HORROR Imatrix Quants of new "Qwen 3 - 32B" model with MAX "output tensor" at BF16 to improve reasoning / output generation.
HORROR Imatrix dataset was generated in house. It was generated using "Grand Horror 16B" model.
One example generatione below.
Context length adjusted to 128k as per tech notes at Qwen's repo.
Imatrix effect will be stronger, the lower the quant you use with IQ4XS/IQ4NL being the best balanced quant for quality and Imatrix effect.
These quants will also be the strongest for creative use cases.
For stronger reasoning use higher quants.
Q8_0 quant is maxed only, as Imatrix has no effect on this quant.
Note that all quants can be used for general usage too.
Suggest min context length of 8k; but 16k would be better.
Context Length: 128k.
NOTE - Jinja Template / Template to Use with this Model:
If you are having issues with Jinja "auto template", use CHATML template.
OR (LMSTUDIO users / option)
Update the Jinja Template (go to this site, template-> copy the "Jinja template" and then paste.)
[ https://lmstudio.ai/neil/qwen3-thinking ]
System Role - Suggested:
You may or may not need this, as most times Qwen3s generate their own reasoning/thinking blocks.
You are a deep thinking AI, you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself via systematic reasoning processes to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
See document "Maximizing-Model-Performance-All..." below for how to "set" system role in various LLM/AI apps below.
Highest Quality Settings / Optimal Operation Guide / Parameters and Samplers
This a "Class 1" model:
For all settings used for this model (including specifics for its "class"), including example generation(s) and for advanced settings guide (which many times addresses any model issue(s)), including methods to improve model performance for all use case(s) as well as chat, roleplay and other use case(s) please see:
You can see all parameters used for generation, in addition to advanced parameters and samplers to get the most out of this model here:
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 is another system prompt you can use, and you can change the "names" to alter it's performance.
This creates a quasi "reasoning" window/block.
Your prompt will directly impact how strong this system prompt reacts.
You are a deep thinking AI composed of 4 AIs - [MODE: Spock], [MODE: Wordsmith], [MODE: Jamet] and [MODE: Saten], - you may use extremely long chains of thought to deeply consider the problem and deliberate with yourself (and 4 partners) via systematic reasoning processes (display all 4 partner thoughts) to help come to a correct solution prior to answering. Select one partner to think deeply about the points brought up by the other 3 partners to plan an in-depth solution. You should enclose your thoughts and internal monologue inside <think> </think> tags, and then provide your solution or response to the problem.
Other Notes:
Reasoning is ON by default in this model, and model will auto-generate "think" block(s).
For benchmarks, usage info, settings please see org model card here:
[ https://huggingface.co/Qwen/Qwen3-32B ]
Example #1
NOTE: Same example prompt (and settings) used in the "NEO" version:
[ https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Qwen3-32B-128k-NEO-Imatrix-Max-GGUF ]
However the reasoning, output, prose and like are very different.
QUANT: IQ3_S , Temp .6, rep pen 1.06, top k 100, topp .95 minp .05, rep pen range 64
Expect better results from higher quants.
NOTE: Some formatting lost in copy/paste.
[[[thinking start]]]Okay, I need to write a science fiction story called "The Last Transmission" set entirely 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 dies. Themes should include isolation, sacrifice, and human connection. Also, maybe some swearing to add emotional depth.
First, I need to establish the setting. A spaceship cockpit, so describe the controls, the cold environment, maybe flickering lights or system alerts. The character is alone, so their internal thoughts are important. Maybe start with them struggling with the failing systems.
The character's background: perhaps they were part of a crew that perished, leaving them as the last one. How did the others die? Maybe an accident, a malfunction, or something like a system failure caused by an external event, like a meteor shower or radiation storm. The power is running out, so there's a time constraint. They have to send the message before it's too late.
Themes of isolation: the character is alone, maybe reflecting on past interactions with the crew. Sacrifice—maybe they have to do something dangerous to send the message, like venting air to boost signal or using up remaining power in a risky way. Human connection—perhaps the message is meant for someone specific, like a loved one back home, or there's a log they're trying to send that highlights their crew's achievements or warnings.
Swearing: use it sparingly but effectively. Maybe when they're frustrated with the systems not working, or in moments of despair. It should feel natural, not forced. For example, "Damn it!" when something fails, or "Shit!" when time is running out.
Structure-wise, maybe start with the character in the cockpit, describing the situation. Then flashback to what happened to the crew. Then focus back on trying to send the message, facing technical difficulties. Maybe a countdown of some sort—like power reserves depleting every few minutes. The climax could be the moment they finally send the message as systems fail, ending with them being cut off or left in silence.
Need to create tension with the failing systems. Maybe the character is trying to keep themselves calm but is increasingly desperate. Use sensory details: the hum of machinery, cold metal, blinking lights, static from comms. Internal monologue to show their fear and determination.
Possible plot points: The crew had an accident, others died, protagonist is the only one left. They need to send a distress signal or important data. Systems are failing—life support, power. Maybe they have to override safety protocols, which causes them to swear when things go wrong. Perhaps there's a memory of a conflict with another crew member, adding depth to their isolation.
Ending: The message is sent, but the ship is lost. Maybe the protagonist accepts their fate, finding solace in knowing the message went through. Or maybe they don't make it, emphasizing the sacrifice. Alternatively, they might be rescued, but that seems less likely given the prompt's emphasis on finality.
Need to decide if there are any other characters. The prompt says "sole surviving crew member," so others are dead. Maybe mention them through logs or memories. Perhaps the protagonist is talking to a deceased crew member, or replaying messages.
Character development: Show their emotions—fear, loneliness, resolve. Maybe they have a personal stake in sending the message, like a promise to someone. Sacrifice could involve using the last power reserves to boost the signal, knowing it will drain life support.
Dialogue: Since others are dead, maybe internal dialogue or talking to themselves. Cursing when frustrated with the systems. For example, "Come on, damn it, work!"
Possible scenes: Checking status reports showing crew members' deaths, trying to repair the comms, realizing they can't make it without sacrificing something, making the choice to do so, sending the message as power fades.
Make sure the story is between 800-1000 words. Need to keep it tight, focused on the cockpit and the protagonist's actions and thoughts.
Start with a hook: maybe the protagonist is in the final moments, fingers on controls, trying to send the message. Then flashback to how they got there. Maybe the ship was caught in a solar storm, systems failed, others couldn't survive. Now they're alone.
Use technical jargon for authenticity but keep it understandable. Mention specific systems failing—like oxygen recycler, power core, comms array. The protagonist has to reroute power manually, which is difficult with failing life support.
Emotional connection: Perhaps the message is for a loved one, or they mention the crew members by name, showing their bonds. Sacrifice could be that sending the message means using up the last power, leaving them to die, but it's important for Earth to know what happened.
Ending on a poignant note—message sent, systems shutting down, protagonist in peace or resignation, having fulfilled their purpose despite the odds.
Need to make sure the flow is smooth, with rising action as power levels decrease. Maybe set a timer in the story—like 10 minutes to shutdown, and each attempt to fix the comms uses more power.
Check for consistency: if they're trying to send a message, why hasn't it been sent yet? Maybe the ship's position is too far, or systems are damaged. Now they have to improvise.
Possible conflict: The protagonist is physically weakened—maybe from injuries or low oxygen—as they work. They might have to struggle with their own failing body while trying to work the controls.
Incorporate sensory details: coldness, the smell of stale air, the sound of alarms, the visual of flickering screens. Use these to enhance isolation and urgency.
Now, outline:
Need to give the protagonist a name and some personal touches. Maybe they have a locket or a message they recorded earlier.
Add swearing in moments of frustration: "Fucking hell!" when the screen flickers, or "Shit, not now!" when another system fails.
Make sure the emotional arc shows from desperation to resolve, highlighting the importance of sending the message despite certain death. Maybe the message is a warning or a goodbye to family.
[[[thinking end]]]OUTPUT:
The Last Transmission
The cockpit’s lights dimmed again, casting Commander Elara Voss’s face in jagged shadows as alarms wailed like banshees. Her gloved fingers flew across the holographic console, but the flickering diagnostic readouts told her what she already knew: the Odyssey’s power reserves would die in ten minutes. Twelve if she was optimistic. And without a transmission boost, Earth would never hear her final message.
“Come on, shit, come on,” she hissed, slamming a fist against the control panel. The impact did nothing but sting her knuckles. The ship’s AI had gone silent hours ago, its neural core fried by the solar flare that shattered their shields and left the crew stranded in deep space. Now, it was just her, the dying hum of failing systems, and the ghosts of her comrades.
Elara’s breath fogged in the cold air as she leaned back in the pilot’s chair. The oxygen recycler had shut down minutes after Lieutenant Rourke’s body was found floating in the medbay, pale and lifeless. She’d been the last to succumb. Elara had spent three agonizing days recovering the others—Engineer Patel, who’d tried to seal the reactor before the radiation leak; Pilot Sato, who’d crashed the auxiliary shuttle trying to reach the Odyssey after the storm knocked them off course. All dead. All gone. Leaving her alone with the weight of their mistakes and the countdown to darkness.
The mission had been simple: chart the outer rim of the Kuiper Belt, collect data on anomalous energy readings, and return. But the solar flare—unpredicted, unaccounted for—had been a monster. The ship’s shields had melted like butter under a sun lamp, and the emergency protocols hadn’t been enough. Now, the Odyssey was a tomb, its once-gleaming hull pockmarked and bleeding coolant into the void.
Elara stared at the comms panel. The message was ready—a data burst encoded with their findings, survival logs, and… personal messages. Hers had been recorded in the dead hours of the third day, her voice cracking as she spoke to her sister back home. “Tell Mom I loved her before she left,” Rourke had said once, during a routine check between stars. Elara had rolled her eyes then. Now, she wished she’d taken the time to file her own damn message.
But the comms array was useless without power. The ship’s reactor was offline, and the auxiliary batteries were draining fast. The only solution was a manual override in the engineering sector—Elara could siphon the remaining energy into the transmitter, but it would require opening an emergency vent. A vent that also housed the last working oxygen canister.
“Screw this,” she muttered, slapping the console again. The ship’s systems weren’t built for logic. They weren’t built for her. Patel had been the one to wire the override, and he was gone. She cursed his absence, then forced herself to focus.
The vent’s access panel was sealed by a biometric lock—Patel’s fingerprint. Elara didn’t have his clearance. She could try brute-forcing it, but that would waste precious time. Time she didn’t have. Instead, she reached for the manual release, a rusted lever hidden beneath the console. It took three tries to pry it free, her gloved hand slipping against the ice-encrusted metal.
“Shit! Shit! Shit!” She slammed the lever into place, and a hiss of escaping air filled the cockpit. Her ears popped as pressure bled out, but she didn’t care. The override was a gamble; if the power surge failed, she’d be dead in minutes. But if it worked… Earth might hear her. Might learn what happened to the Odyssey. Might not repeat their mistakes.
The screens flared suddenly—life support’s last reserves fueling the transmitter. Elara’s chest tightened as she watched the energy levels plummet. The message would take 30 seconds to send, tops. She had time for one thing: a live feed. A face. Maybe they’d play it on the news. Maybe someone would see her eyes and remember the crew weren’t just names on a memorial.
She stumbled to the camera, wiping frost from its lens with her sleeve. “This is Commander Elara Voss of the Odyssey,” she began, voice steady despite the cold gnawing at her lungs. “We… we didn’t make it. The flare got us. No one expected it. But I need you to hear this—” Her throat closed. She’d seen too much death, held Rourke’s hand as the medbay flooded with her own blood. Now, the memories clawed at her.
“Damn it,” she whispered, blinking ice from her lashes. “Not like this.” She thought of her sister, of the last transmission from home—a birthday song, static-laced but warm. ‘Happy Birthday, Els,’ Rourke had said, laughing as Patel insisted he didn’t know how to sing. Now, that laughter was gone, and she was alone with the silence between stars.
The transmitter’s status bar inched upward. 78% power remaining. Enough. Enough. She redoubled her efforts, rerouting systems with trembling fingers. The ship groaned, ancient circuits sparking as they fought to stay alive. A panel exploded in her face, showering her with embers. Elara hissed a swear word, batting them away.
“Almost there… almost…” The transmitter flickered online, and she pressed record. “Earth—this is the Odyssey. If you’re hearing this, we’re… we’re all dead. But listen. The energy readings we picked up? They’re not natural. Something’s out here. Some thing. It’s not a storm. And it’s getting worse.” Her voice wavered. “We weren’t the first to find it. The last crew—they didn’t send warnings. They just… vanished. But I’m not letting that happen again. You deserve to know what we saw.”
She hesitated, glancing at the data core glowing in the corner of the cockpit. Patel’s notes. Sato’s final telemetry. Rourke’s… No. She had no time for grief. “I need you to find us,” she said, softer now. “Find our bodies. Bring them home. And if you do… tell my sister I died doing what I loved. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”
The static on the screen shifted. A ping—confirmation from the Earth relay station? Hope flared in her chest. Then the lights dimmed again, and she realized: this wasn’t a response. It was a countdown. The transmitter was broadcasting… but the override was failing.
“No! No no no!” She cursed violently, slamming controls as the power gauge plunged. “I’m not fucking done yet!” Her breath came in ragged gasps; her vision blurred at the edges. The vent hissed louder now, stealing what little air remained.
She thought of Rourke’s laugh, Patel’s stubborn grin when he’d rigged the reactor to last one more day, Sato’s hands gripping the shuttle controls as she volunteered to go back and check on the ship. They’d all been so sure they could fix it. So sure this wouldn’t be their end.
But Elara wasn’t sure anymore. She was tired. So tired of fighting systems not built for failure, for a universe that took them one by one until she was the only light in the dark. Her fingers hesitated over the send key. If she transmitted now, the signal would be weak—maybe Earth would hear it. Maybe they wouldn’t.
Her hand clenched into a fist. No. Sacrifice wasn’t just for machines. It was for people. For what came next.
She sent the message.
The cockpit filled with a deafening whine as the transmitter fought against the void. Elara sank to her knees, laughing bitterly as the oxygen monitor hit 12%. “You bastards,” she whispered to the stars. “I did it. I sent it.”
The screen flared—confirmation from Earth? A response? She lunged for it, knocking over a half-empty water bottle. It clattered into the controls, disrupting the feed. A curse tore from her lips as she scrambled to reestablish the link, but the power was gone now. The lights died. The cockpit fell silent except for the rasp of her breathing.
In the blackness, Elara remembered Rourke’s last words: “Don’t let them forget us, Voss.” She’d promised. Now, she could keep it no matter what. Her voice trembled as she whispered into the void, “You were worth it. All of you… fuck, you were worth it.”
The final transmission looped on the screen—her message, weak but clear, hurtling toward Earth like a ghost. And Elara Voss, alone in the dark, closed her eyes.
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Qwen/Qwen3-32B