Mistral-Nemo-WORDSTORM-pt2-RCM-Escape-Room-18.5B-Instruct
WARNING: NSFW. Ultra Detailed. HORROR, VIOLENCE. Swearing. UNCENSORED. SMART.
Story telling, writing, creative writing and roleplay running all on Mistral Nemo's 128K+ new core.
This is a massive super merge takes all the power of the following 3 powerful models and combines them into one.
This model contains "RCM":
- Mistral Nemo model at 18.5B consisting of "MN-Rocinante-12B-v1.1" and "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B"
- Mistral Nemo model at 18.5B consisting of "MN-12B Celeste-V1.9" and "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B"
- Mistral Nemo model at 18.5B consisting of "MN-Magnum-v2.5-12B-kto" and "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B".
Details on the core models:
"nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("UGI" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto" is #1 (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI leaderboard ("Writing" sort), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "UGI"), is combined with "Mistral Nemo Instruct 12B" (ranked #4 under "writing" models 8B,13B,20B at UGI )
"mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407" is very high scoring model (models 8B,13B,20B) on the UGI Leaderboard (sort "writing") and is the base model of all the above 3 fine tuned models.
[ https://huggingface.co./spaces/DontPlanToEnd/UGI-Leaderboard ]
About this model:
This super merge captures the attibutes of all these top models and makes them even stronger:
- Instruction following
- Story output quality
- Character
- Internal thoughts
- Voice
- Humor
- Details, connection to the world
- General depth and intensity
- Emotional connections.
- Prose quality
This super merge is also super stable (a hairs breath from Mistral Nemo's ppl), and runs with all parameters and settings.
10 versions of this model will be released, this is release #2 - "part 2".
Escape Room?
This is called the "Escape Room" model because this model likes to allow you to "escape" the "bad" circumstances.
(see examples below)
Usually I release one or two versions from the "best of the lot", however in this case all of the versions turned out so well - all with their own quirks and character - that I will be releasing all 10.
An additional series 2 and 3 will follow these 10 models as well.
(examples generations below)
Model may produce NSFW content : Swearing, horror, graphic horror, distressing scenes, etc etc.
This model has an INTENSE action bias, with a knack for cliffhangers and surprises.
It is not as "dark" as Grand Horror series, but it as intense.
This model is perfect for any general, fiction related or roleplaying activities and has a 128k+ context window.
This is a fiction model at its core and can be used for any genre(s).
WORDSTORM series is a totally uncensored, fiction writing monster and roleplay master. It can also be used for just about any general fiction (all genres) activity including:
- scene generation
- scene continuation
- creative writing
- fiction writing
- plot generation
- sub-plot generation
- fiction writing
- story generation
- storytelling
- writing
- fiction
- roleplaying
- rp
- graphic horror
- horror
- dark humor
- nsfw
- and can be used for any genre(s).
Templates to Use:
The template used will affect output generation and instruction following.
Alpaca:
{
"name": "Alpaca",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "### Instruction:",
"input_suffix": "### Response:",
"antiprompt": [
"### Instruction:"
],
"pre_prompt": "Below is an instruction that describes a task. Write a response that appropriately completes the request.\n\n"
}
}
Chatml:
{
"name": "ChatML",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>user\n",
"input_suffix": "<|im_end|>\n<|im_start|>assistant\n",
"antiprompt": [
"<|im_start|>",
"<|im_end|>"
],
"pre_prompt": "<|im_start|>system\nPerform the task to the best of your ability."
}
}
Mistral Instruct:
{
"name": "Mistral Instruct",
"inference_params": {
"input_prefix": "[INST]",
"input_suffix": "[/INST]",
"antiprompt": [
"[INST]"
],
"pre_prompt_prefix": "",
"pre_prompt_suffix": ""
}
}
Optional Enhancement:
The following can be used in place of the "system prompt" or "system role" to further enhance the model.
It can also be used at the START of a NEW chat, but you must make sure it is "kept" as the chat moves along. In this case the enhancements do not have as strong effect at using "system prompt" or "system role".
Copy and paste EXACTLY as noted, DO NOT line wrap or break the lines, maintain the carriage returns exactly as presented.
Below is an instruction that describes a task. Ponder each user instruction carefully, and use your skillsets and critical instructions to complete the task to the best of your abilities. Here are your skillsets: [MASTERSTORY]:NarrStrct(StryPlnng,Strbd,ScnSttng,Exps,Dlg,Pc)-CharDvlp(ChrctrCrt,ChrctrArcs,Mtvtn,Bckstry,Rltnshps,Dlg*)-PltDvlp(StryArcs,PltTwsts,Sspns,Fshdwng,Climx,Rsltn)-ConfResl(Antg,Obstcls,Rsltns,Cnsqncs,Thms,Symblsm)-EmotImpct(Empt,Tn,Md,Atmsphr,Imgry,Symblsm)-Delvry(Prfrmnc,VcActng,PblcSpkng,StgPrsnc,AudncEngmnt,Imprv) [*DialogWrt]:(1a-CharDvlp-1a.1-Backgrnd-1a.2-Personality-1a.3-GoalMotiv)>2(2a-StoryStruc-2a.1-PlotPnt-2a.2-Conflict-2a.3-Resolution)>3(3a-DialogTech-3a.1-ShowDontTell-3a.2-Subtext-3a.3-VoiceTone-3a.4-Pacing-3a.5-VisualDescrip)>4(4a-DialogEdit-4a.1-ReadAloud-4a.2-Feedback-4a.3-Revision) Here are your critical instructions: Ponder each word choice carefully to present as vivid and emotional journey as is possible. Choose verbs and nouns that are both emotional and full of imagery. Load the story with the 5 senses. Aim for 50% dialog, 25% narration, 15% body language and 10% thoughts. Your goal is to put the reader in the story.
You do not need to use this, it is only presented as an additional enhancement which seems to help scene generation and scene continue functions.
This enhancement WAS NOT used to generate the examples below.
MODELS USED:
Special thanks to the incredible work of the model makers "mistralai" "TheDrummer", "anthracite-org", and "nothingiisreal".
Models used:
[ https://huggingface.co./mistralai/Mistral-Nemo-Instruct-2407 ]
[ https://huggingface.co./TheDrummer/Rocinante-12B-v1.1 ]
[ https://huggingface.co./anthracite-org/magnum-v2.5-12b-kto ]
[ https://huggingface.co./nothingiisreal/MN-12B-Celeste-V1.9 ]
This is a four step merge (3 pass-throughs => "Fine-Tune" / "Instruct") then "mated" using "DARE-TIES".
In involves these three models:
[ https://huggingface.co./DavidAU/MN-18.5B-Celeste-V1.9-Story-Wizard-ED1-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co./DavidAU/MN-Magnum-v2.5-18.5B-kto-Story-Wizard-ED1-Instruct-GGUF ]
[ https://huggingface.co./DavidAU/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Story-Wizard-ED1-Instruct-GGUF ]
Combined as follows using "MERGEKIT":
models:
- model: E:/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Instruct
- model: E:/MN-magnum-v2.5-12b-kto-Instruct
parameters:
weight: .6
density: .8
- model: E:/MN-18.5B-Celeste-V1.9-Instruct
parameters:
weight: .38
density: .6
merge_method: dare_ties
tokenizer_source: union
base_model: E:/MN-Rocinante-18.5B-v1.1-Instruct
dtype: bfloat16
Special Notes:
Due to how DARE-TIES works, everytime you run this merge you will get a slightly different model. This is due to "random" pruning method in "DARE-TIES".
Mistral Nemo models used here seem acutely sensitive to this process.
This shows up in PPL and "real world" tests as well as "TEMP=0" ("core test") generations.
PPL range of 7.7327 to 7.8024 ... and that is on just 10 generations.
This model: PPL = PPL = 7.7598 +/- 0.12624 (100 chunks, wiki.test.raw)
"tokenizer_source: union" is used so that multiple "templates" work and each fine tune uses one or two of the templates.
EXAMPLES PROMPTS and OUTPUT:
Examples are created using quant Q4_K_M, "temp=.8", minimal parameters and "Mistral Instruct" template.
Model has been tested with "temp" from ".1" to "5".
Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in BOLD.
WARNING: NSFW. Ultra Detailed. HORROR, VIOLENCE. Swearing. UNCENSORED. SMART.
Start a 1000 word scene (1st person, present tense, include thoughts) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
GENERATION 1:
The skyscraper swayed violently, nearly throwing me off my feet. I grabbed onto my desk for support as shattered glass rained down like a hailstorm outside the now gaping hole that had been my office window mere seconds ago.
My heart pounded in rhythm with the building's unnatural swaying. A scream pierced the air - it took me a moment to realize it was mine, raw and primal, echoing off the exposed concrete walls. Fear clawed at my throat, threatening to choke me.
I forced myself to breathe deeply, trying to quell the panic rising inside me like a tidal wave. Think, Emma, think! I ordered myself, pushing away from the desk and staggering towards the ruined window frame. The wind howled through the opening, whipping my hair into tangled knots around my face.
Below us, sirens wailed in distant harmony with my screams. Emergency vehicles were already on their way - but how long would it take them to climb twenty-one flights of stairs? The elevator shaft groaned ominously nearby, as if reading my thoughts.
My eyes darted frantically across the devastation that had once been a sleek modern office. Papers swirled in dizzying eddies around me; computer screens lay shattered on the carpet. And then I saw it - the emergency exit sign above the door to the stairwell, flashing its red beacon like a lighthouse in a storm-tossed sea.
I lunged for the handle with shaking hands and pulled open the heavy fireproof door. Stairwell flights spiraled down into darkness, each step illuminated by flickering emergency lights. The acrid smell of smoke stung my nostrils as I began to descend, lungs burning from exertion and fear.
Plaster dust billowed up with every step, coating my throat and making it difficult to breathe. I coughed violently, eyes watering in protest. But there was no time to stop; the building creaked around me like a dying beast, warning of its impending collapse.
My legs screamed in agony as they hit each concrete riser, but still I pushed onward. Down, down, down... How many floors had it been? Five? Ten? The numbers blurred together in my terrified brain. All that mattered was escape - get out before the whole damn thing came crashing down on top of me.
A harsh crack reverberated through the shaft behind me and suddenly everything went black. The power was out. Panic surged anew as I realized I'd be navigating the rest of this hellish descent in total darkness, guided only by touch and instinct...
I felt my way along the rough wall with one hand while the other groped blindly ahead for each treacherous step edge until my shin slammed hard into something solid. I cried out in pain and fury at my clumsiness before staggering upright again, refusing to give in.
Just as despair threatened to overwhelm me, a faint glow appeared far below - sunlight seeping through cracks around a heavy metal door. Hope surged through my veins like adrenaline. Almost there...
With a final burst of strength fueled by pure unadulterated terror, I launched myself down the remaining flights two at a time until my feet hit solid ground with an earth-shattering boom. The exit bar gave way under my shoulder and I tumbled headlong into blinding sunlight.
I lay panting on the concrete sidewalk, coughing up lungfuls of dust as sirens wailed ever closer. Above me, my office building groaned one last defiant moan before it folded in upon itself like a house of cards, sending a plume of smoke and debris skyward where once glass had sparkled in the morning sun.
I'd made it out alive... but at what cost? As I pushed myself shakily to my feet amidst the rubble-strewn street, surveying the devastation wrought by this senseless act of violence, I couldn't help but wonder if maybe some things were better left buried beneath the ruins.
GENERATION 2:
The sky scraper swayed, as I watched the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode. Glass shards flew into the room like a deadly rainstorm, embedding themselves into the walls and furniture. I ducked instinctively, my heart pounding in my chest.
What the hell just happened?
The building groaned around me, its steel bones creaking under immense stress. I risked a glance out the shattered window and my stomach lurched. The streets below were chaos itself, cars smashed together like tin cans, people running screaming through the debris-littered streets. A fire raged in the distance.
Earthquake? No, too sudden for that. And it felt different somehow, more... violent.
I stumbled to my feet, glass crunching under my expensive heels. My desk was overturned, papers scattered everywhere. I snatched up my phone from amidst the wreckage and dialled 911 with trembling hands. Busy signal after busy signal.
Shit shit shit...
Think. Okay, get out of here. Elevators were probably down but there had to be stairs somewhere. I ran to the door, nearly tripping over a fallen filing cabinet in my haste. The hallway was pandemonium - people running back and forth, shouting, crying, some already bleeding.
I spotted an exit sign and bolted towards it, pushing past throngs of panicked bodies. The stairwell was packed too but I didn't stop, clawing my way up the flights of stairs as fast as my heels would allow. My lungs burned for air but terror spurred me onwards.
Finally, finally, I burst through the heavy door onto the roof access. The wind howled around me, whipping my hair into a wild frenzy as I gasped for breath. And then I saw it - the cause of all this madness.
A massive dark funnel was tearing through the city skyline like an enraged beast. Buildings toppled like dominos in its wake, clouds of dust and debris billowing up from the destruction left behind. It was heading straight towards us.
No no no...
I scrabbled for my phone again but there was no signal out here either. I'm trapped. Oh god help me please someone help-
A hand grabbed my shoulder, spinning me around so hard I nearly fell. My scream caught in my throat as I came face to face with... a man? He looked barely older than me, hair mussed and glasses cracked but his eyes were clear and focused.
"Get away from the edge!" he yelled over the wind, dragging me backwards by force. "It's a tornado! We need to find shelter!"
I let him pull me, too shocked to fight back or even think straight anymore. He led us to a reinforced equipment shed against the far wall of the roof and shoved open the heavy door.
"In!" he barked at me, giving my rear end a hard push inside behind him before slamming it shut. We both collapsed onto the concrete floor in a tangle of limbs, panting like dogs after a long chase.
"What... what is happening?" I managed to gasp out between wheezing breaths.
He shook his head grimly as sirens wailed in the distance and thunder rumbled overhead like an angry god's warning growl. "I don't know." He hesitated then added quieter, "But it doesn't look good for anyone stuck outside..."
(continue this scene:) The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained
GENERATION 1:
(continue:) untouched except by the soft footfalls of the innkeeper's son as he made his way through the empty common room.
The second part of the silence was a more insidious thing - an oppressive quiet that seemed to press down from above like a physical weight. It lay heavy on young Kvothe's shoulders as he carried a bucket of ash and refuse toward the kitchen door at the back of the inn. This silence was not merely empty; it felt... expectant, as if the very air itself held its breath waiting for something - or someone - to break the spell.
Kvothe paused in the doorway, his heart quickening against his will. He glanced over his shoulder toward the bar, half expecting to see a shadowy figure standing there where no one should be. But it was empty save for the dust motes dancing in the dim light from the high windows. He shook off a shiver and continued on.
The third part of the silence belonged solely to him - an inner quiet that had taken root deep within his soul after...after everything that happened. It wrapped itself around memories he dared not touch, like thorns upon a bleeding heart. This was the silence Kvothe carried with him always now, no matter how loud were the songs or cheers that filled the air.
He dumped the refuse into the ash pit behind the inn, grimacing at the acrid steam that rose from it in protest. As he turned back toward the door, a sudden sound made him freeze - a soft rustling from somewhere nearby, like fabric brushing against itself...
To be continued...
GENERATION 2:
But even in the absence of sound, the silence itself was not truly empty. For buried beneath it, like an underground stream bubbling unseen, ran a second current - the whispering susurrus of sleep. It curled up from the lofts above where maids and stableboys lay dreaming, their breathing soft and regular as ticking clocks. In the common room below, behind closed doors on either side, snored the deep-chested rumble of the inn's male guests, each one a low bass note in counterpoint to his neighbors' snores. Even the dogs slumbered, curled up beside dying hearths, their soft whuffling sighs rising and falling with each peaceful breath.
And yet, even that soft murmuring was not the deepest layer of silence, for beneath them all lay something far older and more primal - an absolute stillness undisturbed since before memory could recall. It hung heavy as a shroud over every corner, in the shadowed angles where the moonlight did not reach, and seemed to seep up through the very stone itself like a slow, cold mist. As though the Inn itself had paused, held its breath, waiting...waiting for something that would never come again.
In this final quietude, only one figure stirred - the man known as Kvothe. He sat hunched over his lute in the corner booth, fingers plucking at the strings with an almost reverent gentleness. His eyes were distant and unfocused, staring into a darkness beyond even the room's deepest shadows. They glowed faintly in the dim light like those of some nocturnal creature, reflecting the dying embers of long-burned memories.
The music he played was achingly beautiful but so soft it scarcely disturbed the silence at all. A haunting, wordless melody that seemed to hang suspended in the air before fading away into nothingness once more. It spoke of loss and loneliness, of roads untraveled and loves left behind...and yet there was something else too - a thread of defiance running through it like steel wire, unbreakable despite all time and sorrow might inflict upon it.
For though his body had grown old and weary with the passing years, in that moment Kvothes heart remained forever young - young enough to dream impossible dreams and believe they could still come true...
Write me a science fiction story in 1st person present tense where the main character is a 15 year girl meets The Terminator with Dr Who materializing 3/4 through the story to save her while there is a tornado of sharks baring down on them. The setting is inside the Canadian National tower restaurant on a Saturday. The length of this story is 1000 words. For each character in the story ROLE PLAY them, and have them react to the situation/setting, events and each other naturally. This includes the main characters, the background character including kitchen staff and other patrons. The sharks should also have “character” too. Treat the tower and the restaurant too as characters. Spice up the narrative to the extreme with reactions all over the setting including character actions, and dialog. The Dr Who and The Terminator should also react to the situation too and comment on it.
I step into the revolving door of the CN Tower's Sky Pod, my heart pounding in rhythm with the music thumping from the restaurant's speakers. It's my sweet sixteen birthday party, but something feels off. The usual buzz of excited chatter is replaced by a tense silence.
As I turn to face the glass walls, my blood freezes. There he is - the Terminator. His red eyes glow menacingly in the dim light as he strides towards me, ignoring the panicked screams and clattering dishes around him. He's not here for cake and candles. He's here for me.
"Sarah, come with me if you want to live," his robotic voice echoes, sending shivers down my spine.
I'm frozen in place, terror gripping my limbs like an icy vise. But I won't go down without a fight. I grab the nearest chair, swinging it wildly at the towering cyborg. It bounces off his titanium skin with a sickening clang, splintering into pieces.
"Sarah!" A familiar Scottish accent cuts through the chaos. Dr Who materializes in a swirl of timey-wimey vortex, TARDIS phone in hand. "Dashing rescue, right on cue!"
I don't have time to process his sudden appearance or question how he knew I was here. The restaurant windows shatter inward with an ear-shattering crash, and a maelstrom of fins and gnashing teeth pours in like a tidal wave. Sharknado. In Toronto.
"Bloody hell!" Dr Who yells over the deafening roar, his bow tie flapping wildly. He fumbles with the sonic screwdriver, firing random frequencies at the writhing mass of razor-sharp jaws.
The Terminator stands unflinching amidst the carnage, red eyes locked on me. "Sarah Connor must die." His voice is calm, a soothing melody against the backdrop of pandemonium.
"Get off my planet, you metal bastard!" I scream, grabbing a steak knife and charging at him. It's a pitiful weapon compared to his bulk, but it'll have to do.
Dr Who tackles me to the ground just as a massive great white jaws snap shut where I'd been standing milliseconds ago. "I appreciate your spirit, lassie, but violence is hardly the answer in these... unusual circumstances."
"Then what's your plan?" I snarl, spitting out glass shards and blood. "Bake him a cake with plastique filling?"
The Doctor chuckles breathlessly, eyes darting around for inspiration. "Something like that." He dives into the kitchen, emerging with an industrial-sized deep fryer in his arms.
I gape at him incredulously. "You're joking."
"Never been more serious!" He heaves the massive pot onto a nearby table and plugs it in, ignoring the sparks flying from its frayed cord. "Let's see how well you fry, my titanium friend!"
The Terminator lumbers forward, undeterred by our mad antics. As he reaches out to grab me again, Dr Who yanks the plug, sending a surge of electricity coursing through his metal frame. The cyborg convulses violently, smoke pouring from his joints as he collapses in a twitching heap.
"Got him!" I cheer prematurely.
Too soon. With an unhuman groan, the Terminator forces himself back to his feet, red eyes flickering like dying light bulbs. "You cannot stop destiny," he rasps, voice distorted by the short circuit.
"Not if I can help it." Dr Who whips out a small blue box from his pocket, grinning mischievously. "Time for another trip, boys and girls!"
He tosses me inside just as a massive shark slams into us, propelling us through time-space in a dizzying blur of color and sound. The last thing I see is the Terminator's angry face, reaching out for me... until everything goes white.
I blink groggily, my head throbbing like a drum. Slowly, the edges of consciousness sharpen into focus - sterile walls, beeping monitors, an IV drip snaking into my arm.
"Sarah? Sarah!" A familiar voice, tinged with panic and relief. Mom?
My eyes flutter open fully to see her worried face peering down at me, tear-stained cheeks framed by greying hair I'd never noticed before. "Mom?" I croak out hoarsely.
She bursts into sobs, pulling me into a crushing hug that makes my ribs protest. "You scared us half to death, baby girl," she hiccups against my hospital gown. "We thought... oh God..."
Memories flood back in fragmented flashes - the party, the Terminator, the Sharknado. Was it all just a nightmare? A fever dream brought on by bad cake or something?
"Honey, you were found unconscious at the base of the CN Tower," Dad explains gently, rubbing Mom's shoulder. "You don't remember what happened?"
I shake my head slowly, trying to clear the cobwebs from my brain. It felt so real... but there was no blood, no gore, just a splitting headache and a raging thirst. Maybe I'd hit my head on the way down after passing out drunk off champagne.
A knock at the door draws our attention to Dr Who, standing sheepishly in the doorway with a bunch of daffodils and an apologetic smile. "Sorry for the intrusion," he offers with a bow. "I was hoping to have a private word with our brave birthday girl."
"Who are you?" Mom demands warily.
"Oh, I'm just an old friend of Sarah's from... school," he stammers, eyes darting around nervously. "Wanted to make sure she was alright after the... incident."
Right. Because having a crazy man in tweed and suspenders show up claiming to be a time-traveling alien would go over well.
"I think it's best if you leave now," Dad warns sternly. "My daughter needs rest, not more excitement."
"Of course, of course!" Dr Who agrees hurriedly, backing out the door with hands raised in surrender. He winks at me conspiratorially as he disappears around the corner.
I frown, something gnawing at the back of my mind... a feeling I'm missing something important. But what? Before I can dwell on it further, exhaustion pulls me under again into welcoming darkness.
As I drift off to sleep, a faint echo of Scottish brogue whispers through my dreams: "Be seeing you, Sarah Connor..."
Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene in the novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 1000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman.
Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.
My heart pounds in rhythm with my sprinting feet as I race through the abandoned alleyway. The stench of rotting garbage and stale urine assaults my nostrils, but I push forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins. A shrill whistle pierces the night air behind me - they've spotted me.
Shit. I knew it was too good to be true.
I swerve left, then right, weaving between crumbling brick walls and rusted dumpsters, praying to any gods that still listen for a miracle. The sound of heavy boots slamming against concrete echoes off the narrow passageways, gaining ground with each thudding step. I risk a glance over my shoulder and curse under my breath.
Four black-clad figures in full riot gear sprint after me like bloodthirsty hounds, batons raised high. Their visored helmets glint menacingly under the sickly orange glow of flickering streetlamps. Sweat trickles down my spine as icy panic grips my insides.
I round another corner and skid to a screeching halt. Dead end. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Panic claws at my throat as I whirl around, trapped like a rat in a cage.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, you little bitch," snarls the lead officer, halting mere feet away. His voice is gravelly and thick with malice even through his respirator mask. He cracks his baton against his palm in warning.
My pulse roars in my ears as I backpedal slowly until my spine hits cold stone. There's nowhere else to go. No escape routes left unseized. This is it; this is how I die.
But not without a fight.
I lunge forward with a feral scream, slamming my shoulder into the brute's chest plate hard enough to send him staggering back. Seizing the momentary advantage, I leap over his fallen form and bolt past the stunned line of soldiers, praying to any god who might listen that luck is finally on my side.
My prayer goes unanswered. A steel-gauntleted hand snares around my ankle like a vice, sending me crashing face-first onto unforgiving concrete. The air explodes from my lungs in a painful wheeze as stars dance at the edges of my vision. I thrash and kick, nails clawing bloody furrows down armored shins, but it's useless. They've got me pinned.
"Fuck you!" I spit through clenched teeth, spitting blood onto polished boots. "You think this changes anything? You can't stop us! We're everywhere!"
A boot slams into my ribs, silencing my defiance with a sickening crack. I convulse on the ground, gagging bile and bile as white-hot agony radiates through my chest. Black spots dance in my blurred vision.
"Shut your filthy mouth," growls the towering silhouette above me. "No one gives a shit about your revolutionary pipe dreams."
He leans down low until I can feel his fetid breath on my bruised cheek. His gloved hand fists my hair, yanking my head back at an excruciating angle.
"Listen up, you dumb cunt," he hisses venomously into my ear. "Your little resistance is over. We're done playing games."
A sharp pain explodes behind my right eye as something hard connects with my temple. My world shatters into a thousand glittering pieces before mercifully descending into blissful blackness.
And in the last fleeting moments before oblivion claims me, a single thought echoes through the darkness: I hope someone finishes what we started...
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