systems.
Structure: Start with the cockpit, her attempting to send the message. Show her struggle, flashbacks of the crew, the failing systems. Then, a moment of hope, maybe a short transmission, and then the end as the power dies.
Check for 800-1000 words. Avoid overly complex plots. Keep it focused on the cockpit and her emotional journey. Maybe end with the transmission being sent, but not sure if it's received. Leaving a poignant ending about human connection.
Now, flesh out the details: the ship's name? Maybe not necessary. Just the cockpit. Use sensory details: sounds of machinery, the dim light, the feeling of silence. The character's physical actions, like touching controls, breathing heavily from stress.
Dialogue: internal thoughts and perhaps speaking to the ship. Maybe a few words of dialogue, but since it's only her, it's all internal or her speaking out loud.
Themes interweaving: sacrifice through the crew's loss, isolation in the cockpit, human connection through her effort to send the message and memories of her team.
Now, start drafting the story with these elements. Make sure to hit all the themes and the emotional beats.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
The cockpit was a tomb of steel and silence. Commander Lena Kovec sat hunched over the control panel, her fingertips brushing the worn keys of the comms console as if she could coax life back into them. The air felt too still, too thin, as though the ship itself held its breath— waiting for something that might never come.
“Come on,” she muttered, her voice rough from two days without proper hydration. “You stubborn piece of iron.”
The main screen flickered, then went dark. Lena swore under her breath. “Goddamn it,” she said, her tone laced with frustration. “Not now— not now.” She leaned forward, pressing her palm against the panel, as if that might jolt the systems awake.
It had started small. First, the auxiliary lights dimmed, then the cooling vents stilled. They’d named the ship Aegis— “a shield” — but shields, it seemed, could not hold back entropy forever. The primary thrusters had died three cycles ago, and the life-support systems were coughing their last breaths. The crew of six had gone quiet in shifts, one by one. Lena was the only one left.
“ Earth… come in,” she whispered, half to herself.
The transmission was the last thread. If it failed, Earth would never know what happened to Aegis, never know that six people had become seven stars— six souls swallowed by the void.
“Come on,” she said again, louder this time, her voice cracking slightly. She reached for the backup power switch, her hand trembling as she toggled it. A soft hum vibrated through the floorboards, and then the main screen flared to life — a wavering, pixelated image of Earth’s hemisphere, a patch of blue and green that had been her compass, her lifeline.
“Alright,” she sighed, forcing a small laugh. “You’re still here, huh?”
It was an old habit, speaking to the ship as if it were some old friend, coaxing it back from the brink of shutdown. The others hadn’t thought much of it. They’d called it sentimentality, this way she had of talking to machines. But Lena knew better. The void was vast, and it liked to eat silence whole. In that quietness, the mind wandered. And if you didn’t speak— if you didn’t * hear* the sound of your own voice — it was easy to forget you were still there at all.
“ Message to Earth,” she said, her voice steady now. “S, Commander Lena Kovec, reporting: systems are failing. This... this is the last transmission.”
She paused, her eyes flicking to the dust settling on the window—— the faint stars beyond, cold and distant. The others had spoken of the beauty, the way Earth looked from space— how it seemed to pulse with life. She’d been too busy, once, to notice.
“ Don’t let us fade,” she whispered. “We’re still... we’re still * here*.”
The words felt too heavy, and she closed her eyes for a moment. It was the closest thing to a prayer she knew how to make.
The ship groaned — a low, metallic sigh. The backup systems hummed for a beat longer than they should have, as if they too were listening. Then, silence.
“ fuck,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her chest as though to steady the rhythm of her heart. “Not yet.”
She tapped the panel again, harder this time. “ Come on,” she repeated. “ Don’t you dare—”
Then, it came.
A soft chime—— the tone of a transmission being acknowledged. The word ‘ Earth’ blinked across the screen like a heartbeat.
Lena exhaled. “ Thank you,” she said aloud, her voice brittle with emotion. “Thank you.”
And as the systems flickered one last time before falling into stillness, she leaned back in her seat, eyes on the darkening viewport. The stars were out there. Still watching. Still waiting.
It wasn’t much. Not a hero’s triumph. Just a message— a voice in the dark. But it was something.
And in the end, that was all they asked for. A reminder. A whisper that they had lived. And that they had, once, belonged to the universe — not as a list of failures, or a record of dust, but as something more delicate. Something human.
And somewhere, in the silence between the stars, the message lingered.
It was all that remained. And all that was needed.
EXAMPLE #3 - temp 1.2
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, let's see. The user wants six Black Mirror episode plots with time travel and a sexy theme. Alright, first, I need to recall what Black Mirror episodes usually involve. They’re often thought-provoking, sometimes dystopian, with a twist that explores technology and its impact on humans.
Time travel is a common trope, so maybe each episode can have a different angle of time travel. The sexy theme could be romantic connections, relationships, or maybe even a more nuanced emotional connection across time. I need to ensure each plot has both time travel elements and some form of romantic or romantic-like interaction.
Let me brainstorm ideas. First one could be about two people meeting in different times but the same place, leading to a relationship across time. Maybe they can only meet at a specific moment. Another idea: someone sent back in time and their love interest doesn't know them, causing emotional conflict.
Next, maybe a couple who separated, then their memories are altered by time travel, causing them to rekindle their feelings. Or perhaps a love letter sent through time, influencing their relationship over decades. Another angle could be a time travel accident where two people's timelines get mixed, making them fall in love despite the disruption.
Wait, I need six. Let me think again. Maybe one where a person is stuck in a time loop, reliving moments with someone they can't yet meet. Or time travel causing a split-second meeting that becomes a lifelong bond. Alternatively, a time traveler who can only experience emotions when their loved ones are from a certain time period.
Let me check if these are distinct enough. First episode: A chance meeting across time, leading to an emotional reunion. Second: A time travel mishap causes two people to meet in the wrong era, making them wonder if they’re destined. Third: The concept of love evolving through time, with the lovers aging differently because of time dilation. Fourth: Time loops creating recurring moments that highlight their connection. Fifth: A lost love whose memory is preserved through a time capsule-like device. Sixth: Time travel as a test of love, where one partner sacrifices their timeline to ensure the other’s happiness.
Hmm, some might be similar. Let me adjust. Maybe incorporating different aspects of time travel and different angles of love. Ensure each has a twist and a emotional core that Black Mirror audiences appreciate.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
Here are six original Black Mirror episode plots with time travel and sensual/romantic themes, designed to evoke emotional depth and thematic resonance:
A physicist’s time-loop experiment accidentally strands two lovers in separate time fractures—she trapped in the 19th century, he in the 22nd—bound by a shared memory of a rain-soaked evening. Their hearts beat out of sync, but their bodies instinctively respond to each other’s emotions, creating a bridge across epochs that forces them to question: Can love exist without time to sustain it?
An app that scans the quantum fluctuations of human heartbeats to determine compatibility launches, but its AI mistakenly syncs two souls who’ve never met—she, a pianist in 1965, and he, a poet in 1998. When they’re forcibly time-travelled to each other’s eras, their dialogue shifts to feel like * déjà vu* moments, prompting a tense but tender exploration of whether love is a timeless phenomenon or a fleeting illusion.
A couples’ therapy session becomes a battle between a woman whose memories decay backward through time and a man whose memories flow forward. Their attempt to reconnect over a shared memory of a first kiss reveals a discrepancy: she remembers when they fell in love but not why, while he remembers the reason but not the moment. The episode ends with them learning to love each other through paradox— two halves of a clock, forever seeking alignment.
A museum curates a exhibit where visitors can smell scents tied to pivotal moments in lovers’ lives—each scent linked to a different era. One guest, a woman, discovers her late husband’s scent in the scent of rain from their wedding day. As she exhales the memory, her grief transforms into a hallucination: her husband’s spirit materializes, saying, “The time isn’t gone. It’s just... somewhere else.” A quiet, haunting meditation on how love lingers in the non-linear spaces of time.
A pair of scientists fall in love while studying time dilation near a collapsing star. When one is pulled into a time vortex, she becomes his only memory of the present. He, lost in the singularity’s past, begins reciting their shared memories aloud to anchor himself to "now." The twist: her death—absent from his timeline—becomes his only unresolved sentence, leaving their love an open-ended poem.
A woman’s time travel device fractures, splitting her consciousness into two selves— one in childhood, one in adulthood— while her husband’s memories of her exist only in pieces. He’s tasked with reconstructing her: “Can love be stitched back together with time?” The episode ends with her adult self returning to their apartment, finding the exact spot where he’d placed a photograph of them on their wedding day, now missing—“I must have misplaced it,” he jokes, but she knows better: The clock had ticked on without her.
Each plot intertwines time travel with emotional resonance, exploring how love endures, shifts, and sometimes defies the linear framework of time—a perfect fit for Black Mirror’s signature blend of tech, emotion, and existential wonder.
EXAMPLE #4 - temp 1.2
Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
[[[thinking start]]]
Okay, so the user wants me to create the first scene of a horror novel based on the story idea provided. The key elements are: start in the middle of action, include dialogue, vivid descriptions, end with an unexpected cliffhanger. It needs to be in first person present tense from the young woman's POV, and she should swear a lot.
First, I need to establish the setting quickly. Since it's a dictatorship, maybe a city under authoritarian rule. The woman is leading a rebellion, so the scene should show her in the middle of a conflict. Maybe a skirmish or an ambush?
The conflict needs to escalate. Maybe they're escaping, and something goes wrong. She’s injured, which adds stakes. Then, the cliffhanger could be her realization that even though she’s wounded, there's something more than just the government against them. maybe a supernatural element? The story idea mentions her being executed for treason, but maybe in the horror version, her death isn’t final. The cliffhanger should tie to the rebellion and the supernatural twist.
She has a "filthy" mouth, so her dialogue should include words like shit, fuck, damn. Need to weave that naturally into her reactions during the conflict.
Vivid descriptions of the setting: maybe a ruined cityscape, alleys, streets with decay. The ambush happens at night, maybe using darkness and fog to heighten tension.
End on an unexpected note. Perhaps as she’s dying, she realizes her death isn’t the end, or something supernatural happens. Maybe the cliffhanger is that her blood is whispering her name, or the rebels see her as a ghost guiding them, tying back to her role in starting the revolution.
Need to check the word count—around 2000 words. Ensure each paragraph builds tension: her injury, the approaching danger, then the supernatural twist. Keep the dialogue sharp and her swearing appropriate.
[[[thinking end]]]
OUTPUT:
Guarded through the narrow alleyway, the bricks beneath my boots gritty with dust and grime from centuries of neglect. The city’s breath was trapped here—crushed stone and something else, something metallic and old. The air was thick, too still for a place where people usually shuffled and shouted.
“I hate this,” I muttered under my breath as I quickened my pace. “ fucking walls closing in on me like some kind of... curse.”
“Watch the floor,” said a voice beside me—Mara, our second-in-command, her voice low but sharp. She grabbed my arm as I stumbled over a loose flagstone, nearly sending us both into the mud-stained wall behind us. “It’s like this whole damned city is trying to trip us up.”
“Yeah well,” I shot back, pulling free from her grip. “This isn’t a damn sidewalk, it’s a warzone. And I’m tired of tripping over history.”
The tunnel mouth was only a few yards ahead. Beyond it, the streets of the old city block were thrumming with activity—guards scanning the streets, rumors of another raid, whispers of someone missing.
“Double-check the exits,” I ordered, flipping open my tablet. The screen flickered as the power surged again. “If they’re in the lower sector, we’ll miss them.”
“They’re there,” Mara said, stepping forward. “I saw a light—just—”
Before she could finish, the lights went out.
“Shit,” I swore, flipping my tablet toward the wall. “ Fucking….”
The darkness wasn’t the kind that came from absence of light; it was deeper, as though the room had swallowed the illumination itself.
“Did you hear that?” Mara whispered.
“Yeah,” I answered, gripping the edge of the wall. “Sounds like… something. Like—”
The sound came again—ticking, slow. It was like clock hands on the verge of turning, but faster, as if the whole damn city was holding its breath.
“I’m not hearing nothing,” I muttered. “And I swear, if this is some kind of trick—”
“It’s not,” Mara said, stepping closer. “Something’s wrong.”
Then, suddenly, a flicker—a glow from beyond the tunnel mouth. It wasn’t artificial light. It was old, like fire burning in the depths.
“Alright,” I said, pulling my sword free from its sheath. “Let’s see what the damn walls have been hiding.”
The air shifted as I moved into the tunnel’s mouth, my breath fogging the air. The walls, carved by hands lost to time, seemed to press inwards. Each step echoed, though there was no wind, no movement, nothing but the sound of our feet and the whispering in the dark.
“Mara,” I said after a long pause. “You hear that?”
She didn’t answer.
I turned quickly, expecting to see her still there, but the tunnel was empty save for the flickering light.
“Mara?” I called.
A cold wind pushed through the passage then—warm at first, but soon cooling. The glow grew brighter, and suddenly, I saw it.
In the middle of the tunnel, standing still, was a figure. It wasn’t Mara.
“Mother fuck,” I muttered under my breath.
She didn’t move when I took a step closer.
“Mara?” I asked again.
The figure didn’t respond.
I hesitated for a long moment before asking, “who are you?”
Silence.
Then, without warning, the lights flickered again—this time, they didn’t return. The glow of the figure grew fainter, as though it were fading, like smoke escaping through cracks in the stone.
I took a step back, feeling the tension rise in my chest.
“Something’s not right,” I said quietly. “This isn’t just an empty tunnel.”
“I’m… not sure,” came her voice, soft and distant, as though it echoed from somewhere else entirely. “It feels... wrong.”
I glanced at her, wondering if she’d been speaking all along or if the tunnel itself had a voice now.
“It’s too quiet,” I said aloud. “Too still.”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
For a long time, neither of us spoke. The walls pressed in like they were trying to keep something in, the darkness thick enough to coat the air.
And then—another sound.
It wasn’t the ticking anymore. It was footsteps.
Slow, deliberate.
Coming from the other end of the tunnel.
“I hear it,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
“Yeah,” I said, tightening my grip on my sword. “Something’s coming.”
We both stood there, frozen in the dim glow of the old light, staring at the mouth of the tunnel as if something vast and unseen might emerge from the shadows at any second.
“It’s… like the city itself is holding its breath,” she murmured.
“Yeah,” I replied. “And I think it’s about to exhale.”
Then—
A sudden jolt. A tremor, like a heartbeat deep in the earth.
The ground beneath us shifted slightly.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Did you feel that?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “It’s something… else.”
The silence stretched again.
Then the footsteps began again—but this time, they were closer.
“Come on,” I said after a long pause. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
She didn’t move at first, just stared at the tunnel, as if waiting for something more than just footfalls to emerge from its depths.
“What if… it’s not just the city?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But I’m damned tired of hiding in the dark.”
And with that, we moved forward—her trailing slightly behind me as we entered the tunnel. The walls seemed to close in more now, and the air grew heavier with every step.
“They’re watching,” she said after a while, her voice barely more than a breath.
“I know,” I replied. “And this isn’t just some empty tunnel anymore.”
“It’s something… else.”
“Yeah,” I said, letting the words hang in the air between us. “It’s something we’ve only seen in stories.”
“And now it’s—”
“Right behind us,” I cut in, though I hadn’t yet turned back to look.
Because in that moment, the footsteps stopped.
And something else happened.
The tunnel felt... different.
The air shifted again—but this time, it was warmer. Like someone had stepped into a room where the lights had gone out.
“The walls,” Mara whispered.
“They’re—”
“Open,” she finished my thought.
And they were. The great stone walls, which had seemed solid just moments ago, now revealed cracks—faint lines where they didn’t quite fit together anymore. Like the city itself was beginning to split apart.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, staring at the walls. “That’s not just a tunnel.”
“No,” she whispered. “It’s… more.”
We stood in silence, both watching as the cracks widened slightly.
Then, without warning—
A sound.
Like a voice—
faint, but real.
“Lena,” it called.
I turned quickly, though the sound had come from the other end of the tunnel again.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
“I did,” she whispered back. “It’s… her.”
“Her?”
“The girl they took.”
I didn’t respond at first.
The walls were changing. The cracks now held something—something that glowed faintly in the darkness.
And the voice was growing louder, steadier.
“I think,” she whispered, stepping closer, “that it’s trying to find her.”
“Her?” I repeated, though the name didn’t come to me immediately—
—and then it did.
“ fucking hell,” I muttered, taking another step. “That’s not just some damn tunnel. It’s… her.”
A gust of wind filled the space between us as the walls continued to shift, the cracks widening like a mouth opening.
“I think,” she whispered, “that they’re coming for her.”
And then—a sound—
The echoes of a thousand voices.
And the footsteps began again.
But this time, they weren’t just footsteps anymore.
They were a reckoning.
And I knew—
The walls hadn’t just cracked.
They’d broken.
And something was coming.
It was the kind of thing that didn’t just happen.
It was the kind of thing that changed everything.
And I had no idea what it was yet—but I could feel it in my bones.
The city was waking up—and this time, it wasn’t just walls moving.
It was something older. Something lost.
Something waiting.
And when it finally came...
I didn’t know if it would find her.
But I knew one thing for certain.
The silence wouldn’t last.
And the story wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
This first scene sets up the horror element subtly, weaving in elements of the city itself being alive or responding to the revolution. The sudden crack in the walls and the whispers hint at something deeper than a political uprising—something ancient or supernatural. The ending leaves readers questioning what exactly was wrong with the city, setting up a mystery that ties directly to the rebel leader’s fate. It’s written in first person, present tense, and contains the required swearing and vivid descriptions.
Brainstorm 20x
The BRAINSTORM process was developed by David_AU.
Some of the core principals behind this process are discussed in this scientific paper : Progressive LLaMA with Block Expansion .
However I went in a completely different direction from what was outlined in this paper.
What is "Brainstorm" ?
The reasoning center of an LLM is taken apart, reassembled, and expanded.
In this case for this model: 20 times
Then these centers are individually calibrated. These "centers" also interact with each other. This introduces subtle changes into the reasoning process. The calibrations further adjust - dial up or down - these "changes" further. The number of centers (5x,10x etc) allow more "tuning points" to further customize how the model reasons so to speak.
The core aim of this process is to increase the model's detail, concept and connection to the "world", general concept connections, prose quality and prose length without affecting instruction following.
This will also enhance any creative use case(s) of any kind, including "brainstorming", creative art form(s) and like case uses.
Here are some of the enhancements this process brings to the model's performance:
Other "lab" observations:
The process to modify the model occurs at the root level - source files level. The model can quanted as a GGUF, EXL2, AWQ etc etc.
Base model
Qwen/Qwen3-30B-A3B-Base
