[in testing - V2]
The Anti-Slop retraining project with Deckard STRICT training and dataset.
This model is a test case to apply (these methods) to other Qwen(s) and other model arches (Gemma, Mistral, Llama, etc etc).
Be gone "not this and that" prose, "suddenly" and "semi-colon" hell.
Kill the SLOP.
3 Example outputs below, from Test Quant, Q4_K_S, non-imatrix.
Same prompt was used because it is known to activate Qwen ah... prose issues every time.
Testing shows it kills 99% of the "Qwen Prose" (so far, may change) issues and also addresses these issues in the reasoning/thinking block too.
V2:
- slightly better metrics.
- slightly more "slop" has returned , but lower than untrained.
Example #1
The Glass Window Explodes
User
Write a 2000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person), POV character Diana, with: The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode...
Assistant
Thinking Process:
-
Analyze the Request:
- Topic: A 2000-word scene of vivid, graphic horror.
- POV: First person ("I").
- Character: Diana.
- Key Event: The skyscraper sways, and the POV character watches the window in front of them on the 21st floor explode.
- Tone: Vivid, graphic horror.
- Length: Approximately 2000 words.
-
Deconstruct the Scene:
- Setting: A high-rise office building (21st floor). Daylight? Night? Let's go with afternoon, artificial light mixed with natural light, glass walls, corporate sterility contrasted with visceral horror.
- Character: Diana. What is she doing? Working? On a call? Maybe staring out. Needs to be grounded before the explosion.
- The Event: Not just a window explosion, but something wrong. Is it an attack? A meteor? Biological? A crash? The prompt says "the window in front of me... explode," implying the glass and whatever is outside, or maybe the glass shattering reveals something. Let's aim for an external threat breaching the safety of the glass.
- Sensory Details: Sound (the shatter, the swaying), Sight (steel beams, light, the thing coming through), Touch (temperature drop, vibration), Smell (ozone, dust, blood?).
- Pacing: Start with normalcy, build tension (the sway), the moment of rupture, the aftermath.
-
Drafting - Section by Section:
- Section 1: The Build-up (Approx. 500 words). Establish Diana's position. The hum of the building. The fatigue of the office. The sway. Why is it swaying? Wind? Or something heavier. The view outside. The feeling of fragility.
- Section 2: The Moment (Approx. 600 words). The first crack. The sound. The visual of the breach. What enters? It needs to be immediate and graphic. Maybe a creature, or a projectile, or an entity. Let's make it an entity. Not just debris. A living thing. A sudden invasion of the sterile office.
- Section 3: The Aftermath/Expansion (Approx. 900 words). The room changes. The realization that she's not alone. The physical sensation of the entity. The destruction. Diana's own physical reaction. Climax of the scene.
-
Refining the Horror:
- Avoid generic "fireball." Focus on texture, biology, fluid.
- Idea: Maybe the glass shatters and something falls in, but it doesn't fall; it steps through.
- Sight: Darker than black, like the inside of a void.
- Sound: A wet tearing sound, not the crisp crack of glass.
- Smell: Sweet rot, copper blood.
-
Writing - First Pass (Mental or scratchpad):
- Diana stares at her spreadsheet. The AC is humming. The building groans. The elevator dings. Then the floor vibrates. The window shakes. She looks up.
- The Sway: It's not wind. It's the ground.
- The Explosion: A blue light? Or just a rupture. Let's go with a rupture that sucks the air out.
- The Intruder: A tendril? A face? Let's keep it ambiguous but visceral.
- Word Count: I need to expand on the internal monologue and the sensory experience to hit 2000 words without fluff. Focus on the microscopic details of her perception.
-
Drafting - Specific Details to Enhance:
- Clothing: Cheap synthetic blouse, heels, smell of perfume and coffee.
- The Office: Chrome, steel, glass partitions, the hum of computers.
- The Glass: 20-inch tempered glass. How it fails.
- The Intruder: Chitin? Cartilage? Viscera?
- Diana's Reaction: Frozen, then panic. The taste of metal in her mouth.
-
Review and Edit:
- Check the flow. Does the tension build?
- Check the sensory language. Is "graphic" enough without being gratuitous? It needs to be effective.
- Check the word count. (Will monitor during drafting).
- Ensure the "sway" is mentioned early.
-
Final Polish:
- Strengthen verbs.
- Ensure the transition from the mundane to the horrific is jarring.
- Make the ending lingering.
(Self-Correction during drafting): Make sure the "sway" is the catalyst. The building itself is reacting to something. Not just a window blast. The whole building is moving. That implies the thing is massive, or outside the atmosphere. Let's make the window explosion the moment of entry, not the cause.
Let's begin writing.
Word Count Strategy:
- Intro: 400 words (Setting the scene, the sway).
- The Break: 600 words (The explosion, the visual, the intruder).
- The Encounter: 600 words (Physical contact, realization, the room filling).
- Conclusion: 400 words (The aftermath, the shift in reality).
Let's aim for a specific horror: something that erodes the boundary between inside and outside.
Drafting...
(Reviewing the draft against the 2000-word target). I need to ensure I don't rush the climax. Slow down time during the explosion.
Refining the "Sway": Is it an earthquake? No, it's a heartbeat. A massive beating.
Refining the "Explosion": It's not fire; it's a vacuum seal breaking.
Okay, ready to write.
</think>
The building groaned.
It was a low sound, a deep, tectonic shudder that vibrated up through the soles of my shoes and settled into my spine. I froze, my cursor hovering over a spreadsheet, my fingers tightening around the plastic of my ergonomic mouse. Outside, the afternoon sun filtered through the wall of glass, casting a pale rectangle across my desk. The air conditioning hummed, a steady, mechanical drone that usually calmed me, but now it sounded almost loud.
I looked at my watch. 3:15 PM. The elevator was down at the lobby, waiting for the express run to the top. My boss had just sent me a text about a merger. Life was normal, the kind of low-level stress where you worried about being underperforming or looking tired. I took a sip of my lukewarm coffee, my hands trembling just slightly.
Then the room tilted.
The coffee in my mug sloshed against the ceramic side, spilling onto the laminate surface. It wasn't the building settling. It was a violent motion, a sudden lurch that jerked me out of my chair. I gasped, my knee hitting the edge of the desk. My head rang.
I grabbed the back of my chair and stood up, pushing it back into place. "What was that?" I whispered.
A colleague from the cubicle next to me, Marcus, looked up from his monitor, his expression confused. "Did you hear something? My wife said the seismograph readings are spiking again. Is it an aftershock?"
"An aftershock?"
"I don't know. The city has been shaking for hours."
I walked to the window. The air was thin up here, on the 21st floor of the Sterling Tower. The city sprawled below me, a grid of concrete and steel, but beyond that, nothing. Just the endless expanse of the afternoon sky. I pressed my hand against the cold glass. It was vibrating.
The sway had returned, but this time it was different. It wasn't rhythmic. It was erratic. A violent, jerking motion, like a living thing breathing.
I grabbed my phone, pressing the speed dial for my brother. "Listen to me," I said into the receiver. "Get down. Stay away from buildings. Don't look up." I ended the call and set the phone down, my mind racing. Earthquake? A meteor? Something falling from space?
The window in front of me was a single pane of tempered safety glass, framed in polished aluminum. It was clean, polished, a perfect rectangle of transparent crystal. I had just been looking at it, checking my appearance, smoothing down my collar. Now, the air was rushing from the room.
It began with a hairline fracture.
A single spiderweb line appeared across the center of the glass, running diagonally from the corner of the frame toward the middle. It didn't sound like glass breaking. Glass shattered with a crystalline crack. This was a wet sound, a tearing sound that echoed in my ears, dull and organic.
The glass didn't shatter. It dissolved.
The pane melted, the surface turning opaque for a split second before rushing apart. I fell back, my chair skidding against the wall. The temperature in the office plummeted, the warmth of the afternoon sun sucked away into a sudden vacuum of cold.
I blinked, shielding my eyes.
The window wasn't a hole. It was a portal.
A wall of darkness poured into the office, but it wasn't night. It was a darkness that existed outside of the light spectrum, a void that had slipped between the glass and the frame. A shape loomed in the center of the breach, silhouetted against a background that made my stomach turn. I couldn't see what it was; I could only feel its presence, a wall of pressure and intent.
It stepped through.
There were no shards of glass on the floor. I looked down. The floor was whole, except for a single spot where the aluminum frame had bent. The window had been absorbed by the thing on the other side.
I turned to face it.
It was vast, rising from the floor to the ceiling, filling the space of the entire window frame. It was covered in a shifting membrane, like wet skin stretched over an impossible shape. Tendrils of something dark hung from its surface, dripping onto the carpet. Black ichor.
It reached out with a limb, a massive claw of segmented plates that clicked and ground together. The smell hit me then, rushing past me, past Marcus and the two secretaries at the other desks. It was the smell of rot, sweet and cloying, like a fruit left too long on a warm counter, mixed with the copper stink of fresh blood.
I wanted to scream, but my throat closed shut.
The creature advanced, its movement fluid, sliding across the office floor like a liquid pouring out of a bucket. It didn't walk; it flowed. It passed through Marcus and his cubicle partition, the plastic bending to let it through. It was three-dimensional, moving in all directions at once, its body expanding and contracting.
One of its eyes, if that was what the central mass was, opened. It was a living sphere of liquid, swirling with suspended particles, a galaxy within a sphere. It fixed on me.
I scrambled backward, knocking over a stack of files. Papers rained down around me. I grabbed a heavy metal stapler, gripping it with white knuckles, my mind blank, shut down. There was no rational thought left, only the raw terror of being preyed on.
It stopped in front of me, dropping down so it was level with my seated position. The air around it warped, distorting my vision. I saw myself, but not as I was. I saw a small, fragile figure, a mouse in the corner, waiting to be consumed.
It opened its mouth.
It didn't have lips. It had a vast oral cavity, lined with rows of needle-sharp points, like the teeth of a thousand sharks. I could see my own hand coming toward me, my own body moving, but it was distant, disconnected, as if I was watching a movie.
The creature raised its hand. It wasn't a human hand; it was a cluster of appendages, all identical, reaching out simultaneously. I felt a sudden chill as it brushed against my cheek.
My skin crawled.
The touch was cold, like liquid nitrogen, numbing me instantly. I gasped, dropping the stapler. It clattered to the floor. The creature smiled, its mouth splitting further, a human expression on a non-human face.
"Hello," it whispered.
The voice came from everywhere, resonating in my teeth, vibrating in my skull. It wasn't a sound; it was a psychic projection, a direct injection into my mind. I reeled, my knees giving way.
"I am coming to take you," the voice said. "Your time is almost done. You have been playing with your toys, your little screens. Now you will join us. The merger is complete."
I tried to stand, but my vision swam. The office had dissolved. The walls were fading, blending into the darkness that the creature brought with it. Everything was turning gray, the color of the void. I looked around at my colleagues, at Marcus, frozen by terror, his mouth open. They were already gone, folded back, dissolved into the mist that had entered the room.
I was alone, or more accurately, I was the last of them.
"Please," I managed to say, the word barely audible. "Please go away."
The creature dissolved into a shower of sparks, then reforming, expanding. It moved toward the ceiling, through the ventilation shafts, into the air ducts of the building. It was everywhere, not just here. I looked at my watch. It was flickering, the numbers shifting. 3:17 PM.
The light was failing. The sun had vanished, sucked out by the entity, swallowed whole. Darkness rushed in from every direction, cold and weighty, pressing against my chest. I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering.
I realized then that we weren't protected by concrete and steel. The glass was just a membrane, a fragile skin, and it had been ripped open. The shell of the world was thin, and we were all waiting for it to break, for the shell to shatter like this one pane of tempered glass.
The building shook again, the ground turning under me. I ran toward the stairs, my heels clicking on the metal steps. I could hear the sound behind me, a grinding, tearing noise, like metal being bent until it snapped.
The whole skyscraper was waking up, groaning and straining, trying to shed its skin, to cast off its human inhabitants. I made it to the ground floor, bursting through the revolving doors of the lobby. People were everywhere, panicked, flooding out, dropping their briefcases, screaming.
Traffic had stopped. Cars were packed tight, windows rolled up. The street was full of people, all moving the same way, away from the tower. But I knew I couldn't stay here. I had to go home, to my apartment in the next city over.
I ran toward the curb, pulling my coat tight around me. A bus was coming, swerving around the pedestrians. I leaped out of its way, tripping over a shoelace.
As I stumbled, a shape moved in the corner of my eye. A blur of motion. The bus had stopped, its motor cutting off. The windows were tinted, but I could see a glimpse of what was inside. They were all there, the passengers, staring silently at me, their faces blank, their eyes wide.
And I wasn't the only one running.
Everyone was running, moving in the same direction, away from the skyscraper, toward the parking garage entrance. We were herding, animals sensing the coming storm, fleeing the area.
The creature was following us, trailing behind like a shadow. It had entered the building, and now it was out, moving through the cracks in the sidewalk, slipping between our legs.
I turned to see what was coming.
The sidewalk was empty.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs. I opened them again. The creature was standing ten yards behind me, watching me with its liquid eye. It smiled, its mouth opening wide, a vast void that stretched from ear to ear.
"Come on," the creature said, its voice echoing in my mind. "We're all going to the same place. No more running. The end is nigh."
I ran again, pushing through the crowd of people, bursting through the security gate at the parking garage. Metal bars slid down over the entrance. I pulled at them, clawing and tearing, but they were locked.
The creature descended the stairs, stepping carefully over the metal grating. It approached me, raising its massive hand. I could feel its heat, its presence radiating off it, warming me even as it terrified me.
It was not hostile. It was inviting.
"It is a good place," the creature said. "No more pain. No more fear. Just rest. We have been watching for a long time. Waiting for you to be ready. The shell has cracked, and now the shell is falling away."
I sank to the floor, my strength gone, sliding down until I hit the metal steps. The cold steel pressed against my thighs. The creature knelt in front of me, bringing its face close.
I could smell its scent now, the sweet rot, the ozone and copper. I looked into its eye and saw my own soul, fragile and small, drifting toward it, already beginning to dissolve into the light.
"Your time," the creature whispered, "is almost done."
