[in testing - V5]
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.
V5:
- Almost on par with least slop V1/V3.
- Metrics testing in progress.
Example #1
The Swaying Skyscraper
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 first-person horror scene.
- POV Character: Diana.
- Setting: An office/apartment on the 21st floor of a skyscraper.
- Key Event: The window in front of her explodes, coinciding with the building swaying.
- Tone: Vivid, graphic horror.
- Length: Approximately 2000 words.
-
Brainstorming & Concept Development:
- Why is the window exploding? Is it a bomb? A crash? Supernatural force? I want it to feel visceral and wrong. Maybe not just physical, but something invading the space.
- Diana's State of Mind: She should be calm initially, then descending into panic. She's an adult in a modern setting, maybe working late. The horror needs to be grounded in reality but twisted.
- The Swaying: The building itself feeling alive or sick. Like it's dying.
- The Explosion: Not glass breaking; the world outside coming in or being pushed out. Metal shards, concrete, the sky falling.
- Sensory Details: The smell of ozone, the heat, the sound of cracking (not like glass but like bones), the feeling of gravity changing.
- Horror Element: What if the things outside aren't what they seem? Or what if the explosion isn't from the outside at all? Let's go with: The explosion is the building rejecting the world outside, or the outside entering in a corrupted form. Let's aim for a cosmic or eldritch horror vibe mixed with structural realism. The sky turns to blood? The clouds turn to teeth? No, keep it more physical first. The sky becomes hungry.
- Revised Idea: The window doesn't just break; the sky bleeds in. A visceral, wet horror. The sky is alive and it's hurting.
-
Drafting - Section by Section:
- Introduction (0-400 words): Establish the setting. Diana working late. The oppressive silence. The sudden motion of the building. The feeling of unease. The initial crack.
- The Build-up (400-1000 words): The building sways significantly. Objects falling. The noise outside changing. The realization that something is wrong with the "sky." The window shatters.
- The Climax (1000-1600 words): The explosion/horror event itself. The physical sensation of the breach. The intrusion. The visual of the sky becoming flesh/blood. The sound.
- The Aftermath/Conclusion (1600-2000 words): Trying to make sense of it. Is she trapped? What just happened? The lingering sense of wrongness. A new understanding of her reality.
-
Writing - Focus on Sensory Language:
- Sound: The hum of the AC turning into a grind. The distant rumble. The sudden pop.
- Sight: Darkness, stars turning to pinpricks, then clouds of red. The sky weeping.
- Touch: Vibration of the floor. The rush of wind that isn't wind. The weight.
- Smell: Rain? No, rot. Metal. Rust.
- Internal Feeling: Instinctive knowledge that this isn't natural.
-
Refining the Horror:
- Avoid just "glass shattering." Make the glass feel organic. "Cracked teeth of the window."
- Make the sky feel hostile. Not empty space, but a presence.
- Diana's reaction should be primal. Freezing, then fighting, then understanding.
-
Word Count Management:
- Need to expand on the internal monologue. Diana's thoughts. Her memories. The contrast between the normal world and this.
- Elaborate on the building itself. It's a character, dying or sick.
- Elaborate on the time of day. Late night, empty city.
-
Drafting - Mental Walkthrough:
- Start: Late night. Office lights. Coffee cup. The hum of the server.
- Inciting Incident: The building dips. Like a boat.
- Escalation: Things fall. The view outside dims.
- The Break: Not just glass. The frame twists.
- The Reveal: The sky is wet. Viscous.
- Ending: The window is sealed with something dark. She is still alive but the world is wrong.
(Self-Correction during drafting): Make sure the "explosion" feels earned. Build up the pressure. The building breathing. The air moving. The temperature dropping.
Let's write.
(Post-Draft Review): Check word count. Check adjective usage. Ensure "vivid, graphic horror" is present without becoming just gore. Focus on the uncanny and the violation of safety.
Let's begin.
(Wait, I need to ensure the specific prompt line is integrated or the scene flows around it. "The skyscraper sways, as I watch the window in front of me on the 21st floor explode..." - I will use this moment as the core anchor.)
Okay, ready to write.
(Wait, 2000 words is quite long for a single scene. I need to sustain the tension. I'll need to delve deep into Diana's psyche. Why is she afraid? What does she know? Maybe she's seen this happen to others? No, keep it immediate. Her fear comes from the violation of the known. The violation of physics.)
</think>
The late afternoon sun cast a sickly, amber glow across my desk, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air of the office. I sat with my back to the city skyline, the vast, sprawling expanse of towers and traffic that usually hummed with the noise of life. Today, the city was silent. It lay in a heavy, oppressive stillness, as if held in suspension.
I took a sip of coffee from my mug. It was lukewarm and tasted of burnt metal. I had been staring at the spreadsheets for three hours. My eyes ached, and a low-grade migraine pulsed behind my left eye. The office was mine alone; the others had gone home, leaving me with the quiet. The silence of a vacuum, not the peaceful absence of sound. It felt empty in a way that pressed against my ears, making the blood in my temples throb.
I leaned back in my chair and reached for the window. The blinds were down, but I always liked to pull one side back just to watch the traffic. The traffic had stopped. No cars moved along the highway below. The streets were empty. The buildings opposite us looked hollow, their windows dark. I had a terrible intuition that the people inside them were not there, or if they were, they were not moving. The city had frozen over, a vast tomb of concrete and steel.
I pushed the window blinds up with a rattle that echoed strangely. The sound was amplified by the stillness, a metallic clatter that made me jump.
That was when I first noticed the sway.
It was imperceptible at first. A subtle motion, like a ship in a harbor. But I was near the window; I felt it through the floor beneath my feet, a long, rolling oscillation that traveled through the foundation and up into the structure of the building. It was the building moving, not the city outside. I was in a room inside a living organism, and it was shifting its posture.
I sat frozen.
The sway continued. The floor rose and dipped, a slow, rhythmic motion. I put my hand on the desk; the wood vibrated against my palm. It was warm, like skin. The building was breathing.
I stood up and walked to the window. The air around me was cold, a damp chill that smelled of ozone and rain. I touched the glass. It was cool to the touch, slick with a thin layer of condensation that made the view below distort. The streets weren’t straight; they warped, melting like wax. The buildings opposite us leaned and tilted, bending in the wind.
The wind.
It wasn’t normal wind. The air moved with purpose. It pushed against me, a heavy, dense current that seemed to want to enter the room. I could hear it rustling, a sound like dry leaves, but deeper. Like many voices speaking at once, a murmuring crowd just beyond the glass.
I looked at my watch. It was six o’clock. The office would be empty in a few minutes; my boss would lock up and leave. I should have left, too. I should have gotten out of here. But I stayed. I felt drawn to the window, compelled to stay and watch.
The first crack appeared at the edge of the window, near the metal frame. It was hairline, a single fissure running vertically.
I gasped and took a step back.
The glass didn’t just break; it tore. As if something on the other side was clawing for entry. The crack widened instantly. A spiderweb of fractures raced across the pane, and then the window shattered inward. But no wind rushed in. Instead, a dark, viscous substance poured through the fragments, splashing against the floor and my shoes.
It was night, but the darkness outside wasn’t black. It was a deep, saturated purple, like old blood. And it hung thick in the air, refusing to be parted by the wind. The shards of glass didn’t scatter; they sank into the dampness and disappeared, absorbed instantly by the surface of the ground below.
I ran to the door. The hallway was empty and echoing. I grabbed my coat and ran down the hall, down the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the railing that seemed to waver and lean toward me. When I reached the ground floor, I burst out onto the sidewalk.
People.
A few figures stood by a newsstand, reading papers. A couple walked slowly along the pavement, hands in their pockets. A normal evening scene. I pulled open the door of a café and stepped inside. The warmth of the café wrapped around me; the smell of coffee and baked goods mixed with the scent of my own fear. The café was small and cramped. I slid into a booth and ordered a hot chocolate.
The man sitting across from me, a young clerk with glasses, said nothing. He stared at me blankly, his face a mask of polite indifference. The waitress nodded and went to get my drink.
When she left, the clerk said, “What happened outside?”
I said, “I don’t understand.”
“You missed it. The collapse.”
“The what?” I said.
“The building. The one you were in. The spires.”
I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“It fell.”
I laughed nervously. “How can a building fall? It doesn’t have a body.”
“They do. Down below. In the foundation. All the old structures, the concrete and steel. They have roots. My family has studied them for generations. The spires are old. From before the war. The spire fell last night. It took the other buildings with it.”
He leaned closer. “You were in it when it fell. You weren’t killed. You’re the only one alive from that part of the city. I saw you standing at the window. You were watching it die.”
I got out of the café as fast as I could. I ran until I was out of town, until I reached the highway and the endless stream of cars moving between cities. I got in a taxi and gave the driver the address of a hotel.
The next day, I flew to another state. I changed my name and started over in a new town, working in a factory, sleeping in a dormitory. I kept myself busy. I never looked back.
Months later, I got a job in an office, working for a large corporation. My new apartment was on the twenty-first floor of a modern building that overlooked a busy business district. The windows were huge, floor-to-ceiling panes of glass that let in an incredible amount of light.
One afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, sorting through files. The sun was setting, casting long, golden shafts across the room. I heard the building settle, a deep groan that vibrated through the floor. I paused, listening.
It was the sound of the structure shifting, the same sound I had heard before. I walked to the window and stood with my hands on the sill, looking out.
The city was alive, teeming with activity. Cars moved, people hurried. The sky above was clear and blue, with a few cirrus clouds drifting lazily. Everything was bright and cheerful.
The building swayed.
I closed my eyes. I could feel it through the floor, the same motion as before. The same rolling motion that had come before the collapse. I was seeing the signs again. The prelude.
The window was clean and fresh. The glass was perfect, unscarred. I could see my reflection superimposed on the sky, my face pale and drawn. My eyes were dark with fatigue. I wiped my face with my sleeve and looked again.
The sky was beginning to change color.
It had been a long time since I had really looked at the sky. The sky had been blue, white, and gray. But now it was taking on a strange hue, a faint, unhealthy pallor that spread over the distant hills. The clouds weren’t white anymore. They were a mottled pink, like flesh. Like skin.
A bird flew overhead. It was a large bird, flying in a wide, sweeping arc. As it passed over the building, it seemed to pause, to hang in the air for an instant. Its wings flapped slowly, rhythmically. It was watching me, too.
The bird dipped and turned, circling the building. It landed on a roof across the street and stood for a moment, peering at me through the window. Then it flew off, disappearing into the gathering gloom that was settling over the city.
I went back to my desk and finished my work. When I left the office, I took an elevator down to the street. The air was cold and sharp. People hurried by, bundled up against the chill. I watched them go.
They were carrying things, boxes and bundles. They were moving fast, their faces set. They were on their way somewhere.
The city was preparing for something.
I caught a bus and rode to the edge of town. The buildings got smaller and farther apart. Finally, I was standing on a hill, looking back at the town. The town was a sprawl of light, a glowing square in the darkness. The lights pulsed and flickered, rising and falling in a strange rhythm.
The lights were not random. They formed patterns.
A shape was emerging from the cluster of lights, a vague figure that loomed over the town. The figure was humanoid, a giant man standing with his arms at his sides, his head tilted forward. His eyes were two bright points, distant and cold.
The giant man was watching me.
He was waiting for me.
I took a deep breath of the cold night air and walked back down the hill. The bus was gone. I had to walk all the way back into town. As I walked, the figure grew larger, closer and closer until it filled the sky. It was coming, moving through the darkness toward the town.
I reached my apartment and climbed the stairs. I let myself in and dropped my coat in the hall. The living room was in darkness. I clicked on the lamp and stood by the window, waiting.
The night was cold and silent. No sounds came from outside, no wind, no distant traffic. The world was held fast, frozen in an instant of eternal suspense.
The figure was still there, suspended in the sky, its two eyes gleaming like coals. It was thinking, or maybe feeling. I could sense its presence, its mind reaching out toward me, probing at me with a cold, alien curiosity.
I went to my closet and got a flashlight. I locked the front door and checked the windows. I sat down at the desk and picked up the receiver of the phone.
The phone rang.
I went to answer it. “Hello?”
“Is everyone okay in there?” A man’s voice. A neighbor. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Did you hear anything?”
“No,” I said.
“You didn’t see anything fall?”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“I’ll call you back in a few hours. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”
“Anything?”
“Any more falls. Any more activity.”
I hung up. I walked back into the apartment. The figure was gone. The sky was black and empty, a vast expanse of nothingness. I felt relieved, but the relief was mixed with a deep, abiding dread.
The figure was coming. It was gathering strength, drawing closer with each passing moment. It was on its way, and when it arrived, there would be no turning back.
I sat down at the desk and picked up my pen. I had work to do. Tomorrow the company representative would be here to inspect my files. I had to get everything in order, all the forms and reports filed and stamped.
I began to write. The flashlight beam danced across the page as I moved the paper forward. I wrote for a time, my mind blank, my body heavy and dull. Then I looked up and saw something through the window.
The sky was breaking.
A crack appeared, running across the face of the sky, a thin line that glowed with a faint, sickly yellow light. The crack widened, and through it I could see something that made my heart stop beating.
Beyond the crack was not the usual void. Not the familiar expanse of stars and atmosphere. It was a wall, a surface of some kind, a flat, endless plain that stretched as far as the eye could see.
And it was coming.
