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[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue with the same vibes as A. M. Dellamonica. Story might have ongoing characters/plots - work with what's given", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The course Nightjar set from Sylvanna was north-northeast; the Fleet was sailing toward them and they expected to rendezvous within days. Tonio was the one who sketched out their route across the map of Northwater; Parrish seemed to be avoiding her.\n\nSophie told Bram everything she'd seen on Sylvanna, starting with wildlife species and agricultural practices. She told him about Erminne and his abolitionist family, Turtle Beach and the methodology for the experiment she'd suggested to help sort out that case.\n\nShe told him about the time at sea with Cly, the attack by, or on, the bandits, and the one man, Kir Lidman, whom they'd managed to save amid the chaos.\n\n\"What happened to him?\"\n\n\"Sent to await trial at the Fleet, I think,\" she replied. \"They wouldn't let me talk to him. Said he was depressed.\"\n\nShe told him about Low Bann and the awful cousins and the swamp, throttlevine, and slaves, and Zita's accident. She started to tell him about the Spellscrip Institute before ending with: \"Well, you were there.\"\n\n\"Just for the big finish.\"\n\nBram caught her up on the San Francisco headlines and the state of their parents. They did a bunch of math—recalculated the circumference of the world, which was the same as Earth's, no surprise—and worked on figuring out Stormwrack's axial tilt. Bram thought it might be a hair steeper than their own twenty-two-to-twenty-four-degree norm, but to be sure, he wanted more astronomical data.\n\nSophie borrowed an old pot from the cook and had a go at calculating the salinity of Northwater, coming up with a rough reckoning that it was below the 3.5 percent typical of the Atlantic and Pacific.\n\n\"That may suggest there's more water in the world overall.\" Bram was becoming more comfortable at sea—less nauseated, except when it got really choppy. To her surprise, he didn't seem homesick. In fact, he was apparently reveling in having hours on end to spend running his enormous brain around the question of how Erstwhile and Stormwrack connected. \"Might fit with a comet strike.\"\n\n\"What if millions of years have passed?\"\n\n\"There wouldn't be people anymore.\"\n\n\"There shouldn't be,\" she said, not unhappily. \"But millions of years fits better with the variations in the animal species. Time for evolution, right?\"\n\n\"If we theorize that there are two separate worlds and they evolved in a similar direction, the question becomes: When did the divergence occur?\"\n\n\"It had to be after the evolution of modern humankind.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" Bram said.\n\n\"Remember the Convene?\" Sophie said. \"The people we saw when the government gathered? There were recognizable racial types: people who looked Chinese, African, North European. Parrish could pass for South Asian, and Tonio's got all these Italian qualities. Erinthian even shares some words with Italian.\"\n\n\"So speaking very generally, the two Earths might have been very similar until the evolution of cultures and languages, like Italian.\"\n\n\"And German. We'll need a linguist to pin down specifics, but Fleetspeak and the Sylvanner language both have a Germanic sound to them.\"\n\n\"Then there's Noah's Ark,\" Bram reminded her. Several of the islands had stories about a time of fire and flood, when humankind took shelter in a life pod or some kind of ark. The stories varied from nation to nation: sometimes the refuge was a boat, a seed pod, a submarine. People and animals took shelter in caves or eggs. In one tale with shades of the Jonah myth, they were eaten by a big fish and then spat out, a few at a time, on the various islands.\n\nThey were trying to fit a theory around it when, a day out from Fleet, a message came from Annela.\n\n\"'Well, girls,'\" Verena read, \"'We have heard that His Honor is displeased and that Sophie is in breach of contract. If you were going to make things worse, I would rather you had not bothered at all.'\"\n\n\"Yeah, right,\" Sophie said. \"Send me off to Sylvanna without telling me they're bonded, then blame me when I act—\"\n\n\"A bit like Beatrice?\" Bram said. She poked him—hard.\n\nVerena waited, pointedly, until they subsided. \"'The Allmother is threatening to pull Breadbasket from the Fleet for a month. This is a major protest, and the Convene is very tense. If there is anything you might yet do to mollify Clydon Banning, I beg you to set aside your pride and petition him for mercy.'\"\n\nSophie groaned. \"I knew I was overreacting. Knew he wasn't crazy enough to betroth me. If I'd just kept my mouth shut—\"\n\n\"Don't do that, Sofe,\" Bram said. \"Does it say anything else, Verena?\"\n\nShe scanned the page and then handed it over. \"Just that Corsetta has escaped from the Watch again.\"\n\n\"How is that your problem?\" Sophie said.\n\n\"I made it my problem when I started poking into it,\" Verena said. She didn't add \"at your suggestion.\"\n\n\"If there's anything I can—\"\n\n\"You said you'd stay out of the Corsetta thing,\" she said, her tone sharp. \"I'll go up to Constitution and talk to Annela about seeing Mom's marriage papers. Maybe you and Parrish should go on to Pastoral?\"\n\n\"Uh... sure. What's that?\"\n\n\"A residential block for retired and semi-retired Fleet bureaucrats. You want the skinny on why Cly and Beatrice got married? That's a great place to start.\"\n\nBefore she quite knew how it had happened, Sophie found herself on a ferry, approaching the retirement home, with Parrish seated across from her.\n\nHe had spoken to her perhaps three times on the sail from Sylvanna, all perfectly correct stuff. \"Pass the peas,\" that kind of thing. He wasn't sulking or rude, but somehow he was managing to hold her at a distance, to roll away from her in a little bubble of remoteness.\n\nShe tried to hold her peace—she needed to practice, obviously—but could only keep her lips locked until they were transferring to the ship itself. \"What's the plan here?\"\n\nParrish replied, \"You want information regarding your parents' courtship and the early days of His Honor's career. We'll talk to the people who were running the Fleet at the time. This ship is a storehouse of such knowledge.\"\n\nWithout another word he toured her through a sunroom, eventually conveying her to a chair and then settling in for a long jaw with a couple of elderly card players, all of them jabbering in some tongue Sophie didn't speak.\n\nWhile he talked, she took a good look at the operation. The retirement home seemed to run on cooperative lines, with younger, semi-retired residents doing a lot of the caregiving for the eldest bureaucrats. There were a few nurses and medics around, though fewer than she would have guessed. Nobody seemed senile...\n\n... they maybe inscribe against that.\n\nMaybe she could learn something else, while Parrish chased the gossip. She flagged down a passing elder. \"Is there a spellscribe aboard?\"\n\n\"Deck four, Kir, portside.\"\n\nShe found her way down and tapped on a door painted with the medical cross and a few letters of spellscrip.\n\n\"Come in.\" The room's sole occupant was a bald and somehow childlike woman, sitting at a long desk, reading a book written in spellscrip.\n\n\"Hi,\" Sophie said. \"I'm wondering if you can tell me the purpose of an inscription I saw not long ago.\"\n\nThe woman smiled. \"I can try.\"\n\nSophie unshipped her camera, found the shot of the scrip—Clydon, temperament—and enlarged it so it was as readable as possible.\n\n\"What is this device?\"\n\n\"I'm from the outlands,\" she said. \"Sorry about the text being so small.\"\n\n\"I can make it out.\" The scribe looked at the image, lips moving slightly, then handed it back. \"It's a tempering spell for a child.\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\"\n\n\"On some nations, it's believed that certain childish tendencies are... aberrant. Excessive emotionalism, for example, or inclination to the same sex.\"\n\nSophie let herself entertain, briefly, the idea that Cly might have been born gay.\n\n\"A tempering inscription is meant to make them more mindful or obedient, especially toward tutors and teachers. The inscription can be beneficial if the student can't settle to their studies.\"\n\nMagical Ritalin, in other words, thought Sophie.\n\n\"I can't say I agree much with the philosophy,\" the scribe went on. \"Children are entitled to a certain amount of exuberance. But in this case—\"\n\n\"What about it?\"\n\n\"It's meant to instill fear in a child who has been setting fires.\"\n\nWhoa.\n\n\"Thank you.\" Disturbed, she headed back up to the lounging deck.\n\nParrish was waiting. \"I know who we need to talk to. He's an old Judiciary clerk.\"\n\n\"Here on Pastoral?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Apparently he naps in the mornings. But I've asked if we can lunch with him. What would you like to do in the meantime?\"\n\nFires.\n\nShe couldn't think about that now. \"Clear the air?\"\n\n\"I beg your pardon?\"\n\n\"You've been giving me the cold shoulder since Sylvanna.\"\n\nShe waited for him to deny it. Instead, he let out a long breath. \"On the island where I was born, Sophie, there was a monk who sewed cloaks. He tended the goats, spun the wool, and dyed it. He wove the cloth into long, almost shapeless outer garments. They were warm and practical and hard to tell from one another—the monks used to have to mark the collars.\"\n\nAnimal hair, Sophie thought, remembering the satchel of hair she'd picked up on the bandit ship.\n\n\"One day when I was about eleven, just before I left for the Fleet, a corpse was brought into the harbor. The monks, you probably recall, care for those who are slain by magic—someone has to watch over them, until the spell reverts and they rejoin the living.\"\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"It was a woman; she'd been important, widely beloved. There was a great search for the inscription that had killed her, and she would be receiving visitors. The island expected a lengthy procession of guests on her behalf. It was decided that our service to this woman would include a receiving room. We built a bier in the village of Lamentation, and Brother Sparrow was told to weave her a shroud.\"\n\n\"The shapeless-cloak guy,\" she said, to show she was following.\n\nParrish's expression was faraway. \"He dyed the wool a soft green, like shoots of new grass, shot through with beads made of shell, tight whirls of caramel brown and copper highlights. They wrapped her in it like a child abed and fanned out her hair around it. She looked... it made her look quite at rest. It was a beautiful garment.\n\n\"Afterward, I looked at those shapeless cloaks, and when eventually I asked Brother Sparrow about them, he told me, 'It's important to know the difference between a tool and an ornament, boy.'\"\n\n\"And this is supposed to have what to do with you annoying—sorry, I mean avoiding\"—oh, this isn't going badly at all—\"me?\"\n\nHe gestured back at Nightjar's pearly sails. \"The ship, and we who sail it. We're means to your ends.\"\n\n\"That's so not true! I'd set up house on Nightjar tomorrow if I could. I love—\" She didn't quite know why her throat was tightened. She forced the words out. \"You came for me. You came, and you brought Bram, and I know it's your boat. You don't have to mind Verena, so...\"\n\n\"Having asked you to help with Beatrice's situation, and having allowed you to walk into the situation unknowing, we could hardly abandon you when you ran into trouble.\"\n\n\"So you only came for me because it was the right thing to do?\"\n\n\"You're upset.\"\n\n\"You've upset me.\"\n\n\"I apologize for any distress I may have caused.\"\n\n\"You're not avoiding me because you're a tool, Parrish.\"\n\n\"On a ship the size of Nightjar, I could hardly avoid—\"\n\n\"Even if you wanted to?\"\n\n\"I have no wish,\" he said, \"to exclude myself from your company.\"\n\nShe could hear her voice rising. \"Then why are you?\"\n\n\"Doing your duty doesn't always mean simply following orders.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Duty and honor.\" She felt as though she were outside herself, watching as for no particular reason Sophie tried to pick an argument. What was wrong with her? \"You came for me because it was your duty?\"\n\nHe pulled himself upright, still as a statue, and looked into her eyes. \"Are you planning to ask why Bram came for you?\"\n\n\"Bram knew I'd stick my foot in my mouth first chance I got. Bram loves me—\" She ran dry for a second. \"Deflecting much? Why do you keep telling me why you came for me when what I'm asking is why you're hiding now?\"\n\n\"I sail,\" he said, \"where I believe I'm needed.\"\n\n\"I need some air.\" She climbed up blindly, looking for an outer deck, and leaned against the ship's mainmast, which was sticky with the lubricant that allowed the hoops of the mainsail to rise and lower easily. At home it would be machine grease; here, it had a pine scent. The seas were choppy and the Fleet was sailing on a brisk easterly wind. The hang gliders that taxied people between ships had stopped flying. She imagined them safely stowed in their berths.\n\nMost of the ships—the ones not propelled by magic, that is—had all but one sail reefed and tightly bound.\n\nIt was a minute or so before Parrish followed her.\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Sophie said, before he could speak. \"Everything that happened on Sylvanna, it's left me a little raw. Ignore me.\"\n\n\"Never.\" He reached out, carefully, and laid a hand on her arm. \"Sophie, I—\" Then he frowned over her shoulder.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Tonio's raised a signal cone.\" He indicated a triangle, rising against the sail, hung point down. \"It means there's a—what's your word?—situation aboard Nightjar.\"\n\n\"Do we need to go back?\" He'd had a hand on her shoulder; she'd turned to look at the ship, and his arm had curved around her. His skin was distractingly warm.\n\n\"Not if it's just one; it means it's under control. It's an alert.\"\n\n\"He's giving you a heads-up.\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"Just what we needed. A situation.\"\n\nThey watched for another minute, in case a second cone rose up on the sail. But none did, and then the shipboard bell rang.\n\n\"Lunchtime,\" Parrish said, pulling free. \"Shall we?\"\n\nIt was obvious at a glance that the old court clerk was another transform—he smelled oniony and was covered in what looked like onionskin paper. Toothless, with knobby joints, he had two steaming mugs on the go. One was full of beery-smelling tea; the other of a thick creamed soup, orange in color.\n\nHe set himself up at a table for three in the corner of the dining room and took obvious pleasure in ordering them a full spread, a meal that could be chewed. Beetroot salad, roasted cuttlefish, a dark rye bread. He insisted on pouring them each a cup of his tea, too—it smelled darkly of barley and old boot, but the flavor was nutty and distinctly bracing.\n\n\"So you're the new Sturma, are you?\" he said, when he'd had a delicate sip of his soup and they'd tucked in. He spoke slowly; without teeth, his diction was a little soft, but he was comprehensible enough.\n\n\"I'm who?\"\n\n\"Kir Hansa is Sturma Feliachild's niece,\" Parrish inserted, before Sophie could tell the guy no, she wasn't planning to grow up to be a superspy at sea. \"She is also the natural child of His Honor the Duelist-Advocate.\"\n\n\"Little Kir's all the news,\" he said. He pinched her chin, squinting. \"Ye don't dress as a Sylvanner.\"\n\n\"Thank heaven for small mercies,\" Sophie grunted. \"I grew up abroad.\"\n\n\"Outlander, then?\"\n\n\"We're interested in His Honor's early days in the Judiciary,\" Parrish continued.\n\nA keen-eyed glance. \"Scandal-mongering? You?\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" Parrish said.\n\n\"Totally,\" Sophie said. \"Lay on the dirt.\"\n\nThe old fellow laughed. Leaning back in his chair, he rolled up a sleeve, exposing a pale, fibrous, multilayered arm. He pressed his soup spoon against the forearm, a gesture disturbingly reminiscent of drawing a blade down his wrist. As he pushed, though, text flashed to the surface, dense black handwritten letters, layered one over the other, as if he were made of rolls of superthin paper. The text moved and shifted, now visible, now not, all too fast to make out words. But eventually he grunted, \"Thought so,\" and pinched himself. A winding strip of paper-skin came up, tearing off neatly, leaving moist glistening paper and an onion stench in its wake.\n\nHe set the torn-off strip on the center of the table.\n\nHamish Cordero. Born Junnaio 4, y. 32 of the Cessation. Died Fusto 33, y. 474.\n\n\"I'm not saying this is the chink in His Honor's armor. Honestly, girl, that'd be you. But it's the only time in his career he veered toward scandal.\"\n\n\"Who was Cordero?\"\n\n\"Someone your father killed, long ago.\"\n\nKilled. And as a kid he set fires.\n\n\"Tell us,\" Parrish said.\n\n\"Eat, eat and I will.\"\n\nSophie put a beet in her mouth, chewing woodenly.\n\n\"Clydon Banning came to the Fleet already something of an oddity. The Sylvanner kids who join us are married, always married. They have peculiar ideas regarding maturity there.\"\n\n\"Do they ever!\" Sophie agreed.\n\n\"He got top marks as a cadet, in book learning and martial prowess, wrote the law specialization as soon as he was allowed to declare, and graduated tops. He won the Slosh at his graduation. Like you, Parrish.\"\n\n\"Winners all round,\" Sophie muttered.\n\n\"There was no question but that he'd go to the Judiciary. He sued for custody of Sawtooth. There was a bit of a fluff over that—her masthead is a fright who babbles her full name to anyone who'll listen, so there were plenty wanted her sunk—but he got her and began training. He passed his writtens early, and then it was all fighting—he was waiting for his first official duel.\n\n\"The duelist-advocate in those days was a constipated old cod from Haversham, Fae Marks by name, and having to mentor a rising star from Sylvanna... oh, it jammed up her egg tubes. She set young Cly on the dueling roster obscenely early, hoping, it's thought, he'd misstep. Or, better yet, get himself wounded.\"\n\n\"No joy?\"\n\n\"Soils don't stick to Cly Banning,\" the oldster said cannily. \"You'll want to remember that when you go digging.\"\n\n\"What happened?\"\n\n\"Marks had miscalculated: Banning won every fight she threw at him—some just by his scruff, but still. Every debate, too. And then one of her middle-ranked judges got herself fatally speared by a ringer the pirates slipped in on a duel. Ol' Fae was suddenly looking at having to promote a twenty-year-old child up the ladder.\n\n\"Oh, the politics were thick as that chowder! Since their two nations don't get on, Marks couldn't just pass him over without looking very bad indeed. She tried the 'he's not an adult at home' angle, and that's when he pulled Beatrice Feliachild out of his pocket.\n\n\"Up until then, all this had been a wee brewpot of a problem within the Judiciary, no matter for gossip. But then the marriage! Sylvanner and a Verdanii, and a Feliachild at that! A future matriarch of one of the nine families, high in the line to be Allmother, and they said she wanted to study magic at Sylvanna's institute. Suddenly this was no quiet little power wrangle over whether Clydon Banning had a future on the dueling deck. Everyone in Fleet was watching. Poor little BeeBee Feliachild had never had so much attention.\"\n\n\"And?\" Parrish said.\n\n\"Marks contrived a last round of hurdles for young Banning to jump—a series of fights. It was a final attempt to wound him so badly he'd end up battling a desk.\"\n\n\"Trying to clip his wings, we'd say,\" Sophie said.\n\n\"Yes indeed. She set her chief dueling trainer on him.\"\n\n\"Hamish Cordero?\" Parrish was leaning forward, caught up in the story despite himself.\n\nA nod. \"Hamish was Havershamite, too, like Fae; he and Her Honor Marks were close as littermates. And he'd got into trouble—gossip had it he was involved in some scheme against the Sylvanner Spellscrip Institute.\n\n\"Those two islands, they scrap back and forth. Well, you know...\"\n\n\"Right,\" Sophie said. Cly had told her some of this, hadn't he? \"Is this about the throttlevine? It keeps coming back to the throttlevine. He said it was why he joined the Judiciary.\"\n\nOr did his family just send him to Fleet because he set fires and liked to fight? Were they afraid of what he'd become if he stayed home?\n\n\"Did he indeed?\" The old man was checking the densely printed text on the back of his hand. \"Cordero challenged the moment the case was filed. Before he could be compelled to answer questions or swear his innocence, you understand. It would be a real fight. Most people who challenge the Court, they lose. And Cordero was the Court.\"\n\n\"But he lost?\" That was Parrish. It wasn't really a question.\n\n\"His Honor—the current His Honor—gave him plenty of chances to surrender. Wounded him in three places, never fatally. It was quite the risk to take. Even hurt, Cordero was a lethally dangerous man. Unbeaten, and big as a battleship.\" Letters glimmered on the old bureaucrat's onionskin flesh.\n\n\"You saw the fight?\"\n\n\"Everyone went. Martial's viewing deck was jammed so tight the crowd was just about knocking each other pregnant. We were standing in their blood. Cordero was cut a-wrist, a deep one in the leg, and there was a delicate little slash above his eye. Banning had just missed having his throat cut—his shirt was in tatters—and he'd got his guts pricked. They were both so fine and terrible. It's what war must have been like.\"\n\n\"Yeah, 'cause war's so romantic and fabulous,\" Sophie said.\n\nParrish put a hand on hers, a not-so-subtle cue to shut up. Their lunch companion cackled, and Parrish pulled away abruptly.\n\n\"Cordero was weakening. He was elder and had bled more, and by then he knew he was the slower. Banning, unbelievable as it seems, had kept a rug thrown over how very talented he was at swordplay. All those fights he'd barely won—he'd been toying with his food. Her Honor the Duelist-Advocate had underestimated him.\n\n\"So Cordero threw himself at Banning. His sword was a blur. He couldn't see out of the bloodied eye, and he was roaring.\n\n\"'Dirty lickspittle slaver!' I can hear him bellowing it even now.\" The onionskin man's expression said he was far away. \"He was a huge fellow, a bull to Banning's stallion, and he'd clearly decided to put all the viva he had left into overbearing him, hammering through his defenses, making him afraid and then chopping through his sword, and cloth and skin, to his bone. Live or die, Cordero wouldn't concede.\"\n\n\"He backed Banning to the very edge of the dueling deck. I saw your father consider—I think he truly regretted it. But live or die? He had to choose. He stepped sideways, fast, so fast—and sliced his blade across Cordero's neck.\n\n\"The old bull died right there. The thud, as he hit the deck... he was just meat. Already gone.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The old clerk took a long, delicate sip of his pureed soup and dabbed his lips.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 36 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why was any of this scandalous?\" Sophie asked.\n\n\"Court etiquette. Banning should have refused to fight. The disagreement touched upon his family lands.\"\n\n\"It's why he came to the Judiciary,\" Sophie repeated. \"The throttlevine case. He said it brought him into the law.\"\n\n\"Well, Her Honor Fae Marks had dropped anchor on herself. She assigned the fight. Banning should have recused, but when he didn't, she declined to disqualify him. Responsibility gravitates upwards.\"\n\n\"It was obvious she'd hoped he'd die?\" Parrish asked.\n\n\"Everyone wanted that troublesome little Sylvanner dead: the duelists, his Verdanii in-laws, maybe even his own kin on Low Bann. Instead he hopped about three rungs up the Judiciary promotion ladder. Four, really, after Marks retired in disgrace.\"\n\n\"Did Cordero have family?\" Parrish asked.\n\n\"Wife and son, yes. They're aboard Blister. Now—\" His eyes brightened. \"Coin for coin, Kirs. You're the Verdanii's niece, but... not of the Allmother, I understand?\"\n\nSophie entertained him for the remainder of the meal with an edited version of what had happened when she'd first come to Stormwrack. The old man was a bit bloodthirsty, for all he was made of paper—he grilled her extensively for every detail of the inscription deaths of the two pirates who'd attacked her six months ago, and then about the mezmer attack on Gale. She was acutely conscious of Parrish at her side as she answered the clerk's questions about Parrish's good friend's murder.\n\nHe sipped barley tea and acted perfectly calm... at least, he did until the old man said, \"Sturma's murder was always foretold, was it not so?\"\n\n\"Foretold? Are you kidding?\" She couldn't quite keep from snorting.\n\nParrish had overslurped and burned himself. \"Yes,\" he said, with obvious reluctance. \"Gale's eventual death by homicide was predicted on the day of her birth.\"\n\n\"Why would anyone do that?\" Sophie said.\n\n\"You'd have to ask the Allmother,\" Parrish said, and she could feel, suddenly, an ache blowing off him like a strong wind.\n\nThe bureaucrat cackled. \"She's as odd as they say, then? You've met her?\"\n\n\"Excuse me.\" Parrish got up, bowed, and walked away. His face had locked into grief: she remembered the expression from just after Gale died.\n\nSophie shrugged apologetically. \"They were close.\"\n\n\"Lost a few of those myself. All you do, you get this old, is lose friends. It's all right, girl. Go after your man. Visit me some other time. I'm due another nap anyway.\"\n\n\"He's not my—\" But the old fellow was creaking to his feet, taking both his tea and his soup cup with him as he shuffled off.\n\nLeft alone at the table, Sophie took a second to gather her thoughts.\n\nPredestination. Is there anything they don't believe here?\n\nWas it possible? Was she going to have to give credence to every crazy fairy tale thing she'd ever heard?\n\nNo. She brightened. They believe in aetherism and astrology and phrenology and voodoo, too. So Gale's murder was foretold. It's just a coincidence that it came true. Or self-fulfilling prophecy—what if they planned for her to be a spy from day one?\n\nBuoyed by this idea, she set about getting back to Nightjar.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Mode:\nCo-writing a segment of a larger work\n\nLength:\neighty-five sentences\n\nStyle:\nA. M. Dellamonica\nGenre:\nfantasy, pirates, romance\nNote: Characters may be pre-established", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The rising weather wasn't a storm yet, just a patch of choppy sea, heavy winds, and miserable, chilly rain. They were silent on the ferry ride back to Nightjar, Parrish locked in his own thoughts or maybe just freshly grieving Gale, with the scab ripped off.\n\nSophie had all but forgotten that Tonio had hung a \"situation\" signal from the topsail.\n\nWhen they climbed aboard, though, he was waiting. \"It's ginagina sunburn. Corsetta.\"\n\n\"She's here? Didn't someone tell us they'd caught her again?\"\n\n\"She persuaded her guard to bring her.\" He pointed at a massive, uniformed Fleet sailor.\n\n\"What does she want with us?\"\n\n\"She won't tell me.\" Tonio spread his hands in an extravagant gesture. \"A mere ship's mate? Never!\"\n\n\"Verena?\" Parrish said.\n\n\"She's thrown in the towel. She said to wait for the... I think she called you a 'brain trust,' Sophie.\"\n\n\"Are you sure she didn't mean Bram?\"\n\nTonio shook his head. \"Bram's over there holding his belly, poor man.\"\n\n\"I'll talk to her,\" Parrish said.\n\nBram was aft, wrapped in rain gear, fighting nausea by taking huge gulps of air. Sophie put her arms around him and just leaned.\n\n\"What's going on with Verena?\" he asked, quietly, as Sophie's sister emerged from belowdecks and conferred with Parrish.\n\n\"She's not Gale.\"\n\n\"Someone expects her to be?\"\n\n\"Her? Annela?\" Sophie shrugged. \"I think we can deduce that the Verdanii are insanely hard on their daughters.\"\n\nThe rocking motion of the ship was invigorating. Bram got queasy; she had always thrived on having a little physical discomfort. Something to push against, she'd sometimes thought. Her parents had made the mistake of taking them camping once, when she was little. She'd begged and begged them to take her again.\n\nShe hadn't understood that they all hated it. Dad making fires and cutting wood and trying to find ample light so he could lose himself in the Romantic poets. Mom cooking canned spaghetti on the campfire. Being out in the sound of wind rushing through leaves, the babble of water in a river—Sophie had been the only one to thrive in that environment.\n\nMy poor bookish folks, she thought, grinning fondly and feeling simultaneously homesick.\n\nThe air was surprisingly warm, considering how far north they were. The wind was cool but had no real bite, and the occasional spatters of raindrops were barely below lukewarm. It was still summer, she thought, for a while yet.\n\nSweet brought blankets and coffee and they sat comfortably, watching the seas.\n\nTonio was on hand with a crew on the sails, ready to adjust their course if the wind changed. All the sailing ships of the Fleet were similarly livened, decks at the ready with snugly dressed sailors poised for any shift in the weather. As it continued to darken, fog crept up from the surface of the water.\n\nThe Fleet disappeared into curtains of mist—one minute they were at the heart of the great floating city, the next they might have been in the middle of nowhere, unremarked and alone.\n\nBram's expression tightened. Sophie guessed he was trying to calculate how many of the Fleet's hundreds of ships might collide in the murk.\n\nBefore she could come up with a reassurance, there was a rush of noise, reminiscent of chirping crickets. A whirl of glowing motes drifted back from the fore of the Fleet. Some clung to the rigging and sail of Nightjar, outlining the ship in little winking lights. Others passed to the rear, lighting up the ships nearest them.\n\nThe lights put her in mind of stars. \"If we had a nice accurate shot of the night sky, and an astronomer, we could calculate how many years have passed between 2015 and now.\"\n\n\"Easier if you're right and it has been millions of years,\" Bram said. \"If the stars have had time to move significant distances.\"\n\n\"My theory is it has been millions,\" she said. \"Divergence in animal species—evolution takes time, even under pressure.\"\n\n\"They could have been magically altered.\"\n\n\"Maybe. But magic depends on animals and plants: inks from one species, writing surfaces from another. We'll have to check it out, but I'm thinking if you need a perfect pink tree frog from the Isle of Bambo for a given spell, you can't use magic to create the frog and then use it to do the spell. It's recursive.\"\n\n\"Millions of years doesn't explain why there are still modern humans,\" he said.\n\n\"Maybe that's where the magic comes in. Or the Noah's Ark legends aren't about people waiting out the disaster in flood shelters. Maybe they fled to the future.\"\n\nShe saw him mulling it over.\n\n\"It's easier for one species to be the exception, especially if that species is us.\"\n\nThey had no way of knowing if this was their world or a parallel maybe-future, but if it was the same, they knew that time travel existed.\n\nSo... a disaster, at home, within the next five thousand or at most ten thousand years. If there was time to evacuate, that meant either it unfolded slowly or they saw it coming.\n\n\"It wouldn't be flash-bang gone,\" Bram said. \"And they'd have to know Stormwrack existed.\"\n\n\"Ha. That's what I was thinking.\"\n\nThey shared a grin.\n\n\"You know, Cly said the government is afraid that we'll have a disaster and try to evacuate here. But he meant—when he talked about the disaster, he sounded like he meant climate change stuff.\"\n\nBram was looking less green.\n\n\"An archaeologist would help,\" she said. \"If people just cropped up here, after centuries of being extinct, there'd be evidence. Stuff to find.\"\n\n\"But where to dig?\"\n\nShe flipped through her notes. \"Verdanii. Biggest landmass, and the matriarchs apparently took it over from some ancient civilization that practiced an older form of magic.\"\n\n\"You're not allowed on Verdanii.\" When she'd repudiated citizenship, she'd agreed to stay away.\n\n\"So? I'm also not an archaeologist. We'd have to get one. Or train one.\"\n\nBram shifted on the bench. \"It might not be our world anyway. More likely a parallel.\"\n\n\"Couldn't parallel worlds suffer parallel disasters?\"\n\n\"Good point,\" he said. \"But if we're talking about a ten-thousand-year window on whatever it is—that's huge.\"\n\n\"Right,\" she said. \"So it's not like doom's gonna befall Erstwhile tomorrow. Right?\"\n\n\"Let's change the subject before we freak ourselves out,\" Bram said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"To what?\"\n\nHer brother's gaze wandered over the deck to Parrish, who was just emerging from below. The dimple in Bram's cheek appeared, then vanished; he was fighting a smile.\n\n\"No.\" Sophie said.\n\n\"Sophie and Garland, sitting in a tree, Kay-Eye-Ess-Ess—\"\n\n\"I will throw you overboard, Bramwell,\" she said.\n\nHe subsided with a squelched interior chuckle—she felt it, his ribs to hers.\n\n\"I think he believes in predestination,\" she said, breaking her own declared resolution not to discuss Parrish.\n\nBram made a dismissive noise. \"They also believe that if you're born during the first hours of daylight, you'll have a more pleasant disposition.\"\n\nParrish crossed the deck to where they sat.\n\n\"How's it going with Verena and Corsetta?\" Sophie asked.\n\n\"Verena interviewed a number of people while you were gone,\" he said. \"The Tibbsians, you remember, have been trying to acquire snow vulture eggs. Part of the trick of... what did you call it? Bird whispering?\"\n\nSophie nodded.\n\n\"Part of the trick is, essentially, convincing the bird to give up a certain number of eggs in exchange for having the rest of her chicks reared in a protected environment. Corsetta says she'd done so and the bird was laying when she was thrown overboard. The captain of Waveplay, Montaro, says there were no eggs, that Corsetta tried to rob the crew and fled.\n\n\"Do we buy that?\" Sophie said.\n\n\"We believe she's sincerely fond of the boy, Rashad, back on Tibbon's Wash. We believe she's fearful that he'll come to harm if she doesn't return home. As for who's in the wrong in this conflict with Rashad's brother or who healed her when she was dying...\" He shook his head.\n\n\"The Tibbs government has thrown its support behind Rashad's brother and is requesting that he be freed to return home. There's something neither party will tell us.\"\n\nShe squinted at Parrish. \"Did you really get rid of Gale's encyclopedia of all the island nations?\"\n\nHe raised his nose. \"It's easily replaced.\"\n\nShe let the pieces of the puzzle churn for a second, trying to fit them together.\n\nBram murmured, \"Verena needs the win here, remember?\"\n\nRight. She had promised to keep her mouth shut and let Verena work on it all.\n\nShe looked up at Parrish. He had been dampened by the rain, and a thread was dangling from his coat sleeve. One of his cuffs' buttons was loose. She tugged it before it could fall, handing it to him. His skin was warm.\n\n\"Thank you, Sophie,\" he said gravely.\n\nShe was suddenly, acutely aware of Bram, sitting there observing, drawing silly conclusions and gathering ammo for another round of teasing. There was no reason to help him, was there?\n\n\"No problem,\" she said lightly, going belowdecks and tapping on Verena's hatch.\n\nHer sister was sitting on Gale's old bunk, toying with her sword and glowering at a practice dummy. Her nose was red.\n\nI forget she's a teenager. Sophie poked her head through the hatch. \"Can I come in?\"\n\n\"I suppose you've got it all solved already,\" she said, then blushed. \"Sorry. I mean... I don't know.\"\n\nSophie looked around the room. She hadn't gotten a good look at the cabin when it was Gale's, but her sense was that it was more spartan now. At length, she spotted an ordinary deck of cards on a shelf and picked it up, joining Verena on the bed.\n\n\"My dad...\" She refrained from specifying, not Cly. \"He's big on English literature—not a jock, not all that science-y. For kids he got me and Baby Einstein up there. He used to sit us down with our schoolwork, really tough stuff, and we'd ask him to help. I would, more often than Bram. And he'd say, 'I don't have the answers. You want the answers, you make it happen. Find the answers.'\"\n\n\"Sink or swim. He'd make a good Verdanii.\"\n\n\"In the last few weeks I've upgraded my definition of jerky dad behavior.\"\n\n\"We warned you about Cly,\" Verena grunted.\n\nSophie fished through the deck. It wasn't just ordinary—it had come from home. The box had a Las Vegas casino name on it. Setting it aside, she fished for the queen and king of hearts. \"Corsetta and Rashad, obviously.\" Then the joker. \"Rashad's brother, Montaro. What are the other pieces?\"\n\nVerena took the deck. \"King of clubs—the Tibbs government. And—crazy eight of diamonds—the snow vulture.\"\n\n\"Eights are wild, I like it.\"\n\nDigging in her pocket, she came up with some of the hard Sylvanner nuts Cly had forced Mervin to harvest for her. \"Ships: here's Waveplay, Montaro's ship.\"\n\n\"And the derelict boat...\"\n\n\"We need something for the cat,\" Sophie added.\n\n\"The cat?\"\n\n\"They're valuable, right?\" Sophie laid a gnarled nut among the cards. \"You have the answer, Verena.\"\n\nA flash of something... anger? despair? \"So, what? Your dad would lay out the problem and leave you to flail?\"\n\n\"No,\" Sophie said. \"No leaving.\"\n\n\"I've been over and over this. You're the great observer. You solve it.\"\n\nSophie shook her head. Her father, at this point, would have said, Quit if you want to.\n\nVerena sighed. \"Here's what I know. Tibbon's Wash is all uptight about who's who and all their social rules, but anyone can get a favor from their queen by winning whatever challenge they've got going. Their last snow vulture stopped laying about fifteen years ago and now that's the challenge. But they're hard to catch. They need someone with a gift, an affinity. So they've had this... plug, I guess, in their social safety valve.\"\n\nSophie said, \"Enter Corsetta—\"\n\n\"Who schemes and scams. She's good at escapes, possibly inscribed for it. Can she pick locks? We don't know. But she works in Montaro's household as a goatherd. They want to send her vulture hunting, but she's such a handful. Nobody trusts her.\"\n\n\"And who wants a goatherd getting the big prize, am I right?\"\n\nVerena picked up the king. \"I think they threw young Rashad into her path.\"\n\n\"Seducing the scammer?\"\n\nVerena nodded. \"The Waveplay crew and the Tibbsians I met with in Fleet all say the same thing about the guy. He's young, he's cute, he's maybe not so bright, but he's a big hit with the girls. What if elder brother Montaro set the two of them on a collision course?\"\n\n\"To what end?\"\n\n\"If it was me, I'd tell younger brother to get Corsetta's name.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" Sophie said. \"So they can inscribe her? That's kind of evil, isn't it?\"\n\n\"She falls for the cute boy and agrees to go after the bird... then something goes wrong.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"For who?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 75 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"For big brother. He doesn't know it at first. He gets his vulture, waits until she lays an egg, throws Corsetta overboard, and makes for the Fleet.\"\n\n\"There's his big score,\" Sophie said. \"Corsetta's gone, and he gets the prize from the Queen.\"\n\n\"But she survives... why heal her?\"\n\nSophie kept her mouth shut. You can do this, she thought.\n\nVerena lashed her sword, jumping to her feet and spearing her practice dummy. \"Okay. So he gets to the Fleet with the vulture, home-free, tries to sell it for a pot of money. But the bird's moping without Corsetta. Next there's a message from home; Rashad fell for the girl, Rashad's suicidal.\"\n\n\"So, what? Put him on suicide watch, right? That's what I don't get.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\nDropping the sword on the bed, Verena strode out of the cabin and over to Corsetta's cabin. She unlocked and threw open the hatch. \"It isn't a suicide pact at all, is it? It's a spell. You die, he dies? He dies, you die? As you got worse, out there in the sun, Rashad started to sicken. You're effectively holding him hostage; they had to heal you.\"\n\nCorsetta leapt to her feet. \"Without each other, life has no meaning! We're meant to... the longer you keep us apart...\" She dissolved into tears.\n\nVerena looked to Sophie. Faking? she mouthed.\n\nSophie shrugged and then made a little jabbing gesture, as if she were fencing. You can do this.\n\nVerena all but squared off against the kid. \"They say there was no egg.\"\n\n\"There was, I swear!\"\n\n\"Why not sell it? It was worth a bundle. And they're trying to keep you here, in Fleet, far away from their precious son.\"\n\n\"I'm not good enough for them.\"\n\n\"They don't want you going home,\" Verena said. \"Don't want you claiming the Queen's favor, but it's not just that, is it?\"\n\nSophie fisted her hands against the urge to pile in.\n\n\"There's something else. Something they're afraid you'll tell.\"\n\n\"There's no secret,\" Corsetta said. \"You're on the wrong course. My beloved's family hates me!\"\n\n\"What secret could only matter at home?\"\n\n\"Nothing!\" Corsetta said. \"Please, Kirs, take me to my beloved.\"\n\nVerena circled, her eyes glazed as if she were far away. \"Oh,\" she said. \"I see, I totally see. I do have all the info.\"\n\nCorsetta paled. \"Kir.\"\n\n\"It's not that whatever you two are hiding doesn't matter in Fleet. It's that neither of you can reveal it in Fleet without being arrested. Whichever of you gets home first, inside that cozy sovereign limit where the Watch can't arrest you...\"\n\nBy now the girl was all but shock white.\n\nVerena sat. She was ramrod straight, so tense, and Sophie was struck by her and Corsetta's youth. They should be acting out cop and criminal in a school play. But this was a real interrogation.\n\n\"Look,\" Verena said. \"My aunt was a big deal in the Watch. I'm cousin to Annela Gracechild. I'm new at this, I know, but I can tell them right now that you and Montaro are in a race to get home. We know you were aboard the derelict ship, the first victim of those raiders.\"\n\nA single fat tear rolled down Corsetta's cheek.\n\n\"They helped us,\" she whispered.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"We met the raiders, the crew sailing Incannis. They had just attacked that ship, maybe a day before. They were on their way back, and they were waiting to offload their cargo.\"\n\n\"The crew had fought—the ship was damaged. They had a drape over her name but we saw it: Incannis. I saw it. We should have run, sent a message. But Montaro talked to her captain. I overheard—\"\n\n\"You overheard?\" Verena said skeptically.\n\n\"You were aboard,\" Sophie said suddenly. \"You took it into your head to steal the raiders' cat.\"\n\nVerena looked at her.\n\n\"I meant to tell you,\" she said. \"They had cat stuff—dishes for food, toys—but it hadn't been used for weeks. Banana came from the raiders' ship.\"\n\n\"He was a gift for Rashad.\" Corsetta's lip curled. \"For his fishing boat.\"\n\n\"So you went to bag Banana and ended up eavesdropping on Montaro?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"They gave us—him—something. A cask. Money, I assumed, or goods. And they told us where to find the derelict. It helps, when you're trying to tame a snow vulture. It needs somewhere to land. But I think—\"\n\n\"Yes?\" Verena said.\n\n\"I think Montaro meant to meet them all along. I think—it's death, isn't it? Aiding and abetting banditry? And if I'm executed, Rashad dies, too.\"\n\n\"Did you find out what was in the cask?\"\n\nCorsetta reached into her voluminous dreadlocks and produced a smooth piece of amber with a single grain of something about the size of a chunk of black pepper within it.\n\n\"How big a cask?\"\n\nCorsetta held out her hands, miming a box about the size of a French loaf.\n\n\"So if you got home, would you have turned Montaro in? Or just blackmailed him to leave you alone?\"\n\nCorsetta looked down, expression miserable. \"I have to get back to Rashad, Kirs.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" Verena said. \"Sit tight, Corsetta. I'll see what I can do for you.\"\n\nThe girl nodded, looking wrung out. As they closed the hatch and locked it again, they could hear her sobbing into a pillow.\n\nSophie asked: \"What kind of spells does amber go into?\"\n\n\"There's a range.\" Verena was lost in thought. \"I need to talk to Annela.\"\n\n\"Hey,\" Sophie said. \"You got a confession out of the little schemer!\"\n\nVerena flushed and almost smiled. For a second Sophie thought she might even reach out for a hug. Then she ducked her head before striding away.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "hey can u write 35 sentences more sentences? keep same character vibes in fantasy, pirates, romance style", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"'Dearest Sophie,'\" Sophie read to Bram. \"'I have been much occupied with thoughts of our recent time together, what went wrong and how matters between us might be amended.\n\n\"'I think you know I had no idea of your being ignorant of the fact that Sylvanna is a bonded nation. Had I realized, I would have told you. It is the way of us, in fleet, to talk around the subject, always. I suppose I should have guessed, rather than choosing to believe you had reconciled yourself to it, as your mother attempted to do.'\"\n\n\"Subtle dig there,\" said Bram. \"Beatrice was okay with it.\"\n\n\"'As for the misunderstanding regarding Rees Erminne and his mother, I assure you I am not one to throw a child into marriage with someone they've known but an hour.'\"\n\n\"Given that he's a lawyer, I feel I should say this doesn't mean he wouldn't throw you into some other marriage, if he could.\"\n\n\"Or maybe we're being unfair.\"\n\n\"What else does he say?\"\n\nShe read on: \"'You ask what it would take for me to intercede with the Court on behalf of Beatrice. You use the phrase \"let her go,\" though I assure you it's not so simple.\n\n\"'I continue to see no reason why I, as the party defrauded, denied my parental rights and now facing a socially complex divorce, with a daughter who would under other circumstances have been proud heiress of Low Bann, should attempt to make things easier for the author of my misery.\n\n\"'Beatrice has set her sails; let her ride the winds.\n\n\"'Ever your loving father, Clydon Banning.'\" With that, she handed the page over, as though she thought Bram would see something in it she hadn't. Bram read it, slowly, familiarizing himself with the spelling and grammar of the Fleet words.\n\n\"You didn't ask if he was sleeping with the slaves?\"\n\n\"In a letter?\" She shook her head. \"I chickened out. I don't have any decent evidence, and after how badly I misjudged the betrothal thing...\"\n\nHe nodded, reaching the end, and folding it. \"There's no admission of fault in this. Sociopaths don't.\"\n\nShe nodded, agreeing but not entirely sure what to do with the bundle of issues that was Cly. He'd been a fire-setter as a child and the Bannings had magically tempered him. Killing was part of his day job. Even if she had no proof that he forced his slaves to sleep with him, just thinking about that filled her with rage and despair.\n\nAnd they were his, weren't they? His responsibility?\n\nIf so, by extension they were hers, too. She thought again of the goat-people, of that stomach-turning moment when she realized they weren't fauns.\n\nDespite everything, part of her hungered to believe in the Cly who'd seemed so vibrantly alive. The delight he seemed to take in everything, his excitement when he'd learned of her existence. Even the hurt he'd expressed when he'd talked about trying—and failing—to make Beatrice happy.\n\nDid that make her a bad person?\n\n\"Was it all just an act? Could he really be so awful?\"\n\nHer brother rolled his head side to side. \"Pretty seamless act, if it is. Hey—totally other topic—there's Mount Rainier.\"\n\nIt was a transparent offer to move on to less painful terrain, and she was only too happy to take it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[ooc] Somewhere in your response, you need to say: \"How very consistent they are with their branding,\" [ooc]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She turned, taking in the familiar cone, a dark blue shape etched on a fog-gray horizon, less a sighting of land than an implication of one.\n\nOver the next few hours, the mountain and the rest of Issle Morta came into focus. The clouds at its peak separated, revealing a flatter top. Even here, it dominated the landscape. Rainier's slopes were clad in green and blue, the cedar-spruce-dogwood-and-fog palette of the Pacific Northwest.\n\n\"It's smoking,\" Bram said as they approached. \"It's active.\"\n\nSophie glanced at him carefully. There'd been an active volcano in Erinth, too, and he'd been less than thrilled to be near it.\n\n\"It seems apparent that Stormwrack's a lot more active, geologically, than Erstwhile.\"\n\nBram nodded agreement.\n\nAs the day wore on, they saw the approach to the island had been made into an obstacle course: massive stone skulls, not quite human, with exaggerated canines, rose from the surface of the water. Barnacles encircled their high waterline, and each had a single redwood tree planted within the bowl of its stone head. The cawing from above and the lime below indicated there was an enormous murder of crows living within the canopy of the artificial forest.\n\nParrish took the helm himself as they approached, wheeling them between the skulls on an apparently random route. He had a stopwatch out and was timing the gaps between skulls as they traveled; his face was set.\n\n\"What's he doing?\" Bram asked.\n\n\"It's called interval navigation,\" Tonio said. \"A lot of islands built hazards, before the Cessation, into their vulnerable shore approaches. They salted them with shallows and shipwreckers. These\"—he waved at the skulls—\"date back to when Issle Morta was part of the Piracy. If you know the waters well enough and you fix your speed, you can time your passage of any landmark and then steer into the harbor blind, or in fog, just by counting.\"\n\nSophie was filming the skulls themselves. \"They look like cat skulls.\"\n\n\"Specters,\" Tonio said, just as they broke out of the hazard and into open water, a small port facing a drab village, walled, consisting of cedar A-frames built up around a square whose centerpiece was a long, square pit. A sculptural representation of an open grave?\n\n\"The town is called Lamentation,\" Tonio murmured.\n\n\"How very consistent they are with their branding,\" Bram said, an edge in his voice. When they were last in Stormwrack, he had been grabbed by the Isle of Gold, taken hostage. Golders tortured their hostages as a matter of course. But Cly had intervened, arranging for them to hand Bram over to Issle Morta until Sophie paid the ransom.\n\nHolding hostages, acting as go-betweens was one of the things the monks of Issle Morta did. They ensured that kidnap victims weren't hurt or killed... but if a ransom deal with the kidnappers went south, honor forced them to use their own particular twist on legal slavery to keep the hostage. Forever.\n\nBram had almost ended up spending his life in this desolate, backwater place.\n\nShe groped for his hand.\n\nTonio had changed out of his sailor's clothes into a plain brown cloak and boots.\n\nParrish frowned. \"Tonio?\"\n\n\"Believe it or not, Garland, I have business with the dead.\"\n\nLamentation was apparently where you moved if you wanted to live in grim seclusion, especially if you had a loved one in the monastery, someone you wanted to end up buried with, or someone who'd been scripped to death.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No kids,\" Sophie observed quietly as they came ashore.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Only your next message should be 45% dialogue", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There might be five or six,\" Parrish said. \"But the residents tend to be widows and widowers. They come here later in life, when their children are grown. The forests have their hazards; this is no place for the young.\"\n\n\"Lamentation's where you come to be clinically depressed?\" Bram said.\n\n\"Many Lamenters sail on after they've taken time to mourn. It's a good place for it. Quiet. And the brothers help.\"\n\nSophie thought about that. The idea of withdrawing from life until you were stronger, of just going somewhere where everyone understood and nobody expected much from you. Not having to try just to get through the days, to go back to work, whatever. \"I can see how it'd be restful, or healing, or whatever. But I'd go nuts.\"\n\nHe gave her a closed look and she remembered, once again, that he'd been superclose to Gale and she'd only been gone... seven months now?\n\nShe turned away, examining the town, trying to think of something kinder to say. What came out was: \"That guy looks ready to leave.\"\n\nParrish followed her gaze. There was a shockingly tall man standing on the dock. He was knobby-limbed and covered in bug bites. He also had a hole in his left calf big enough to see through.\n\n\"We're not a passenger ship, Sophie,\" Tonio said.\n\n\"Look at that cross on the pottery jug beside him,\" Sophie said. She had the advantage over them, because her camera's telephoto brought the man into view so much more clearly than their spyglasses. \"The symbol on it means he's into medicine, doesn't it? And the herbs he's poking into that jug are willow leaves—he's making a painkiller.\"\n\nParrish took the camera from her and peered through. \"A medic? What makes you think he wants to leave Lamentation?\"\n\n\"Who wouldn't want to leave?\" Bram said. Sophie elbowed him in the ribs.\n\n\"That spot where he's perched: he's dug out a little seat in the sand, sized for his body. It's his spot. And look at the placement.\"\n\nParrish nodded. \"To maximize his view of incoming ships. He's watching people come in.\"\n\nHe considered it. Then: \"I have to arrange for supplies before we go up to Ossuary. Would you talk to him, Tonio?\"\n\n\"Of course, Garland.\"\n\nThey loaded up some baskets of salted fish and pickles before disembarking. Parrish hired donkeys in town: one to carry the provisions and another to bear blankets, bedrolls, and a sheaf of short, wicked-looking javelins that appeared to be carved from whalebone. The donkeys came with a handler, a spry man of about fifty, Hispanic in appearance and armed with a stout staff.\n\nBy the time he'd made the arrangements, Tonio had rejoined them. \"Sophie's right—he's a medic,\" he said. \"Name of Watts. He's gone aboard Nightjar to meet Banana. If that works out, he'll join us.\"\n\n\"Huh?\" Bram said.\n\n\"He's from Ehrenmord,\" Tonio said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"And again: huh?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, they're cat worshipers. He's been stuck here waiting for a ship with a resident cat.\"\n\nThe morning passed quietly. Verena and Parrish led the procession, talking softly and urgently in Verdanii—they might, almost, have been arguing. Tonio had fallen into conversation with the donkey handler, and Bram was deploying his magnetometer.\n\nThat left Sophie free to film the forest and observe the ecosystem.\n\nThe trees and flowers were generally familiar: sword, liquorice, and maidenhair fern; salmonberry; wild rose; cattails and fireweed; and enough stinging nettle to keep everyone on their toes. The only birds seemed to be crows and a dusky variant of a Steller's jay, sharp-billed, with only a hint of blue about it.\n\nThis part of the world was lousy with bald eagles, at least at home, but there were none to be seen here.\n\nMaybe they're scavenging on the shore, she thought. She saw a salamander, a garter snake. Parrish paused once on the trail and pointed out an opossum. His expression was hopeful.\n\nShe shook her head. \"Seen it.\"\n\nWith a cheerful shrug, he returned to his confab with Verena.\n\nThe trail broke out into a marshy plain, fed from above by a stream, wet enough that someone had laid a road with stones the size of small cars above the level of the water. It led across to a continuation of the dirt path, eighty meters or so to the east.\n\nSophie gasped, catching Bram by the hand. There were primates wading in the murk.\n\nFor just a moment she thought she was seeing the goat transforms of Low Bann all over again, or something like them, but these were the real deal. They were gaunt and long of limb, with fur shaded in dull grays that would fade well into the hues of the forest, perfect camouflage. A white, papery pattern on their cheeks resembled lichens. Their faces had a roundness that reminded her of orangutans.\n\nThere were five individuals: a male, three females, and an adolescent, all perched on the edge of one of the boulders, munching on a massive growth of shelf fungus and slimy spike caps. Their eyes were big, black as glass and fringed with huge white lashes. The adolescent was eating with his feet, revealing long, flexible toes.\n\n\"We call them wood children,\" she heard Parrish say.\n\nSophie felt a shiver of recognition—they looked a little like the mezmers who'd been sent to kill Gale on Erinth. Had one of these creatures been used in a spell to transform a slave, just as Montaro had been transformed, with a vulture egg, into a boy harpy?\n\nThe alpha male gave a resigned-sounding hoot—Oh, great, people, it seemed to be saying—and heaved himself off the rock, goosing one of the females to send her up a nurse tree with their haul of mushrooms. The females went willingly—the juvenile had to be pinched hard.\n\nSophie caught it all on camera. They're tailless. Another similarity to orangutans.\n\nSomething—a ripple of water—sent the primates shooting up to the canopy.\n\nBram looked nervous. \"Any idea what that was?\"\n\n\"Bear, I hope.\" The donkey handler was philosophical.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Try not to worry, Kir.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Gee, thanks.\"\n\n\"Look at it this way,\" Tonio said, \"The whole island's essentially a cemetery. If something gets us, we're already buried.\"\n\nHe said it deadpan, and Sophie tried out a dutiful laugh. Bram turned back to his equipment with a grunt.\n\nShe felt that pang again. The two of them—what if they vanished? Would Parrish—or Verena, or someone—even go tell their parents they'd died?\n\nVerena's here, too.\n\nThe primates began shrieking then, letting out a chorus of shrill gah-gah-GAH! sounds that ripped at the nerves. The donkeys moaned and picked up their pace. They had crossed the stone walk and were back on the trail by now, nearly to the next turn upward onto dry land and higher elevations.\n\nA cat rose out of the water, maybe a foot from where the primates had been.\n\nIt was smaller than a mountain lion, which should have been reassuring. Dripping wet, too, which might have made it comical. It had that funny, reduced, wet-cat look, the fur plastered against its body and making it small.\n\nInstead of making it cute or pathetic, though, the soaking emphasized the leanness of its lines, the alley-cat dangerousness of it. Its fur was dove gray and it had huge paws, the low-slung proportions of a puma, and elongated canines that came to points well below its upper lip. Its eyes were the color of flame.\n\n\"Stop recording.\" Parrish was, suddenly, beside her. He had four of the javelins in his hand. Sophie let the camera fall to its position at her side and accepted one of the double-pointed spears.\n\n\"Send the donkeys up first,\" he said, urging the handler to the fore of the party, so that the five of them—Parrish, Tonio, her and Bram and Verena—were arrayed on the trail facing the cat. Verena had her sword out; Tonio had produced a wicked-looking stiletto from somewhere.\n\n\"I thought you said cats weren't allowed on dry land!\"\n\n\"It's native to the island.\" Parrish spoke loudly. He was flapping his coat, making himself look big. Sophie squeezed Bram between them and flapped, too.\n\n\"Go on,\" Parrish said to the beast. \"Go!\"\n\nIt rippled a lip at him, sneering feline contempt, but by now they were all flapping and stomping. It eased out of its hunting pose all at once, sitting on the wide, flat rock and washing a paw.\n\n\"Up the trail,\" Parrish said. \"Go, Bram. Then Sophie.\"\n\nThey backed up until they were out of sight of the thing, then rushed to catch up to the drover, who'd waited half a kilometer up. \"It'll be stalking us now,\" he said dolefully.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We're a big party,\" Parrish said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It knows we'll fight. And we're nearly to Ossuary.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie felt calm descend as they continued to climb. She was listening to the sound of the wood, waiting for the crows to go silent, listening for footfalls—but the specter would be silent, she supposed.\n\nShe stayed close to Bram. Nothing's getting you, she thought.\n\nHe was thinking the same thing, probably: they were so eager to play protective sibling that twice they almost tripped over each other.\n\n\"Jeez,\" Bram whispered. \"This was almost my postal code.\"\n\nThey were both a little strung out, as if after a caffeine binge, by the time they reached the monastery walls.\n\nThe walls were unexpectedly colorful—red and gold lacquered bamboo tiles, from the look of them, had been laid over the stone wall. They were carefully polished, but where tiles had fallen out, here and there, they had not been replaced. A relic of luxurious old days when the people of Issle Morta stole from others rather than serving the dead?\n\nDespite its adornments, the wall was a substantial fortification, forming a stockade around a small village. The gate was wide open and unguarded.\n\n\"What's to keep kitty out?\" Bram asked.\n\n\"Them,\" Parrish said, pointing. Another family of the primates, twenty strong, was lounging on the wall, jumping to and from an old guard tower. The wood children hooted as the party crossed the threshold, tossing down pine cones. Parrish caught one before it could bean a donkey. He got pelted for his trouble. A pine cone stuck in his hair.\n\nThe village at sea level, Lamentation, had been drab but ordinary enough. The villagers, though they'd mostly been fifty or older, had come in an even mix of genders. Here, Sophie and Verena were the only women.\n\n\"This is your hometown?\"\n\nParrish looked around at the hovels and statues, and shrugged.\n\nOssuary was also, in fact, a cemetery. Stone monuments and crypts alternated with huts people were obviously living in; a monk emerged with a freshly laundered cloak and draped it on a line strung from a monument to his roof. Another was using a gravestone as a backrest as he... napped?\n\n\"There are a few empty shelters over there,\" the drover said.\n\n\"These two?\" Parrish walked toward a pair of small cedar A-frames, peering in. \"Hello?\" he said in Fleet, and then, \"Seggin fra?\"\n\nNo reply. \"We can sleep here.\"\n\nThe drover had already looped the donkeys' leads around a crudely carved representation of a robed man. He began unpacking the provisions, laying out the baskets of food they'd brought onto a crypt in the midst of the stockade. One monk promptly came and chose an orange from the pack; he took a second and threw it to the primates.\n\n\"What happens now?\" Bram said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We sit around until someone takes notice of us?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Parrish shook his head. \"We'll spend the night. The scripped dead are kept in a cave within the mountain, and we'll need permission tonight to revive Highfelling tomorrow. Most of the monks won't speak Fleet, I'm afraid. Many won't speak at all.\"\n\nBram was turning a slow circle. \"Using the monuments of the dead for clotheslines doesn't seem very respectful.\"\n\n\"Those interred here inside the wall are the monks themselves. They... it's part of the practice. Their own deaths are as nothing to the suffering they—our people—caused in the past. So their remains don't deserve reverence. Some don't even opt for burial. They ask to be thrown outside the gates to rot.\"\n\nSophie scanned the mix of hovels and graves. It was a decent-size town; she'd have to get up above it to see it all. \"Where's Tonio?\"\n\n\"Pursuing his business,\" said the drover, sharply. \"One dinna ask what the living might wish with the dead.\"\n\n\"We don't ask a lot of things here,\" she said. \"Whether you have business with the dead, whether a nation's free or bonded—\"\n\n\"Whether Spook Island is filled with big, man-eating cats,\" Bram muttered.\n\n\"What are ye, spies?\"\n\nParrish looked at the bunch of them rolling out the bedrolls and blankets in the cabin. \"Bram, Verena—would you mind setting up camp? The village is safe enough. The wood children will shout if there's a specter coming.\"\n\n\"And me?\" Sophie said.\n\nVerena flinched.\n\n\"There's something I want to show you,\" Parrish said.\n\nHer half-sister turned away, clearly furious.\n\n\"Coming?\"\n\n\"Where?\"\n\n\"It's on the trail to Hell.\"\n\n\"Excuse me?\"\n\n\"The capitol, but we're not going that far.\"\n\nSophie followed. \"Your capitol is called Hell. Of course it is.\"\n\nThe two of them proceeded to what she thought of as the back wall of the monastery and she saw the gateway into the caves. It was covered by a double door, red in color, that reminded her of a barn. Parrish ignored this, leading her instead to a rickety-looking staircase that climbed to another trail, switchbacks rising high up the mountain.\n\nIt was a steep climb, one that, conveniently, left no breath for casual conversation. In time, it took them up to a cliff's edge so sharp and square and level it might have been cut by a diamond saw. She could see all the way to the village, the harbor far below.\n\nPlanted at three-meter intervals along the cliff's edge were poplar trees, straight of trunk and perhaps seventy-five feet tall. Their trunks were carved or otherwise shaped to form figures, humans, all with their bare feet planted squarely on the lip of the cliff. White roots dangled over the edge from their toes, bone-white and hairy as rats' tails. The woody arms exploded upward in bursts that might, in abstract art, have been hands, long thin branches like fingers reaching skyward.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The poplars were covered in leaves that, at first glance, reminded Sophie of peacock feathers—they had that false eye that many species used to deter predators.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "For your next response only, include regular dialogue", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked at the trees carefully, then turned to Garland. \"More oddities?\"\n\n\"Yes.\" He led her to the second-last in the line, a woman, whose wooden face gazed serenely out to sea. \"People held here under the hostage concession sometimes opt to be altered in this fashion. They can look out at the world they've left behind... well, it's reckoned to be less painful than permanent homesickness. Or even constant boredom.\"\n\n\"I can see that, I guess,\" she said dubiously.\n\n\"This,\" he said, delicately, and then he cleared his throat and started again. \"Sophie, this individual is my mother, Stronia Bel-Parrish.\"\n\nHer jaw dropped a little. \"Buhhh... you've brought me to meet your mom?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\nWhat is going on with you today?\n\nBut the answer to that was obvious: he was essentially visiting a grave and yet the woman wasn't dead. No wonder he hated coming home. \"Can she hear me? Do I say hi?\"\n\n\"Stronia never learned to speak Fleet.\"\n\n\"So how do you say hello in Issle Morta?\"\n\n\"Actually, it sounds about the same.\"\n\n\"Parrish.\"\n\n\"The most appropriate greeting would be Vaspe denneh me maney.\"\n\n\"That sounds Russian.\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"I don't know Russian.\"\n\nShe repeated the phrase and then looked at him: What now? He added a few phrases of his own, starting with \"Zophie Hansa\" and going on for a second longer. The accent definitely had a Russian sound. Gale's name figured in his monologue, too.\n\n\"Are you telling her Gale died?\"\n\nHe gave her an odd half smile and seemed unable to speak. The tree's not-carved face did not move, but its branches shuddered in the wind, and the eyes on the leaves all seemed, suddenly, to be looking at her.\n\n\"Know what? I'm gonna give you guys a minute.\" She gestured at a thread of trail heading upward.\n\n\"Take a javelin,\" he said, and she did.\n\nHis mom's a tree. A dryad? Naiad? She wasn't up on her fairy tales. I should've played more Dungeons and Dragons in college instead of volunteering to go shoot wildlife for every ethologist with a research grant and a boat.\n\nOnce the transformed trees were out of sight, the trail she had chosen might have been any little strip of land in the Pacific Northwest. It led upward to another little shelf of rock, another viewpoint.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "This one had a tumbled plate of stone, much like those that led across the marsh, lying like a table on the land.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She hitched herself up on it, as if it were an oversize bench, and set herself to watching the landscape.\n\nFrom up here, the harbor, encircled as it was by land on one side and the skull planters with their redwood trees, looked like a lake. Shifting clouds of crows moved in the trees, giving the perimeter of the foliage a black, mobile border.\n\nAfter about ten minutes, Parrish appeared, moving silently. Something in the bush caught his eye, and his hand darted out. He brought it to the table, laying it there. A white spider the size of his thumb tumbled onto the stone table.\n\n\"Crab spider. Blends in with the lichens,\" she said. \"Nice specimen.\"\n\n\"You've seen it, then.\"\n\nShe nodded. \"So...\" She laid down a pause, but he didn't pick it up. \"Your mother's a tree?\"\n\nHe seemed to be considering where to start. \"It's customary for all the island nations to send a certain number of children to the Fleet each year. Issle Morta, as you deduced, has a low birth rate. The monks generally buy and then free a number of willing adolescent slaves from the Isle of Fury. But my mother always intended me for the Fleet. And when I was gone...\" He made a gesture, indicating the cliff below.\n\n\"You didn't know she was planning to get transformed?\"\n\n\"In retrospect, I might have guessed.\" He let out a long sigh. \"I wanted to go. The Fleet sounded magical. It was a chance to be... to live, to see the world.\"\n\n\"Why'd you quit?\"\n\n\"I was expelled.\"\n\nShe remembered suddenly: Cly had said he'd been disgraced.\n\n\"I'm sorry.\"\n\n\"It was a long time ago. And it led to...\" He gestured down at the harbor, at Nightjar. \"All those years with Gale. I'm not sorry.\"\n\nThey sat in silence, looking out over the ocean, the clouds. It was deliciously quiet. The air was just verging on cool, and the sky was dotted with high cirrus clouds, spread like fish scales across the blue. The air smelled of cedar and ponderosa pine, and after weeks at sea it was nice to be somewhere so still and rooted.\n\n\"After matters with Beatrice resolve,\" he asked, \"you'll return home?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I feel so—I need to be here. But how do I give up everything? Plus I'm endangering Bram.\"\n\nHe nodded, indicating assent and understanding, and his total lack of a good answer.\n\nYou don't bullshit people, she thought, admiringly. It was a rare gift. Impulsively she reached over, taking his hand.\n\nShe'd meant just to squeeze it and let go—probably meant to, anyway—but his fingers turned in hers, intertwining, and a jolt went through her. She hadn't really thought this through, and now he was holding on.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And it wasn't as though she wanted to wrench free.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 28 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He introduced me to his mom. Took me home to Mother.\n\nParrish shifted so they were face-to-face and put out his free hand, fingers brushing her cheek. His gaze was so steady, it felt like a dissection.\n\nSophie's mind whirled through a dozen possible things to say and came up dry. That one hand continued its tour of her cheek, resting briefly under her chin, and when she didn't break away he curled his fingers back, brushing the nape of her neck and pausing there.\n\nShe shivered.\n\nThe space between them had closed; she didn't remember getting closer, didn't remember him moving but he was inches away now, and one totally unwelcome thought ran through her mind: Bram, you little shit, you could've just said he liked me back, instead of teasing me about having a crush....\n\nAnd then Parrish was kissing her. It was unhurried, sweet, the contact laced with a strange abundance of gravitas. Just one long kiss, then he pulled back. To what? Check she was okay with it?\n\nOkay? Hey, let's brush that crab spider off the stone table and...\n\n\"Sophie,\" he said.\n\nShe returned the kiss, with a lot less solemnity, then broke away. \"Yes?\"\n\n\"If you're amenable...\"\n\n\"Yes?\" I'm amenable, she thought. If anything, she was too amenable.\n\n\"I'd very much like to court you.\"\n\nCourt?\n\nDon't laugh, don't laugh, he's sticking his neck out here. \"If by 'court' you mean—\"\n\nA crashing off to their left interrupted her. Parrish had his javelin out and her behind him in a second.\n\nThe oldest ambulatory person Sophie had ever seen in her life came battering his way out of the deep bush, dressed in a tattered black robe and smelling of manure and woodsmoke. It smacked the javelin away and then slapped Parrish, hard, across the face.\n\n\"Garland!\" It had a voice like a teakettle. \"What are you doing? Unhand that female immediately, you lecher!\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Mode:\nCo-writing a segment of a larger work\n\nLength:\neighty-five sentences\n\nStyle:\nA. M. Dellamonica\nGenre:\nfantasy, pirates, romance\nNote: Characters may be pre-established", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Parrish broke into that infectious, delighted smile. \"Brother—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No!\" Horrified, steam-whistle shriek. \"I'm one of the nameless now.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I have let the last shred of proud individuality....\" The stranger mimed releasing something to the wind. \"Shame on you, mating here like Erinthians and your mother, what? Fifty meters away?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This is a place of contemplation and penance, Garland. You of all people should know what happens when we give in to our base urges.\"\n\nBrother No Name was clearly an extremist even by the monastery's standards, believing not only in no sex but no hygiene and, possibly, no food. Mortification of the flesh he left to the environment—under his ratty robe, Sophie could see that his pallid, leathery flesh was covered in scratches and bites.\n\nParrish seemed thrilled to find him alive, even though the monk switched from Issle Morta's language and began haranguing him in a piercing whistle.\n\nThe sermon went on for so long that Sophie began to doubt what had passed before. Had Parrish really kissed her? Maybe they were at a higher altitude than she thought. What could a person like Parrish possibly mean by 'courting'?\n\n\"Speak Fleet,\" Parrish begged.\n\n\"—fes matalla... sleep in a bed, do ye? Three meals a day?\"\n\n\"I am very comfortable, yes.\"\n\n\"Now that Verdanii spy who enthralled you is finally gone to ash and story, you could return to the forest and repay your debt to the dead.\"\n\n\"The brother was opposed to my going to Fleet,\" Parrish explained, by way of including her.\n\n\"Only one who was. His mother, ol' Brother Cray, the boy himself, all mad to fling him to the sea. Look how that turned out. Sailing hither and yon, no home, all to keep that scandalous woman alive, and now you seem to have picked up a new one.\"\n\nHere Sophie got a significant glance.\n\n\"Righting wrongs and saving lives, humph!\"\n\n\"He shouldn't right wrongs?\"\n\n\"Death finds us all, girl. That woman was doomed, double-doomed from birth.\"\n\n\"Meaning what? Why fight fate? Why rush it?\"\n\n\"Exactly!\" He beamed at her, snaggle-toothed. His breath was eye-wateringly rotten.\n\nParrish said, \"I'm at peace with my current circumstances. My past actions, too.\"\n\n\"I won't have you rutting like a Redcap silverstag while you're home! Your word on it, Garland.\"\n\nHe didn't try to hide the smile. \"I am sorry we offended you.\"\n\n\"That's no promise.\" The monk brightened. \"Well, you stink of lust. I'd better stick around to stiffen your resolve. Are you Hell-bound?\"\n\n\"No. Back to Ossuary.\"\n\nHe wriggled between them like a five-year-old, almost as light, bony as scythes and his robe greasy with filth. \"Let's go.\"\n\nThus chaperoned, they marched back down the mountainside in near silence. At least one monk failed to hide an expression of dismay at the sight of the nameless brother. The old man promptly whistled at him.\n\nAs they stepped back within the confines of the monastery's wall, Sophie took a step toward the red door. But Parrish kept moving, widening his eyes meaningfully and steering toward the cabins where the others were waiting.\n\n\"Who's this?\" Bram said as they approached the two A-frames. Tonio, she saw, had returned. He seemed sober, lost in thought.\n\n\"Found Garland copulating in the woods. On his mother's grave, no less!\"\n\nVerena looked as though she'd been slapped.\n\n\"Strictly speaking,\" Sophie said, \"that's not—\"\n\nParrish interrupted. \"The brother has graciously agreed to join us for the evening. Tonio, may I ask if you concluded your business?\"\n\n\"I did, Garland, thanks.\"\n\nDid Parrish think Tonio was up to some mischief? What would that entail here? It was almost as elusive a concept, in this setting, as courting.\n\n\"Would you ask the monks for a washbasin and a fresh robe?\" Tonio nodded and headed across the compound. Parrish continued, \"Tomorrow we'll wrap up our visit here.\"\n\nHe was choosing his words with care.\n\nHiding our purpose? wondered Sophie.\n\n\"Bram, perhaps you can take your sister\"—he emphasized their relationship, none too subtly, so the nameless monk couldn't rise up in ire at the prospect of Sophie going off out of his sight with a man—\"and see if the two of you can arrange for us to have that conversation in the morning?\"\n\n\"Why me?\" Bram said, but Sophie hauled him up.\n\nWhen they were out of earshot, she murmured, \"I'm betting Brother No Name will disapprove of our waking the dead. Parrish seems to be hoping he won't find out why we're here.\"\n\n\"And since the guy's clamped on to him like a lamprey...\"\n\n\"It falls to us to make the appointment. Exactly.\"\n\n\"Makes sense.\" He looked at her sidelong. \"So. Sofe.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't, Bram.\"\n\n\"Rutting on Momma's grave?\"\n\n\"It was a kiss! Also, he wants to court me.\"\n\n\"Once again you've found yourself on the cutting edge of the eighteenth century.\"\n\n\"Anyway, his mom's not dead, exactly. She's a transform.\"\n\n\"That makes all the difference in the world,\" he said gravely.\n\n\"I will make you eat that magnetometer.\" She led him to the barn doors she'd seen earlier, knocked until a monk peered out, and asked about the defector, Highfelling.\n\n\"We'll bring him up from the catacombs tonight,\" the monk said. \"We must review any instructions left by his widow or offspring and the language of the inscription itself. It was a long time ago; I wasn't keeper then. What are your names?\"\n\n\"Sophie and Bramwell Hansa.\" She realized that she knew someone else on the other side of that crimson door—a man from Isle of Gold, John Coine, who'd arranged Aunt Gale's death and then, later, sacrificed himself in a conspiracy to make it look like Sophie herself had been the guilty party. He'd be in there somewhere, dead....\n\n\"Do they rot?\" she asked.\n\nThe monk shook his head. \"When they cease, putrefaction ceases, too.\"\n\n\"Hooray for that.\" Bram rolled that over. \"The bacteria involved in the process of decay must die along with the subject of the spell.\"\n\n\"Or suspend, somehow. If they're not really dead.\"\n\n\"I don't know 'bacteria,' Kir,\" the monk said politely. \"But I assure you that my charges aren't asleep. We'll have Highfelling prepared for a dawn rising.\" With that, he closed the door in their faces.\n\n\"Thanks,\" Sophie said to the closed portal. \"Do you think we offended him?\"\n\nBram shrugged, glancing back at the A-frames. \"God, they're washing the old guy down. Let's not go help with that.\"\n\n\"Agreed.\" They walked instead toward the gate, taking a seat on a fallen log that may or may not have been a monument to a dead monk and watching the wood children. The primates were munching, contentedly from the look of them, on a haul of salmonberries and wild blueberries.\n\n\"I almost ended up living here,\" Bram said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'd never have let that happen.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know,\" he said. Then, in a rush he said, \"Sofe, it's okay to want things. You know that, right?\"\n\n\"Are you talking about Parrish?\"\n\n\"Parrish, sure. And a passport and the right to do research here. You don't have to try to pick the least of them and negotiate with the universe—'hey, if I only want this and I give up the rest, can I have it?'\"\n\n\"You're therapying me again.\"\n\n\"You're allowed to want things, that's all.\"\n\n\"I'm making Verena miserable. You're risking your life.\"\n\nHis tone sharpened. \"I'm allowed to want things, too.\"\n\nShe thought about reminding him about their parents, then decided that a fight wasn't what she wanted right now.\n\n\"We can do the astronomy capture tonight,\" she said. \"Set up the camera, shoot the night sky. Maybe one frame every five minutes? It's clear out and there won't be any light pollution. Depending what we get, we might be able to work out how many years it's been since the twenty-first century and whatever year this is.\"\n\nBram nodded. \"How good will the images be?\"\n\n\"It's not a telescope. But an astronomer could probably work with whatever we catch. Unless of course you want to make that your next doctorate.\"\n\n\"My next project is gonna have to be learning to read spellscrip,\" he said. \"How else can we come to understand magic?\"\n\n\"How are you going to accomplish that?\"\n\n\"Not sure,\" he said. \"If Annela comes to trust you, or we come up with some reason why the info would be useful, she'll relax.\"\n\n\"Worth a try.\" She nodded. \"In the meantime, I shot a few pages of a spell book. We'll have to try to get the pictures home.\"\n\n\"I can probably memorize them, if I learn the alphabet. But I also brought a spare camera chip. I'll swallow the one you're loading, if I have to. Oh, and that box of stuff you bought with the dead homing pigeon is a spell kit.\"\n\n\"You took my bird corpse?\" She wanted the passenger pigeon for comparison with the species that had become extinct, at home, in 1914.\n\n\"I'll get you another. Come on, they've got the monk washed and dressed. Night's coming; we should turn in.\"\n\nEasier said than done. Bram, like their parents, was ever a reluctant camper. He settled into his bedroll and then commenced noisy fidgeting. The worst of it was he was trying to be quiet; but every time Sophie started to relax, he'd explode again.\n\nBrother No Name had divided up their borrowed pair of shacks so that she was with both siblings, and Verena was managing to lie without moving against the wall of the A-frame, radiating rage and jealousy across the wood-beam floor.\n\nParrish told Verena he was taking me up there, she thought. Broke it to her that he was going to... ask me out, basically.\n\nShe hoped this was true; otherwise, Verena would have gotten the news when the eccentric monk said they were making love at Stronia Bel-Parrish's feet.\n\nNext door, Tonio and Parrish were bunking with the monk. Or trying to—she heard the occasional rustling there, too, and once an aggrieved and piercing shout of \"Watch your elbows, lad!\"\n\nWho wouldn't be attracted to Parrish, what with the face and the build and the lamb's-wool hair and the fact that he was the only person on this superstition-ridden world who was interested in provable facts rather than hocus-pocus?\n\nEven if he did seem to believe in true love and, possibly, predestination.\n\nHe's not into Verena, he's just not. He's almost twice her age. She's a kid; she'll get past it.\n\nThis bit of rationalization didn't do a thing for the irrational guilt, the sense that she'd somehow wronged her newfound sister.\n\nAfter everything, had she just come back to Stormwrack for Garland Parrish? Was all this desire to explore and angsting over citizenship and butting heads with Cly and trying to help Beatrice just some kind of extended subconscious agenda in getting close to a cute guy?\n\nSupercute. And what the hell does \"courting\" mean?\n\nIn the other hut, someone—Tonio?—snored softly.\n\nSophie turned her head until she could see across the compound. The great gate was shut for the night, a precaution against specters (happily, serving the dead didn't mean providing easy prey for the big cats), and a small herd of goats had been corralled nearby to serve as additional warning, not to mention bait, if one got in. The grave markers and huts were barely outlined, velvety black on black. The moon was new, the sky so dark that, given the lack of light pollution, the only thing you could see with any accuracy at all was the stars.\n\nThey were scattered across the black, vivid constellations, some familiar. Stuff she had seen before—the triangle of Saturn, Spica, and Mars, the constellation Cassiopeia.\n\nShe could hear high-pitched chittering—bats, out on the hunt—and the rush of wind in the foliage. Some of the wood children hooted to each other. A monk was praying out there, too, soft bass voice singing cadences in a language she didn't understand, and something was snuffling out by one of the graves.\n\nThere was so much to discover here. She thought of walking away before she and Bram had unlocked the puzzle of Stormwrack and Erstwhile, how they were related.\n\nIssues they weren't supposed to explore.\n\nShe caressed her book of questions, thinking about how Cly had said he'd follow her to the outlands.\n\nThought experiment: What if I stayed away, but Parrish came with me?\n\nShe imagined him living in San Francisco, sipping lattes and checking his e-mail on a smartphone, making his living as... what? An underwear model? Maybe he'd help her analyze reef footage.\n\nNope, that didn't scan at all.\n\nThere was plenty of science to do at home.\n\nBut magic had ruined that a little, hadn't it? Inscription was a game-changer. She didn't know how it worked, but it blew all their assumptions about the nature of reality to hell. If she wasn't allowed to tell anyone, it only increased her duty to research it. Her duty, and Bram's, too.\n\nThey still didn't know whether their world turned into this one or, if so, when catastrophe would strike.\n\nYou're allowed to want things, Bram had said.\n\nBram's breathing had lengthened at long last and Verena had stopped thrumming. Sophie should have been able to sleep.\n\nFirst things first, she decided. She had to see through this tangle with Beatrice and Cly.\n\nIn the meantime, it won't hurt to ask Parrish what \"courting\" means.\n\nIt wasn't much of an answer; she wanted something easier, cleaner. But muddle on seemed to be all there was.\n\nShe must have dozed, skimming over the surface of sleep without dipping in, floating back into wakefulness. It was pitch black out now; the stars were gone, and something was tugging, ever so carefully, at the lace on one of her packs.\n\nShe had her dive light at the ready. Turning it on, she speared a raccoon in its beam. It had its paw wound into one of the nylon straps of her pack.\n\nIt gave her a saucy, unconcerned glance and waddled away.\n\nPregnant, Sophie noticed.\n\nShe slid out of her bedroll noiselessly, grabbing up her shoes and tiptoeing into the compound. The white light of the flash formed a dense cone with the raccoon at its edge.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Fog had crept in, turning the air to soup.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 15 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She checked her camera—still tied in place, still shooting frames at regular intervals, battery fine. She left it, though the sky wasn't likely to clear before dawn.\n\nYou'd think in a holy place, some Obi Wan Kenobi type would materialize out of the fog and offer some cryptic but decipherable advice about sorting all this out.\n\nFollow your heart, weigh your choices, today's the first day of the rest of your life, a woman's work is like a fish... no, that's something else.\n\nFluttering shadows drew her eye—then the beam of the light—to the crypt doors. A skinny, lurking figure in new robes was caught in her spotlight. Brother No Name: he shot her a vicious glare, shook the doors, then minced up the path to the heights of the mountain.\n\nNo more chaperone, she thought. If Parrish was awake, we could get on with some quality courting.\n\nThe memory of that one kiss rose, making her shiver a little, putting the lie to her pretense of lightheartedness.\n\nShe leaned against the A-frame, feeling churned up, waiting to see if he'd come out. Maybe he couldn't sleep, either. Maybe he'd turn up, sleepy, tousled and disaffected by this homecoming. Needing comfort.\n\nHa, she thought.\n\nShe took a seat on what passed for the porch and was still out there, half-dozing, more than a little horny, when the sky began to lighten, the monuments and shadows of the monks drawing colorless lines on the white cotton curtain of morning, as if even the colors of the waxing day were forbidden in this desolate place.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue with the same vibes as A. M. Dellamonica. Story might have ongoing characters/plots - work with what's given", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Tonio was first to arise the next day, maybe fifteen minutes after dawn broke.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He sketched a wave and a friendly glance in Sophie's direction, then made his way into the fog, headed for the outhouse.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The monks sang as they emerged from their shacks, joining the lone voice who'd sung all night. The group of them built a low chord that was unmistakably a lament. Sophie was reminded of the Whos coming out of their homes at Christmas in the old Grinch cartoon, except of course that instead of cheery \"wahoo and dahoo,\" this was all \"woe, oh, ah.\"\n\nSustained musical chords built in complexity as more singers came out, adding mournful notes to the chill. The song rose, rolling through the encampment and the forest, cold and damp like the fog, and even the crows and wood children seemed to fall silent as the sound permeated everything.\n\nThe reverberations of sorrow drove the others out of their sleeping bags. Verena appeared, favoring her with a neutral \"Good morning\" and then balancing her leg, like a ballet dancer, on a crossbar of wood while brushing her hair, preparatory to binding it into the screamingly tight ponytail she favored.\n\n\"Can I borrow that after you're through?\" Sophie said, just to break the silence.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sure.\" Short word, bitten off angrily.\n\nI shouldn't say anything, Sophie thought, but what came out was \"You know that monk overstated what Parrish and I—\"\n\n\"It's none of my business,\" Verena said.\n\nSo much for rapprochement. The men appeared, one by one, Bram wide awake, as always, with no apparent need for a transition between deep sleep and full consciousness. Then Parrish, clad in his white shirt and a pair of Bram's bike shorts. His eyes found hers just as she was taking in his bed head. He barely smiled in response. She felt a schoolgirl flutter and then, a moment later, a deeper, more internal response.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Verena broke their gaze by walking between them, proffering the hairbrush. \"Your turn.\"\n\nSophie took it. \"Thanks.\"\n\n\"There anything else of mine that you want?\"\n\n\"Ahhh.\" She felt herself coloring. \"I think I'm good.\"\n\n\"Yes, you sure do.\" Verena didn't move, just stood there between her and Parrish.\n\nSophie ran the brush through her curls. \"I need a haircut,\" she said, inanely, just to make a sound.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Done?\" Verena held her hand out pointedly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next turn only: maintain roughly 54% quote-to-text ratio", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie returned the brush. \"I appreciate it.\"\n\n\"Verena,\" Parrish said, and she turned, rapidly, teeth all but bared. \"Might I?\"\n\n\"Keep it.\" She shoved it blindly into his hand and took off.\n\nTonio bit his lip. \"Someone should—\"\n\n\"I'll go after her,\" Bram said. \"Garland. Will they feed us?\"\n\n\"Not in any way we're likely to appreciate.\"\n\n\"I have protein bars,\" Sophie said.\n\n\"Let's resurrect the saboteur, charm the truth out of him, and get going, shall we?\" Tonio said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Agreed,\" Garland said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Where's your governess?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie laughed. \"If you'd like Brother No Name to reappear, I'm sure all Parrish and I would have to do is step into one of the cabins together.\"\n\n\"He crept out, late,\" Parrish said. \"He may find sleeping under a roof uncomfortable, after living in the wild.\"\n\nThey repacked their things. Bram returned with Verena, who threw them all a sullen \"Sorry,\" and went inside to sort her bags.\n\nThe chorus was wrapping up the morning etude when the monk Sophie had spoken to yesterday, named Brother Piper, approached.\n\n\"Fortunate morning to you all,\" he said, breaking the somber mood with a great, beaming grin that suggested that, given the slightest encouragement, he'd hug them. \"How was your night?\"\n\nHis Fleet accent was different from Brother No Name's—he said nicht for \"night.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His arm bore scars from some terrible long-ago accident, hooks and drag marks that had left his hand twisted so it hung backward. He had holes in his ears, marks left by piercings, jewelry he no longer wore. Not a native, Sophie deduced—he'd come from another island.\n\nHe rapped on the red lacquered crypt doors and a white-robed monk pushed them wide, letting them into a stone atrium little bigger than a cloakroom and lit by torches. The room was bare, and its floor was carved with words in a hundred or more languages. Those she recognized seemed to be words and phrases of farewell: \"good-bye,\" \"safe journey,\" \"good luck to you.\" At the end of this textual carpet was a path leading down into a narrow corridor, so steep that the wooden rungs or stoppers had been hung or affixed to the stone, making of it an amalgam of staircase, ladder, and path into blackness.\n\nShe could hear Bram breathing heavily, slowly, controlling his not-so-latent claustrophobia. It wasn't usually so bad, but... ah, he was drawing Verena's attention, obliging her to caretake a little.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Saint Bram, taking her mind off Parrish, Sophie thought. I don't deserve you.\n\nThe air coming up from the shaft was fresh, cold, and ever so slightly wet. Cave breath, she called it: the moisture that permeated systems that lay atop fast-moving underwater rivers.\n\n\"We've had the Sylvanner brought to an audience chamber,\" Brother Piper said. \"Follow me.\"\n\nSophie raised her light and camera, capturing the text on the floor before stepping eagerly onto the incline. The stone underfoot was slick and the passage led down a good long way—about thirty vertical feet, she estimated—then ended in a shaft that might have been a train tunnel, lined on both sides by regular round chambers, each barely illuminated.\n\nBrother Piper managed the incline nimbly, smiling encouragement up at the others before leading them along the corridor. It was punctuated by random boulders, above and below, and he'd utter a cheery \"Watch your head!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "or \"Mind your toes\" with about every third step.\n\nThey arrived in a space that was brighter by several orders of magnitude than the corridor, dominated by a pool on the floor that appeared to be filled with bioluminescent dinoflagellates in—Sophie dipped a finger for a taste—fresh water. The glow emanated upward, bouncing off a big silver bowl, newly shined, set into the ceiling. There were candles, too, set at one-foot intervals on a ledge that encircled the chamber.\n\nSophie took a slow circle of the room, recording everything, before homing in on the body.\n\nHighfelling had been laid on a carved stone couch angled much like a recliner, with a chest strap to hold him in place. Under the belt, he was clad in a long white robe. Beside him was a low table with bamboo cups of cold water and a steaming urn of what smelled like rosehip tea.\n\nHe was unmistakably dead but, as advertised, he had not decayed; the smell in the air reminded Sophie of something in a butcher's shop, meat nearing its expiration date but not quite past it....", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tonio took a position as far from the corpse as he could, quietly muttering what Sophie guessed was a prayer, in Erinthian.\n\nBrother Piper rang a bell, held his hands over the dinoflagellate pool, then washed them in a nearby basin before holding them over the body. \"It is no small thing to restore the murdered,\" he intoned. \"Who would take responsibility for such a portentous choice?\"\n\nBefore Sophie could respond, Verena said, \"I am the interested party here.\"\n\n\"You will feed Wevvan Highfelling, clothe him, take him where he wishes to go? Answer his questions, hear his travails, seek his loved ones?\"\n\n\"I will.\"\n\n\"You will face with him the censure of the living and the wrath of those who fear the lately dead?\"\n\nVerena did a decent impression of Annela's placid Verdanii smile. \"I will.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You'll want gloves,\" he said, handing her a long black set.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Donning a pair of his own, he produced a thick length of felt, stitched with hair to a pair of what looked like human ribs, or what human ribs would look like if they had been straightened from their natural curve.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"The deceased, Wevvan Highfelling born of Sylvanna, rejected the nation of his birth and never took another. His resurrection is encumbered by no request or law. He has no surviving family and left no will. Does anyone stand in opposition to this fell deed?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Fell,\" Sophie thought. Now there's a word out of Tolkien.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Speak now or forever hold your peace.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "// ⚠️ Required: Use 'fabric' exactly 2 times", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bram whuffed softly at that, probably hiding a reaction to the misplaced wedding-ceremony language.\n\nBrother Piper turned to Verena, nodding, and she yarded on the two rib bones, stretching the fabric between. Crimson words appeared on the fabric, neat embroidered stitches that pulled at the felt, resisting the pressure.\n\nThe shredding sound filled the room, a raspy tearing, as of ships' sails or machine belts. A stench of boiled blood and sour mash, cabbagey and rotten, gusted out from Verena's outstretched hands. Tonio gagged, quietly. The monk had a wet towel at the ready, and he grabbed at the remnants of the inscription, which were wet and suddenly stringy.\n\nLike guts, Sophie thought randomly.\n\nSophie looked at Highfelling. He had been quiet as a waxwork figure, with that strange absence, almost fakeness, that the dead possessed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now he was breathing.\n\nThe corpse opened his eyes and began to cough. He accepted a glass of water from Brother Piper before falling back against his seat, looking from one of them to another.\n\nChoking awfulness all but overcame her. She remembered being on a dive once with a student videographer whose oxygen supply had failed, and that oh no, oh no, please stop this from happening feeling. Then, and now, it was an almost physical sensation, like having a stomach full of fresh blood.\n\n\"Do you know where you are, Kir?\" Piper asked. His face was drawn but his tone was kind.\n\n\"No...,\" Highfelling began, but before he could say more a number of things happened, all at once.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I stand opposed!\" shrieked a teakettle falsetto that rang off the chamber walls. \"There's no making peace with this!\"\n\nParrish turned, saw something, and yanked both Sophie and Verena sideways, pressing them against the cave wall. Candle flame cooked her neck on one side; his breath warmed the skin on the other.\n\nSomething whisked past them.\n\nA javelin caught Highfelling in the chest, piercing his heart.\n\n\"Uhhh!\" His eyes bulged. Blood spread across his white robe.\n\nThe sense of awfulness broke, like thin glass.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "((ooc: You must use the word 'sorry' exactly 2 times in your response))", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Suddenly Highfelling was a man, mortally wounded, suffering.\n\nSophie disentangled herself from Parrish, running to the stone chaise. \"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. We didn't mean to—\"\n\n\"Hes, it's best,\" the man said, speaking in a thicker version of Cly's Fleet accent. \"LoBanning?\"\n\n\"Uh...\" Did he mean was she a Banning? \"Sort of.\"\n\n\"Seek my... plans.\"\n\nA glugging exhalation, and he was dead. Again.\n\nLeaving them with a profusely bleeding corpse and Brother No Name.\n\nBrother Piper seized the monk by the scruff.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What have you done?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sorry I'm late,\" he whistled. \"Brother Stinking Stodgepot wouldn't let me into the crypt, so I had to climb up from the weasel hole where the water pours out the mountain.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write thirty-four sentences sentences spawning from what the user wrote, maintaining any existing character relationships or establishing new ones, within the fantasy, pirates, romance genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They got down the mountain without getting eaten by specters—the insects were another story—and were aboard ship soon after. Fortunately the medic, Watts, had approved of the cat or perhaps been approved by it. He had packed up his pharmacy and moved into the doctor's cabin while they were gone, and now he was ready and waiting to slather a sweet-smelling oil on their bites, a minty unguent that killed the itch.\n\nBy nightfall they had put Parrish's boyhood home, stone skulls, crows, and all, most positively in the rearview. The specter skulls seemed to watch them go. Their eye sockets and mouths were edged in bioluminescence—giving the impression of a hundred feline somethings staring after them, hungrily, as they took an easterly course under a sluggish wind.\n\nBram had re-created a copy of Highfelling's schematic from memory, then checked it meticulously against the images Sophie had taken in the waking chamber. Now he was working on building the automaton, molding pieces from clay to reconstruct the parts he didn't have to hand.\n\nThe general shape and the specific locomotive heave of the automaton's paddles made it clear soon enough that the thing was meant to pass for one of the turtles who turned up annually on the Sylvanna beaches to lay their eggs. The hollow chambers in the casing were indeed for throttlevine seeds—Sophie sprouted samples easily, preserving them as evidence.\n\n\"Will it be enough to convince His Honor he can resolve the case?\" Verena had stopped sulking, instead taking to hanging around helping every minute.\n\n\"Knowing the delivery system should make it possible to stop the sabotage. We'll trade that much information for a promise to get the goat transforms out of the swamp.\" Sophie looked down at their makeshift turtle and frowned. \"As for winning the case—this is just another circumstantial thing to add to the argument... it's not proof. What objections would a lawyer raise if we gave him this? We have to answer them all.\"\n\n\"We need to figure out why the Sylvanners never found one on their shoreline. They've been pulling it off for decades.\"\n\n\"No windup toy's going to swim eighteen nautical miles,\" Bram said. \"And it doesn't appear to be magical.\"\n\n\"The plans said nothing about enchanting them. Anyway, they're generic objects—they wouldn't have names.\"\n\n\"So they're releasing them in the water close to the Sylvanna shore.\"\n\n\"The passage between Sylvanna and Haversham is heavily guarded,\" Parrish said. \"In case of slave escapes.\"\n\n\"There are lights ashore and patrols asea,\" Sophie agreed. \"Plus the rocks and navigational hazards. But if it's a patrol ship releasing the automatons... I mean, they must know how to avoid their own defenses.\"\n\n\"You studied the Baste, didn't you?\" Verena asked.\n\nParrish nodded. \"I meant to race its intervals, before I was expelled from Fleet.\"\n\n\"So we build a case,\" Sophie said. \"We have to document where they're dropping them off, how they're making it to shore, and what happens to them after.\"\n\n\"I have a theory about why they never found a fake turtle,\" Verena said. She tapped the mix of throttlevine seeds. \"Most of these are tucked into a piece of dried fruit, right? So that animals will eat them and carry them into the swamp?\"\n\n\"Right.\"\n\n\"But here's a chamber just for seeds. The ones not wrapped in a tasty bit of fruit would stay with the original gadget, wouldn't they?\" She lifted one of the spare cogs.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"That follows,\" Sophie agreed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Verena tapped the cog against the wooden table, making a sharp clonk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Stormwrack has almost no iron or refined metals. Stonewood varnish inscriptions come from Layparee. The pieces are hard, but once the glaze breaks, they fall apart pretty quick. I've been thinking about that trunk Bram destroyed. Throttlevine's got those tough little roots—\"\n\n\"Genius!\" Sophie said. Verena flushed with pleasure. \"So the vine grows around the turtle's remnants, the glaze gets cracked by the root system, and soon it's just a pile of biomatter at the base of a throttlevine plant.\"\n\n\"Good in theory,\" Bram said. \"It still isn't proof.\"\n\n\"Ah, but this theory we can test,\" she said. \"We've already germinated two of the pods. Now we just add bits of stonewood to the pots. We watch the plant grow—we've got time—and document the degradation. Verena can sign the notes every day. You're official enough for that, right?\"\n\n\"I got the shiny badge,\" she agreed.\n\nThey were at sea for ten days before the first new throttlevine root cracked the glaze on the first gear. Sophie cut it free of the plant and added the piece to her growing supply of bagged evidence. A second sample they left, continuing to document the decay of the stonewood gear.\n\nIt became apparent almost immediately that Verena's sudden shift to a bright and perky be-everywhere, do-everything demeanor was a new stratagem for keeping Sophie and Parrish from further dating.\n\nThe grown-up thing to do would be to tell Verena she was sorry she was hurting but to back the hell off. But after the long stretch of sulking, Sophie couldn't bear another reversal, and she didn't want more hurt feelings. Parrish apparently felt the same—he kept his distance.\n\nBut she couldn't leave it alone. Who could?\n\nFinally she slid a note under the hatch to his cabin: I don't know what you mean by courting.\n\nBy breakfast the next day, Bram had his model finished.\n\n\"It descends slowly, carried by the current,\" he was saying. \"At a depth of about fifteen feet, water pressure compresses the midsection, here.\" He pressed on his model and they heard a click. \"This starts the clockwork.\"\n\nThe automaton rolled its flippers forward, inching itself across the galley table toward a bowl of deep-fried fish balls. The ferret, which had been cadging small bites from the safety of Verena's lap, startled and then put out a paw, as if it thought it might rap the device on its carved head.\n\nBram shut off the mechanism, stilling the gadget. \"The automaton then begins to swim for shore. Presumably it's part of a crowd, since they're doing this at laying time. They're somewhat lighter than the actual turtles, so they'd be near the top of the... what's the collective noun, Sofe?\"\n\n\"Dule. A dule of turtles.\"\n\n\"So they ride in piggyback?\"\n\n\"I'd think if it was right in, swimming with the hundreds, it'd get knocked around and damaged.\"\n\n\"My guess is it swims above the rest, at least until they're pretty close to the beach.\"\n\nHe reached across the table, snagged her book of notes, and doodled a bunch of turtles breaching the water. The automaton, styled with head bolts, like Frankenstein, was riding on the backs of the thousands of individuals scrabbling onto the sand.\n\nSophie touched the doodle thoughtfully.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bram was one of those people who could sketch in fonts.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This is all conjecture,\" he said. \"Without an intact sample, we can't be sure.\"\n\n\"No,\" Verena said. \"We'll have to figure out the currents—where they're being released to meet up with the dule.\"\n\n\"I can work that out,\" Parrish said.\n\n\"So you do remember the chart?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"As for all this conjecture,\" Sophie said, \"what if we dress it up a little?\"\n\n\"What are you going to do,\" Verena said, \"build a Powerpoint presentation?\"\n\n\"Basically, yeah.\" She dug out the second notebook she'd bought weeks ago. It was blank, filled with a collection of now-pressed leaves she'd collected on Sylvanna. She transferred the samples to the book of questions, freeing up the blank notebook, and told them what she had in mind. \"Would you mind, Bram?\"\n\n\"Something to do while we sail east, right?\" Bram said, cheerfully enough.\n\n\"Would it hold up in court?\" Verena said.\n\n\"There are no solid standards of proof,\" Sophie said.\n\n\"Yet.\"\n\n\"Still, this doesn't constitute evidence,\" she said.\n\n\"Yeah, but if we dress everything up right, make it glitzy, the Havers might settle the case.\"\n\n\"True.\" Sophie nodded. \"But I don't want to fool around with just bluffing. We'll dress it up because the courts don't respect facts, but we want them to start respecting facts. More importantly, so does Cly. The point is to buy off Cly, remember? Free Beatrice, get the goat transforms out of the swamp?\"\n\nVerena frowned. \"How are you gonna do that?\"\n\n\"We. Cly was all for having me set up a Stormwrack Institute of Forensics. Here be science, hear us roar! So we write up a charter. Make it pretty enough, I bet they'd accord us just as much legitimacy as the astrologers.\"\n\nVerena chortled.\n\n\"Could you write the document?\" Sophie said. \"Do the legalese?\"\n\n\"If we figured out basic principles, I guess. Those would be about the difference between proof and... making assertions?\"\n\n\"Documented experiments, reproducible results.\" Sophie nodded. \"Annela and Cly would slice through the red tape on approving us, wouldn't they?\"\n\n\"In a second, if it benefited them.\"\n\n\"All well and good, Sofe,\" Bram said. \"But even with a charter, the plans, and this model... that's not enough.\"\n\n\"Agreed,\" Parrish said. \"If you want absolute proof, we'll need a clockwork turtle.\"\n\n\"I know.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Then what's the point?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(hey for the next response, /set_word_count: automaton, frequency: 2)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Verena threw up her hands. \"Where are we supposed to get that?\"\n\n\"That's where I come in,\" Sophie said. \"Bram makes the presentation, you write up a forensic institute charter, and I catch an automaton in the Baste.\"\n\nThere was a silence. Then Parrish got to his feet. \"We'll need fair winds to make the turtle migration.\"\n\nHe brushed past her on his way up to the ladder that led to the sailing deck. Touching her hand briefly, he left a piece of paper tucked into her palm.\n\nShe felt a ludicrous buzz of delight.\n\nVerena was contemplating the half-made turtle, which looked less like an animal and more like a serving tray for a frozen entrée, full of clock parts and surrounded by the breakfast dishes. Her face had fallen out of its wilfully perky cast and was pensive. Bram was already doing preliminary sketches.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" Sophie said, ignoring a stab of guilt as she ducked out so she could unfold her note.\n\nIt read: I hardly know what I mean by courting myself. Issle Morta, as you may have divined, does not encourage what you call pair bonding. What do you do on Erstwhile?\n\nOh yeah, Sophie thought. Dinner and a movie should be easy to pull off on a seventy-foot boat with a heartbroken teenage chaperone.\n\nVerena was, even now, headed up to the sailing deck to join Parrish.\n\nShe went back to her cabin, hunting up another scrap of paper. Usually dating involves cafés and restaurants and entertainments. Long walks in the park, hand-holding. She felt a thrill, under her skin, and found herself remembering a dozen TV shows about kids at drive-ins in the fifties. Kids cuddling, making out...\n\nOh, this was crazy.\n\nShe was, nevertheless, beaming when she folded the note in the pocket of her sweater and went back up.\n\nThe crew had raised all three sails and the jib, and the ship was running fast. Sophie got the speed from Tonio, at the helm, and converted it from Fleet units into about ten knots.\n\n\"What if we don't make it?\"\n\n\"Wait a year?\"\n\n\"Suboptimal,\" she said. \"No. We'll have to conduct a search on Turtle Beach, after the migration, a search for automaton parts.\"\n\nProwling a heavily patroled, ecologically sensitive beach. Rees's ecologically sensitive beach at that.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She remembered Rees trying to intervene before she embarrassed herself at the festival.\n\nParrish walking up, just as she was telling the assembled Sylvanners she was hugely promiscuous.\n\nI wonder if that's why it took him so long to make his move?\n\nCringing inwardly, she touched the note in her pocket.\n\nVerena and Parrish were climbing the rigging, deep in conversation.\n\n\"I gather there's a plan?\" Tonio asked.\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"Bene. Feels good to have wind in our sails. A little race. Miamadre, forgive me, these last few months have been dull. I've missed being in danger.\"\n\n\"I don't know there's much danger,\" she said. \"Compared to last time, anyway. All we have to do is work out where they're dropping the clockwork turtles.\"\n\n\"And what? Scoop one out of the water within view of the vessel that launched it?\"\n\n\"Oh. Good point.\"\n\nThe cat, Banana, chose that moment to climb out on deck. Watts had been giving it treats packed with fish oil and herbs, and it was filling out. There was a shine to the tabby's coat, though his ears hadn't outgrown their peculiarities. One was permanently mashed forward, the other back, giving him a pugilistic appearance. He shoved his head against Sophie's hand and began to purr like a little freight train.\n\n\"You should write to His Honor,\" Tonio said.\n\n\"Should I?\"\n\n\"Tell him you expect to have something worth trading. We'll reach Sylvanna days ahead of the Fleet. He could spend that time expediting your mother's release.\"\n\n\"If he will.\"\n\n\"You could update Kir Gracechild while you're at it.\"\n\n\"I'll leave that to Verena.\" They had to come up with an official-looking forensic institute charter anyway.\n\nTonio pursed his lips. \"Verena is no Gale Feliachild.\"\n\n\"Yet! She's seventeen. Was Gale born good at all this?\"\n\nHe looked faintly surprised. \"How old should she be?\"\n\n\"Come on, when did you start working?\"\n\n\"I took up sailing as a second career at fifteen. Before that, I helped keep the books in my family store.\"\n\n\"Seriously?\"\n\n\"The nations of the Fleet aren't the outlands,\" Tonio said. \"On Erinth, one is expected to make oneself useful.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"At home, if a lovestruck seventeen-year-old behaves stupidly, you give them time to get over it.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 25 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He shrugged. \"Verena has chosen being a Fleetwoman over being outlandish. Now she must sail that course.\"\n\nSophie felt a pang: that made it sound so simple. \"As a rude, crude outlander myself,\" she murmured, changing the subject, \"I might ask what info you went seeking on Issle Morta.\"\n\n\"A necessary and terrible burden,\" he whispered, then seemed to catch himself. \"One I may yet share with you.\"\n\n\"May?\"\n\n\"Do you need another burden at present, Kir?\" He smiled. \"Give it some thought.\"\n\nShe squeezed his shoulder affectionately, then climbed up the rigging to join Verena and Parrish. The exercise was gratifying: the strength she'd spent all those months building was there at her beck and call. \"What are we looking at?\"\n\n\"Watching for sea specters,\" Parrish said.\n\n\"Orcas,\" Verena translated.\n\nShe turned her eye to the water. They were well east of Mount Rainier now, sailing over what should have been Nebraska. Was the corpse of the state below them—highways, bones, and buildings, sheet glass and I-beams, all submerged and waiting?\n\nShe'd have to read up on underwater archaeology techniques. If anything of Erstwhile could be found after millions of years, it might be fossilized in sedimentary layers under the depths.\n\nShe imagined splitting a couple layers of shale and finding a Coke bottle or tire treads between them. It was an oddly depressing thought.\n\n\"There!\" Parrish pointed. What broke the water wasn't an orca but a sea lion, first one and then dozens, a whole curse of sea lions racing eastward.\n\nThe orcas would be in pursuit, then, she guessed, and in time the sea revealed them, a pod back behind the flashes of brown fur, both species arcing through the water as they exchanged old air for new, their bodies breaking the surface.\n\nSophie touched the note in her pocket. It was gone.\n\nParrish twinkled at her from nearby.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Hey can you write in the fantasy, pirates, romance genre and use whatever I write as a jumping off point? Follow my lead on how characters are introduced.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She found a reply in her cabin that night.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Three bells, it suggested. In the hold?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "When else would they date but when Verena was finally asleep?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She lay awake and agitated until the appointed time, then made her way down, fifteen minutes early, flinching at every thump and creak of wood.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Parrish was waiting, laying out a small meal on a tablecloth he had draped over a trunk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was simple fare—a few of the savory breads that closed out each meal, a sliced sausage.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Two marionettes lay to one side.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Puppets?\" She kept her voice low.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You mentioned entertainment.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You're gonna entertain me?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We might entertain each other—what is it?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Nothing,\" she said, knowing she'd cracked another huge smile and hoping it didn't look too lascivious.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's the best we can do, under the circumstances.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sophie sighed. \"The best we can do is be honest with Verena.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have discussed this with her.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"On the hike up to the monastery? So that is why she was so pissed?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Her distress has been building for some time. Losing Gale, then struggling to fill her shoes. I always believed she would outgrow her infatuation with... that she'd find someone.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Before you did?\" She sat, picked up a slice of sausage in one hand and a marionette—a sailor—in the other.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She fiddled with making it dance.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He picked up the second, a lady—from the hair—in Fleet uniform, maneuvering it through a low bow.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "What to say? Her mind churned up possibilities: Tell me about your affair with Langda Pike, what'll you do if Verena gets fired, does Annela really think I'm a spy?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Parrish looked similarly at a loss for a topic.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They covered it by concentrating on the marionettes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie tried to copy Parrish's bow, then dance-hopped over to the uniformed woman.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She managed to lay her marionette's hand on his.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Their eyes met and Sophie suddenly decided that petting by proxy was not enough.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I'm allowed to want things.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She set the puppet aside, wiped her fingers on her napkin and stood, skirting the makeshift table.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Imitating the marionette's abrupt movement, she caught at Parrish's hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A little jolt ran through him, and a muscle twitched in his cheek.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Don't overthink this, she told herself, but as she stepped closer she felt it again, some stiffness, a sense of hesitation.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Do you think I'm a slut?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The question rose, unbidden, to her lips. Parrish's jaw dropped.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I wouldn't necessarily blame you. I mean, I had that fling with Lais Dariach, and—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I may have envied Kir Dariach a little.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"That's weirdly gracious of you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It is...\" He seemed to founder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It is Verdanii custom to have numerous—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You're okay with me having numerous?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Why was she pursuing this?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He bit his plummy lips.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Is that what you want? Many lovers?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She shook her head emphatically.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Wow, this is so not first-date conversation. This is sleepless, middle of the night after the third time we—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She barely managed to run that sentence aground.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "From the look on his face, Parrish had followed her thought just fine.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Don't you just have some kind of out-of-the-box boyfriend-girlfriend, spend-time-together, discover-if-we're-compatible kind of customs?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Compatible. Are you talking about pheromones again?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Why does that bug you? We should be Tru Luv Always, like Corsetta and Rashad?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I—\" Then he said, \"You must feel, at the least, some emotional pull?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Jeez, now he's broken out a can of extra prissy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"All I asked is aren't there any see-if-it-works, give-it-a-try, don't-date-anyone-else-in-the-meantime relationships here?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He nodded stiffly. \"If that's what you want.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Now her temper, unaccountably, was rising.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yeah, put it all on me. What do you want, Parrish?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I do. Want.\" He swallowed. \"You.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You seem pretty damned unhappy about that. Is it guilt? Over Verena's crush on you?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No. It's unfortunate, but...\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "This was silly, Sophie realized.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The government might well pack her off home whether she did or didn't get Beatrice out of the jam she was in.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She'd lost her feather-light claim on Stormwrack citizenship, and getting to know Cly had been a bust.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Now this thing with Parrish was alienating the only remaining biological relative she'd found who'd shown any interest in getting to know her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I should declare this a mistake and go back to bed, she thought, but instead she just stood there, fists clenched, feeling just about ready to hit him. \"Well?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Parrish was visibly struggling for control.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have a hunch this isn't first-date talk, either.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Tell me what's wrong, Parrish, please.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He sat, reached for one of the puppets, and frowned at his hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was—no, he wasn't trembling, he couldn't be. \"I am guilty.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Not over Verena.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"When your aunt Gale was born, her relations worked an intention on her; the Verdanii Allmother wanted to know her future.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"This is the thing about how she was supposed to be murdered.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He looked surprised.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The old onionskin guy mentioned it, remember? It was predicted at her birth?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who else has discussed this with you?\" Sharp tone now.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Nobody. Jeez!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Again, he seemed to need time to master himself.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It was something of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Gale's parents scripped her inconspicuous, to lower her profile.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Make her less of a target?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It made her perfect for a career in espionage. Where the hazards are considerable, obviously.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sophie fought an urge to actually wring her hands.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Whatever she'd expected, it wasn't one of Parrish's long and wayward parables.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She was acutely stressed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And he, he was fighting to bring this... whatever this was to the surface.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was like he was vomiting glass.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"When she first set out on Nightjar, the ship was captained by a fellow named Royl Sloot. From Tallon, not that it matters.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A faint, pained smile.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm not sure what's wrong with me. What's your Anglay word? Babbling.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"About Sloot,\" Sophie said, just to break in.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"None of her family expected Gale to live to adulthood. Once she joined the Watch... well, of course she wouldn't see her twentieth birthday. Her twenty-fifth. Her thirtieth.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But she did.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"The fetes kept coming. Her idea had been that Captain Sloot would be there, when it happened, when she was—\" He swallowed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Was killed.\" It had been so fast.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The mezmers breaking in through the balcony of the apartment in Erinth, the brawl, the stink of them. Gale's neck, snapping—", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Okay, stop crying, just listen to him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sloot retired,\" Parrish said, as if this were the saddest thing that had ever befallen anyone.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She could almost hear violins in the background.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Gale was in good health, still working, and so far, no murder.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She wiped her face.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What was wrong with her? \"And so—you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Me.\" His eyes were swimming. \"Sophie, I—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "This was crazy. She kissed him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was a good move, as far as it went: her Ping-Ponging emotions slammed over into lust and he grabbed her almost roughly in response.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Their lips locked, tongues met, and there was real heat there—", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Rattling at the hatch made them both jump apart, guilty as killers standing over a body.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bram leaned in from the deck above, taking in the tablecloth and puppets.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Jeez,\" he said. \"I'm sorry.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not at all.\" Parrish drew in a shuddery breath that was almost a sob. \"Join us?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What, for your intimate tête-à-tête in the basement?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's called the hold. What do you want?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie said, feeling enraged and bitchy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Are you seasick again?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I heard something.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Like us talking?\" She emphasized the \"talking.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're not quiet, you know,\" he said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But no. Music. Don't you hear it?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Teeth!\" Parrish was suddenly in motion, running past her to the ladder, climbing past Bram hastily.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"All hands on deck, all hands on deck! Sound the alarm!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A bell began to toll.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So,\" Bram said, into the clamor, \"Good date?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I asked if he thought I was a slut, he countered with the Commitment Talk—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Never your best event, traditionally.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Shut up. It all segued into the history of Gale's career in the Fleet, complete with prenatal death threats from beyond.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yeah, it looked like a history lesson.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Keep it up. I'll leave a cockroach in your bunk.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was more irritated than was reasonable.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Nice. Very mature, Ducks.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You need to stop—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now she could hear it, too, the high-pitched, sweet, and faintly metallic chord she had taken for imaginary violin music.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was wordless, almost a combination of human choir and the call of cicadas.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The whole crew was tramping up to the sailing deck.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Parrish was shouting, \"All hands on deck, now, now!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Guess he means us, too.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They were practically the last up the ladder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tonio had an upbeat, roguish look to him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He tipped Sophie a wink and leered, just a little, at Bram.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie felt the change as soon as she hit the open air.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her horror over Gale's murder freshened, like a scab torn off a recent wound, and at the same time her desire for Parrish notched up to an intensity that bordered on the painful.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The knife's edge of stress about how pointless and stupid it would be to pursue anything with him got worse, as did the heat of how much she wanted to.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That feeling of being torn, wanting to be here on Stormwrack without hurting her parents or abandoning San Francisco, battered her like a typhoon.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Are you kidding me?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Bram said. \"You have sirens here?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Parrish and Watts were going from crew member to crew member, peering into their eyes, grilling them, rapid-fire questions in a mixture of languages.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Find Verena, Sophie,\" Parrish said. \"Find her now.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"There.\" Tonio pointed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She'd climbed the rigging again and was edging out across the mainsail's top spar.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sophie scrambled after her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her sister was atop the mainsail, hanging out over the edge, looking down at the black waters.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Verena, you okay?\" In the light thrown by the ship's lamps, Sophie saw faces in the water—round, lamprey-like mouths, faces that reminded her of the Chinese dragons that danced every Lunar New Year in Chinatown celebrations.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Leave me alone!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You showed me these,\" she said, \"in the pet market in Fleet. They were the size of fingers.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The animals surrounding them were as big as beluga whales, with huge, lash-fringed eyes the color of citrine, and sharp teeth.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Some waited just below the surface, barely visible.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "As she watched, one rose, frothily clearing its blowhole before adding another note to the hum.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I was five when they told me,\" Verena said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I was going into kindergarten. My best friend from play school was moving to Australia and I was heartbroken. Mom and Gale brought me here. Forget Sally, they said. This is your sailing ship, that's her captain....\" Her voice trailed off.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My mom says I'm special. What a joke, right?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Verena,\" Sophie said. \"The siren things are messing with your head.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"They're called bevvies.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"They're dialing up our emotions, aren't they?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie edged closer. Verena's eyes flicked to her feet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I need to bring her toward me, not away.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Make her mad, not sad.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I knew it was pointless,\" Verena said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I've always known. But as long as Garland didn't care about anyone else, I could imagine... pretend. Now here's you: older, prettier, smarter. And a Feliachild. The whole package, practically custom-made. Bam, look at him. Smitten.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not true,\" Sophie said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She looked down at Parrish.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He had three of the crew tied and was doing something to block their ears with cotton.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We're attracted, sure, but—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Gale was dead five minutes after he first laid eyes on you!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sophie felt the shock of the accusation—hurt, defensiveness, guilt, and all of it enhanced by the song pounding at all her membranes—before she realized it didn't make sense. \"What?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're the one. Fall in love and Gale meets her doom. That's what the Allmother told him.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You don't believe in predestination.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Gale said, she said if I came back to Stormwrack I'd bring down doom on all my kin....", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Beatrice in jail, Gale dead.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Now, thanks to the bevvies, Verena was suicidal.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She meant Cly. Gale didn't want Cly to find out about me, it wasn't some magical fate thing, it was just the law....", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I knew she was supposed to get murdered, but I thought... you know. The other nations of the Fleet think the Verdanii are cracked when it comes to prophecy. But Annela showed me both transcripts....\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Three of the Nightjar sailors stretched a ratty-looking fishing net off the starboard side.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"'Gale will be safe until Parrish loses his heart,'\" she quoted, bitterly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The crew's trying to clear a little space in case Verena jumps, Sophie guessed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It wouldn't be enough.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The bevvies were too agile.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She could easily imagine the creatures devouring Verena if she fell or jumped.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The image cleared her head a little.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "What would Cly say?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was always pretty infuriating.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What, precisely, is this tantrum getting you?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Verena's head whipped round, snakelike, and her grip on the rigging tightened.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Man, yeah! Managed the patronizing tone pretty good there.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps if you fling yourself overboard and get devoured, Garland will realize he's made a terrible mistake?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Shut up, Sophie.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ooh! And Annela will give you a posthumous medal?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Okay, kid, you're supposed to be running across the spar now to deck me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She was out of mean comments.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She tried to adopt Cly's puzzled, How are you so dumb and still breathing? expression.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For a second, Verena stood there, quivering like an electrified squirrel on a high wire.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then she whisked her sword out of its scabbard and came at her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Oops, bad strategy, forgot the bladed weapon.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But at least Verena was off the edge of the spar now.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If she fell, she'd either hit the rigging or the deck.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Suboptimal, but she didn't look like she was thinking of flinging herself into the sea anymore.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We were fine before you came,\" she hissed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Now Gale's dead and Cly Banning has Mom jailed. Garland's head over frigging heels—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Gale's not my fault!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"She was safe until he fell in love.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He's not—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"And for what? Garland's just another notch on your bedpost. Crook your finger, that guy Lais jumps into your pants. You just assumed you'd gotten engaged on Sylvanna—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yeah, and that was such a barrel of fun.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She was getting angry.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Know any five-year-olds, Verena?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Verena's overwide brown eyes, so like her own, were just inches away. \"What?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Your neighborhood, in Bernal. Pretty family-oriented, right? Any little kids?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"So?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Any first-grader boys you might consider dating, say in twelve years' time?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's different here.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Really? It's that different?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She leaned in a little, and Verena did withdraw the blade before it could cut her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For just an instant, Sophie felt a terrible urge to give her a shove.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You sent Garland after us when Lais and I were—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Slutting it up?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You invited that woman Langda aboard Nightjar because you hoped I'd get jealous.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Damn, this is dumb, it's the critters.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I gotta dial this down, gotta calm us both.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She whispered through gritted teeth, \"Listen. I've never managed to make a relationship work for even eighteen months.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The change of direction caught Verena before she could reply: her mouth opened, and she looked quizzical.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So,\" Sophie finished, \"chances are good you're gonna get another shot.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An edgy laugh. Then, bursting into tears, Verena sheathed her sword.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "To the stern, the school of bevvies was surfacing, one after another, wailing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Despair rolled through her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gale died because Parrish fell for me?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "That's just—if it's true and they can predict the future then the future is fixed and I had no choice.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And if it's not and it was just a coincidence, but oh jeez, what if Gale died and Parrish thought: That does it, Sophie's the one I must be in love with, and deep down he doesn't even—", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Stop it, it's the bevvies, just the weird effect of the bevvies—", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She reeled Verena into a hug, just in case her mood swung back to suicidal.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It's gonna be all right,\" she said, and she was almost crying herself.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Somehow or another, it's all gonna be okay.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How?\" Verena said.\n\nShe didn't know.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "lets do a fantasy, pirates, romance thing. u write seventy-four sentences bits. keep character vibes", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word frequency rule: 'anything' × 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The bevvies followed them for a day and a half, giving the new medic, Watts, an excuse to ply the crew with a \"relaxing\" ginger-laced tea that Sophie suspected was a placebo—or, at best, a delivery system for nutrients. The creatures' pursuit left everyone dispirited except Bram, who just tucked his nose into his notebook, finishing their presentation.\n\n\"Why aren't they cranking you up?\" Verena asked. She was red-eyed and keeping to her cabin.\n\n\"I'm more relaxed than I've ever been,\" Bram said. \"All this time to think without the clutter of—\"\n\n\"Human contact?\" Sophie suggested.\n\n\"If you're going to heckle, get out,\" he said, tone amiable.\n\nThey made the rest of the sail without any more trouble, or any more dating. Verena's disclosure about Gale's death had left Sophie confused and raw.\n\nIt didn't help that the whole crew had been on deck, that Verena's shouted declarations, about prophecies and fate and Garland being a notch on Sophie's bedpost, meant all of them, Parrish included, had heard every word.\n\nAs they neared the Butcher's Baste, they laid all their data out on the galley table, once again turning the dining room into a shared workspace as they set out everything from a chart of the currents to Rees Erminne's migration graph, the calendar he used for setting gambling odds on when the turtles would arrive.\n\n\"We've missed the first night Kir Erminne listed as a possibility,\" Parrish began.\n\n\"Not a good one,\" Bram put in.\n\n\"The currents at this time of year make it likely the auto—atom—\"\n\n\"Automatons,\" Sophie said. \"Mindless gadgets with no volition of their own, sowing destruction wherever they wash up.\"\n\nBram gave her a slight frown.\n\n\"Automatons.\" Parrish savored the cadences of the English as he repeated the word, then marked a position on the chart. \"They should go into the water near here. There's a strong current; it would carry almost anything to Sylvanna in a matter of hours.\"\n\n\"That means there will be a Haversham ship in the area. Since we don't want to be seen, the optimal location for a dive would be about—\"\n\n\"How about here?\" Sophie said, tapping the page. \"It's about midway between both nations. Maybe this big islet will offer Nightjar some shelter?\"\n\n\"You would be hard put to resist the current,\" Parrish said.\n\n\"I'll say.\" Bram had been doing figures on the table, converting the Fleet units to numbers the Americans would understand. \"It's about six miles an hour, Sofe.\"\n\n\"So I wash up on the lowlands.\" She spoke with more boldness than she felt. Thoughts of soot vipers and quicksand—oh, and let's not forget the fire leeches—ran through her mind. \"Turtle Beach is close to Low Bann. If worst came to worst, I could walk up to Cly's house.\"\n\nParrish shook his head. \"There will be people on the beach: guards, and someone to time the turtles' arrival for the betting pool—\"\n\n\"Rees,\" Sophie said.\n\n\"And you organized a scientific experiment, didn't you? To settle another of the lawsuits. So... observers?\"\n\n\"Okay,\" Sophie said. \"No washing ashore.\"\n\n\"I'm serious,\" Parrish said.\n\n\"You're always serious. I'll have to take a tether, that's all.\"\n\n\"I'll run her out in a rowboat,\" Tonio said. \"Same as when she went diving for the Heart of Temperance.\"\n\nLate that night, they sailed into the Baste.\n\nShe had heard that the Baste was tricky sailing—the passage had dangerous shallows and was filled with real and man-made islets. As he had on the approach to Issle Morta, Parrish took the wheel, paying close heed to a stopwatch as he took them around three of the islets before weighing anchor near a ponderous hump of rock that Bram, for some reason, had named Elvis.\n\nBy night, Sophie could see evidence of border security—a line of watchtowers along the Sylvanner lowland shore, their tops ablaze, drenching the beaches with light. Escapees fleeing to the beach would be hard put to get to the water.\n\nThe Haversham navy had responded in kind: brilliantly illuminated warships patroled the waters to the northwest.\n\nSophie got her gear on and, with Tonio's assistance, launched a small rowboat into the heart of the shorebound current. The boat was tethered to Nightjar; Sophie had an additional hundred meters of rope tied to the smaller craft.\n\n\"Ready to go?\" Tonio asked.\n\nShe nodded.\n\n\"What about these?\" He indicated her tanks and regulator.\n\n\"Not until I find the turtles,\" she said, dropping into the sea.\n\nDiving, finally. She spent a moment getting used to the water, which was chillier than she'd expected. Summer was waning, but who knew what was normal at this time of year?\n\nShe'd been on shoots where they'd set up and then been forced to wait for weeks for the animals to show, and one where they'd never put in an appearance at all. Here, she was relying on Rees's gambling odds and on Parrish's knowledge of the currents. Plus a bit of luck.\n\nConcentrate. She adjusted her snorkeling mask—as she'd told Tonio, she couldn't afford to use the air tanks until she absolutely needed them—and set about getting to know the water. She had a good LED dive light and her camera, and as she sank below she turned into the current, submerging her lantern and looking for the turtles, looking for anything.\n\nStaying even with the current was a significant effort. She fell into a rhythm: submerge, search, kick back to the rowboat, submerge again. Her light was faltering and she was exhausted when Tonio indicated it was time to give up for the night.\n\nShe climbed into the rowboat. He immediately gave her a flask of hot tea. Feeling chilled and disappointed, she helped him row back to Nightjar.\n\n\"You rarely score the first time out,\" she said, as cheerily as she could. Parrish took them around Elvis and out to open sea. She spent the next day recharging her lamp and her camera batteries using the solar panels, and sleeping off the night's search.\n\nThe second night was a repeat of the first except that they had to break off a little earlier, when one of the Haver navy vessels seemed to be heading their way. Had they been spotted? Nobody was sure.\n\nOn the third afternoon, a chilly rain began to fall, cool wet drops with a hint of autumn in them. They went over the tide charts again.\n\n\"It seems to me the rain offers a chance to get closer to one nation or the other,\" Parrish said. \"Visibility will be poorer, and with the clouds there will be no moon or starlight.\"\n\n\"If we aren't tucked in behind Elvis, aren't we more likely to be seen?\" It turned out Bram had so named the islet because it was located about where Memphis should be at home.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I can find a similar berth.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "For the upcoming response only: include a balanced amount of quoted content", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Parrish shook his head. \"The question is: Closer to Sylvanna, where Sophie might be taken for an escaped slave or someone trying to aid same? Or closer to Haversham, where they could try to sink us to hide what they're doing?\"\n\n\"Haversham,\" Sophie said. \"More chance we can catch them if we find the ship doing the dumping.\"\n\n\"Sylvanna,\" Verena said at the same time. \"Sophie's sort of one of them. If they don't kill her immediately, she can drop Cly's name. And we can show we're acting in their interests.\"\n\nBram squinted at the chart. \"You picked a good spot here, Parrish. The turtles will show. Let's not increase the risk.\"\n\nThey were evenly divided.\n\nTonio said, \"I guess you're deciding, Garland.\"\n\nHe looked at the chart, assessed the rain and wind, and thought it over. \"We'll defer to Verena's expertise.\"\n\n\"More risk—\" Bram objected.\n\nBut Sophie was already looking at the line of the beach, the marked currents. \"It gets shallow here, right?\"\n\nParrish nodded. \"We'll be gone long before low tide.\"\n\n\"Are you sure?\" Bram said.\n\nIf they were southeast of the deeper part of the Baste, the outgoing tide would lower its depth by—what? Twenty or thirty feet?\n\nYou will bring doom on all your family, Gale had said.\n\nShut up. I don't believe in predestination.\n\n\"I studied the Butcher's Baste extensively when I was younger,\" Parrish said to Bram.\n\n\"You know, it looks like it might get choppy.\" Sophie spoke without premeditation. \"What if Verena ran you home tonight?\"\n\nEveryone looked at her as though she'd grown a second nose.\n\n\"Excuse me?\" Bram said.\n\nSophie persisted. \"Why not? You've made up the model turtle, and you're finished with the evidence we're going to present. You're obviously nervous about the Butcher's Baste and there's no reason to spend the night puking your guts out if the wind comes up.\"\n\n\"You're saying you don't need me now, so I should take my toys and go home?\"\n\n\"Come on, Bram. You hate the cold, you hate being damp, you know you're gonna get nauseated—\"\n\n\"I hated the cold when I was four and my gut has been improving.\"\n\n\"It'd give you a chance to reassure the parents. We'll have this wrapped up in another week, maybe? Then—\"\n\n\"Then what? Are we back to the 'I'll come home to Earth for good?' thing?\" he demanded. \"Because I don't think any of us believes that.\"\n\nThey were glaring at each other when Verena spoke. \"She's not wrong, Bram. I don't appreciate being treated like a taxi service, but this might get hair-raising.\"\n\nBram rose. He closed his eyes and took one of those long breaths that, had he still been a toddler, would have preceded a sustained and piercing shriek of rage. Instead he said, \"Surrounded by idiots,\" and slammed his way off to his cabin.\n\nThey retreated to the corners of the ship, waiting for nightfall—it was already plenty dark. Parrish took them into the passage, despite the downpour, steering the ship with his watch once again.\n\nThe distance from where they had been diving the previous two nights was less than five miles, but Sophie could feel the difference as soon as she got in the water. The current was stronger. It felt as though it wanted to suck her right down to the bottom.\n\nShould've gone up toward Haversham after all, she thought, but she was here now and tethered to the rowboat, where Tonio waited.\n\n\"Okay, Sophie?\"\n\n\"Keep your eyes peeled,\" she said.\n\n\"In this?\" Water was falling in great sheets.\n\nShe shrugged.\n\n\"Don't worry about Bram,\" Tonio said.\n\nShe groaned. \"I should've kept my mouth shut. I should've known I'd just set him off.\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"Nobody at home wanted me to go to sea, you know. They saw that I had to—had to go with Garland and Kir Gale.\"\n\n\"This was your preadolescent career change?\"\n\n\"Only time and proof stopped amia madre and my sister from trying to reshape me into a bookkeeper.\"\n\n\"Meaning?\"\n\n\"I was a sailor. It was inconvenient—painful. But Nightjar called me. Your life, Sophie, it's here now.\"\n\n\"That simple, is it?\"\n\n\"Verena, I think, needs you. As for Bram, that's not up to you.\"\n\nShe felt a sting of actual anger, had to fight an urge to make an obscene gesture at him as she slipped below. But she took the higher ground: she waited until she was underwater, well out of sight, before giving him the finger.\n\nGlowering down into the black, she saw the turtles.\n\nThere were thousands of them, shadows in the dark, invisible but for the shine of her lantern off their shells. They were swimming at a depth of maybe twenty feet, an easy distance.\n\nShe kicked up, breaking the surface.\n\n\"Your light!\" Tonio clapped a hand over the LEDs before they could advertise their presence.\n\n\"Sorry,\" she said, shutting it off. \"Got that net?\"\n\n\"They're down there?\"\n\n\"They so are.\" She switched her snorkel for her regulator and tanks, took two knotted net bags from Tonio, and double-checked her safety line.\n\n\"Good luck.\" He was shivering today—it was warmer in the ocean than on the surface in the rain and breeze.\n\n\"Thanks.\" She submerged again, checked her breathing and the tanks, reminding herself not to rush. Bram's analysis of the automaton design indicated the decoys would be near the top of the dule, riding the current above them. She kicked slowly, maintaining a depth of fifteen feet, shining the light in the direction they were coming from.\n\nJust observe, she told herself, taking easy breaths. All the time in the world.\n\nWhen the automaton came, she almost had to chase it—the mechanism was imperfectly balanced. It was high in the dule but paddling sidewise, belly pointed left, shell to the right.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She had to dive quickly, scoop at it with the net.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She half-caught it—and caught a live turtle, too. And then she had to grab as the automaton, with a surprisingly powerful tick-tick-tick of legs, almost came free of the net. Her light went flying, out to the edge of its safety line. She got the automaton, plunged it into the sack of net, and set herself to kicking against the current and reeling the light in before detangling the live turtle.\n\nSorry, she thought at it. Go lay your eggs.\n\nThe animal resumed its swim, seeming undisturbed. Drawn on to the beach, by instinct's irresistible pull.\n\nAnother turtle swam into her with a brisk bonk—the current was pulling her toward Sylvanna and down toward the bottom and the dule.\n\nOkay, that's one. But even as she contemplated waiting for a second automaton, there was a yank at her line.\n\nSophie turned, checked the net and her equipment, then began to swim toward the rowboat while slowly gathering her safety line.\n\nShe was only about twenty feet below when she hit a powerful rush of water, a current that threatened to pull her back to the limit of the rope.\n\nShe shut off the safety light and focused on swimming. The automaton was kicking against her, within the net, beating an artificial pulse on the rubber-clad skin of her hip.\n\nIt was as close as she'd come to true solitude in weeks. Her mind hashed through the unanswered questions she'd yet to research: Was this a future Earth? How did magic—any of it—work in both worlds? And now this new question, about Parrish and Gale having their futures set out for them.\n\nHere in the water it seemed, suddenly, as if all the worrying and flailing had been so much wasted energy. Tonio was right: she'd been called here.\n\nShe had to know.\n\nWe have to, she thought. Bram as much as me.\n\nThat meant whatever it took—trading science favors to Annela and Cly, figuring out how to use Gale's old watch to sneak back and forth to Stormwrack illegally—they'd have to find a way. Pretending she wasn't going to try to stay here was... well, it was lying.\n\nAs for Parrish and destiny and Gale being doomed, she'd have to prove to his satisfaction that the prophecy was nonsense. If he was still attracted to her after that, well...\n\nShe broke the surface about ten feet from the rowboat. The ship was reeling them in. She could feel the water resistance against her body, her diving gear.\n\nTonio was there, rowing hard in the lashing rain, no tea on offer this time.\n\n\"Did you get it?\"\n\nShe nodded. \"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"Don't know.\" He yanked mightily on the lines.\n\nThey scrambled back to Nightjar, climbing aboard.\n\nParrish had all the crew at their stations. \"Get below and warm up.\"\n\n\"What's going on?\"\n\n\"We've been spotted.\" He pointed into a curtain of rain, presumably to indicate someone after them. Squinting, Sophie saw nothing.\n\n\"By which side?\"\n\n\"Unknown. But with wind and tide and a battleship out there, the route past... past Bram's Rock of Elvis is blocked. I'm taking us through the Butcher's Baste.\"\n\n\"Through the passage? Is that possible?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I know the intervals.\"\n\n\"In a downpour?\" The wind was up to ten knots at least. Hardly gale force, but...\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Could we be panicking? I mean, Nightjar's inconspicuous, right? Like Gale was?\"\n\n\"Inconspicuous, not invisible.\"\n\nBram was hovering, eager to get his hands on the automaton. \"Did you get it?\"\n\nShe handed him the net. He picked out the automaton carefully, setting it out to dry. It was still tick-tick paddling.\n\n\"Tag it,\" she said. One of the goals they'd set out for their forensic institute was to try to establish the idea of a chain of evidence and some form of continuous custody.\n\n\"Done,\" Bram said.\n\n\"Fake it until you make it,\" Verena muttered.\n\n\"Sophie, Tonio, go warm up,\" Parrish said. \"I'll need all hands.\"\n\nShe went to her cabin, stripped and dried off, and gulped tea until she stopped shivering even as she loaded up on warm-weather gear. Wool socks, base layer, jeans, sweater, Gortex raincoat overtop. It all looked faintly foreign.\n\nHer legs were shaky from the effort of kicking against the current: she hit the galley for two of the savory scones, just to raise her blood sugar. Then she went up top, plucking at Tonio's sleeve.\n\n\"How can I help?\"\n\n\"Help Sweet install the horn, then join her with the starboard crew,\" he said, indicating a crew readying, even now, to lower and reef the mainsail.\n\nShe did as ordered, helping Sweet lift and then bolt a sturdy-looking brass gadget to the rail.\n\n\"What is this thing?\"\n\n\"Speed gauge. Usually we estimate, but for the interval navigation...\"\n\n\"Precision counts. Got it,\" Sophie said. They tightened the bolts and went to their separate stations, Sophie taking a place on the starboard team, following orders, hauling ropes, belaying. Rain poured down steadily, the drops slapping coldly at the exposed skin on the backs of her hands, on her face, as the ship sailed through them. The wind was light, and the seas weren't running all that high.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The air was soupy, the passage full of rocks and shallows.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "By now Sweet had climbed into the rigging with a spyglass, acting as a lookout. Parrish was at the wheel again.\n\n\"I need constant speed,\" he told Tonio, who had taken a position by the gauge. \"Six—keep it to six.\"\n\nIt was better to be up top and pitching in than below. They raced through the hazard-filled water in the murk, with no idea if they were truly being hunted, if their presumed adversary might catch up.\n\n\"Hard starboard,\" Parrish rapped out, as a warning, and Sophie braced along with the others on her rope crew as the ship heeled over in a sharp turn. A tower of rock slid by on the port side, maybe twenty feet away.\n\nParrish fixed his gaze on the stone as they passed, reset his stopwatch to zero, and aimed Nightjar port, into the unseeable black.\n\nRat-a-tat. A distinct, mechanically regular series of taps, near the bow, raised the hair on her neck.\n\n\"What was that?\" a crewman asked.\n\n\"Baste's a-haunted,\" came the reply.\n\n\"Great,\" Sophie said. \"Now we have ghosts to contend with?\"\n\nRat-a-tat-a-tatta—\n\nThis time it was more of a burr, a series of impacts against—the deck?—like a woodpecker's tapping or a very small jackhammer.\n\n\"Did anyone see?\"\n\n\"What is it? What hit us?\"\n\n\"Turning to port,\" Parrish announced, as if nothing had happened. Sophie saw another islet looming at a safe distance, but only just. He was cutting it fine.\n\nCan he do this? she wondered. Zoom us through blind just by counting the distances between rocks?\n\nTonio was absorbed with the speed gauge. She was reminded, again, of an air horn, and as he maneuvered it, it made a low humming sound.\n\n\"It's an exercise they gave the most talented cadets,\" the crewman beside her said. \"Captain learned the intervals for the Baste before he was expelled from—\"\n\nRat-tatta-tatta. This time it was followed by a shriek.\n\n\"Krezzo, take the speed gauge. Call speed for Cap'n Parrish every thirty seconds.\" Tonio waited until the massive cannoneer had taken over his station. Then: \"Sophie, with me.\"\n\nShe followed him across the deck.\n\nBeal had fallen into a coil of rope. He was thrashing, obviously in pain.\n\n\"Smashed the thing,\" he managed to say. \"But—ow!\"\n\nHe had been sewn to the coil of rope, fixed there with a strand of what looked like animal sinew—a trio of red stitches were looped into and through the rope and his coat. They glistened with fresh blood. The coat had been punched through, back to front, and on the way something had passed through the meat of his hip, had even nipped a little piece out of his leather belt.\n\nThe \"it\" Beal had smashed lay on the deck in broken pieces. It looked like a bone needle, six inches long.\n\nTonio gave Beal's pants an unceremonious yank, exposing the twin punctures and a good deal besides. \"Sophie?\"\n\n\"I think it got muscle, not organs,\" she said, feeling to be sure. \"Watts will know.\"\n\nTonio cursed. \"I forgot we had a medic again.\"\n\n\"Want me back to my rope?\"\n\n\"Not until—\"\n\nRat-a-tatta-tatta—\n\nThis time they saw it, a vertical whisk of bone, bouncing across the deck in a straight line...\n\n... like a sewing machine needle, thought Sophie... until it struck her swim fin, which was sitting, abandoned, next to the lifeboat. The needle began bouncing wildly, stitching through the rubber, balling it in sinew.\n\nSomething above yanked it then, whisking the fin away. At the same time the thread through Beal's hip tightened, the loops of stitching cinching his wound, clamping the coat around him, and the coil of rope. His midsection rose off the deck and Sophie half-threw herself over him so he couldn't be yanked right off the ship.\n\nHe groaned.\n\n\"Sorry,\" Sophie said.\n\nTonio produced his glass stiletto. It wasn't meant for sawing, but he tried to get a grip on the sinew, to slice it free of Beal's punctured hip.\n\nSophie wound a hand in what slack she could gather, amid the rope and coat, making a loop he could thread his blade through. She felt the tug from above. There was something aloft, well above the ship, tethered by the greasy sinew and jerking upward, like a big kite.\n\nShe squinted at it, but rain blew into her eyes.\n\nTonio got the strand cut and the sailor fell back to the deck.\n\n\"Help Beal—I have to clear this.\" With that, Tonio began chopping into the slack bits of thread that had bunched up the rope, then pulled it clear and began, painstakingly, to re-coil it.\n\nFor an instant, Sophie felt a flash of anger at his priorities. But everything on a ship depended on its lines: if they had to loose a sail now, with its rope stapled together, they'd be dead.\n\n\"Speed check,\" Parrish called.\n\n\"Holding six, Captain, breeze is fair,\" Krezzo replied.\n\n\"Sweet, what do you see?\"\n\nThe bosun's voice came from well above them. \"Frigate's well to the stern, Captain.\"\n\n\"Within cannon range?\"\n\n\"No, and not currently gaining.\"\n\n\"Of which nation?\"\n\n\"Haversham.\"\n\nSophie returned her attention to Beal, pulling the thread of sinew.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was rubbery, with a greasy texture that made it hard to grip.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The blood helped a little—it made it sticky.\n\n\"Sorry about this,\" she said, thinking, suddenly, of the transfusion specialist on Sylvanna. Wish we had one of those.\n\n\"I'm inscribed to heal fast, Kir,\" Beal assured her. \"Just get this witch stitchery out of me.\"\n\nThe ship turned close round another islet and a bell began to toll.\n\n\"Losing speed,\" the canonneer bellowed. \"Get that sail up.\"\n\nAnother burr. A third bone needle tatted across the deck, seeking whatever it could puncture. Sophie saw it flash past, bouncing up a spar and striking a sail, then frenzying as it lashed big, looping random-looking stitches into the fabric.\n\nThere was a yank and the whole ship shuddered. The sail puckered, bunched, and she heard a ripping sound.\n\nCursing in Erinthian, Tonio darted after the thread.\n\n\"One of those things hits the captain, we're on the rocks for sure,\" Beal muttered. Pouring rain had diffused his blood across the deck.\n\nAnd the more of those strings we end up dragging, the harder it is to maintain speed. Could Parrish recalculate his time intervals on the fly if they decelerated?\n\nAll they could do was put up more sail, giving the needles ever more cloth to sabotage.\n\nWatts came spidering across the deck just then, trying to keep his long body low. \"Sorry,\" he whispered. \"Hatch got jammed by one of those things.\"\n\nSophie showed him Beal's wound, which had indeed stopped bleeding, then took a moment to scan the deck.\n\nHer thoughts had slowed, as they tended to in emergencies. The cold air, whipping over her wet face, clarified things further. Tonio almost had the fouled sail straightened. An ugly triangular rip hung loose, but it was mostly intact. She wasn't needed there.\n\nThe source of the needles was above them.\n\n\"Turning port!\"\n\nParrish brought the ship around in another sharp correction. He looked terribly exposed up at the wheel.\n\nSophie was barely able to make out the shadow of the islet he was using as a marker, a spire of rubble, human-made. But then the rock lit up, spearing them with incandescence, revealing them to their hunters... and also revealing two more sinewy threads, bound to Nightjar like bloody kite strings.\n\nAbove them, maybe a hundred feet above the water...\n\nIt was big, maybe fifteen or eighteen feet from toe to crown. It had the face of a porcelain doll and was clad in a billowing dress whose shape reminded Sophie of christening gowns. Black in color, ornately pleated, it was tattered at the hem. Measuring cords dangled around its neck, and its mouth held bone needles and sharp stickpins.\n\nThe thing held a live pincushion, a wriggling lamb with bloodied wool.\n\nThe floating figure tugged on the two lines it already had in Nightjar, then pulled a bone needle from between its lips and stitched it through the bleating, struggling lamb. The needle went into the lamb attached to nothing and came out drawing one of the sinewy threads. The monster then tossed the needle at the ship, at Sophie, with a motion reminiscent of a dart player.\n\nVerena stepped into view just then, stomping the needle's trailing, sinewy thread. Her boot slowed the needle just enough for Sophie to grab up Beal's mallet and bring it down, with a slam, onto the thing. The bone shattered.\n\n\"If they get Garland,\" Verena said. She was carrying her practice dummy under one arm.\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\nParrish was haloed in the beam from the receding rock pillar. They'd be shooting for him, wouldn't they? He was standing confidently at the wheel, hand resting lightly on Nightjar, head cocked as if he were listening for the rocks rather than looking for them.\n\n\"Go protect him,\" Sophie said.\n\nVerena handed her a serrated knife made, like Tonio's, of Erinthian glass. \"Keep 'em from fouling the rigs.\"\n\n\"Kir, we're down to five and a half,\" Krezzo shouted.\n\nKrezzo's the cannoneer. He should be firing at that thing. But someone's gotta watch our speed, too—doesn't anyone else know how to read the speed horn?\n\nSophie kept her eye on the sewing monster, up above. It flung another needle, then another. She pressed herself against the deck as one bounced past, then sliced the sinew of another that had punched its way into another coil of rope.\n\nA cry.\n\nTonio.\n\nShe looked up. He was halfway to the top of the mainmast, ill balanced and caught on a sinew.\n\nSticking the cold, heavy weight of the glass knife in her mouth—very piratical of me, she thought absently, Sophie began to climb.\n\n\"Hard to port,\" Parrish warned, and as the ship tilted she was suddenly skimming over the water. Tonio was no longer above her so much as he was out in front, higher on the sail as the masts dipped toward the sea.\n\nThe ship came out of the turn; the mast rose skyward again.\n\nHang on, she thought. She couldn't say it with the knife in her mouth.\n\nGood advice for them both. The ropes were wet, rough to the touch, and her hands were cold. She could make out that shape in the sky, bound to them, hitching a ride even as it crippled the ship. And was that another ship, sailing to their rear?\n\nTonio had gotten stitched, just near his collar, to one of the mast's rings. On its return trip, the needle had pierced the web of flesh between his finger and thumb. He'd caught it with his fingertips and was holding it off with the punctured, blood-slicked hand—the grip was precarious—while clinging to the rigging with one arm, hugging the rope as the sewing monster yanked, yanked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The vibrations, as she pulled, could be felt through the whole of the mast.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sophie mirrored Tonio's position, climbing as close as she could, winding her own arms into the rigging so that she was holding on to the ropes with her elbows and thereby freeing her hands so she could get the knife out of her mouth.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It feels alive,\" Tonio said, disgusted. The needle was flexing in his uncertain, blood-soaked grip. Its point was all but scratching at his throat.\n\n\"Sophie,\" he said. \"That burden I mentioned.\"\n\n\"Don't,\" she said. \"I've got this.\" The trouble was that if he let go of the needle so she could cut the sinew, the point would pierce his throat.\n\n\"Garland's middle name was hidden before he was born—hidden from everyone, on Issle Morta. It's why he can't be enchanted. A number of years ago, I found out—\"\n\n\"Don't go all drama queen on me, you're gonna be fine.\"\n\nThe needle jerked hard, fighting the awkward grip of Tonio's fingers and scoring a shallow cut into his neck.\n\nCommit, commit. Sophie pushed her own hand between the point of the needle and his neck, scraping her palm and protecting his jugular, then folded her fingers over his, pressing the needle back against the mast. She slid the obsidian knife point into the needle's eye, pinning it to the mast. She'd hoped that would cut the sinew, but no. The needle wiggled, fighting imprisonment—now it was Sophie who couldn't move.\n\n\"You should be able to let go now,\" she said.\n\nTonio sighed, flexed his hand, then drew it backward, letting the gory thread pull through the puncture in his hand but taking time to shake out the cramp. Moving carefully, he found his stiletto, sawed off the thread, then cut it free of the mast ring.\n\nThe needle went limp, as if it had died.\n\nThere was an enraged shriek from above... and behind. The sewing monster was falling behind them.\n\n\"Someone must have cut her other strings.\" Sophie shifted, taking a better grip on the wet ropes. She could feel the ship accelerating.\n\nTonio surprised her by pulling her close.\n\n\"Kerlin,\" he breathed into her ear, before she could object. \"If it's ever life or death—no other reason. Garland Kerlin Parrish. Don't tell anyone you know. Don't tell him. Now let's get down, before we both get sewn to the mast.\"\n\n\"Hard to starboard now, now!\"\n\nThey stayed where they were through the turn, waiting out the tilt of the mast. The sewing monster tossed away its lamb in a gesture reminiscent of a tantruming child and finally began flinging threadless pins, little missiles that rattled across the deck randomly. One punched through the mainsail, leaving a pinhole a foot from Sophie's head. Another, she thought, struck Sweet—at least, she heard a curse from that direction.\n\nThere was a loud cracking sound, as of rock on rock. The ship turned sharply. Below them, on the deck, Watts and Beal slid in a slick of blood and water. Sophie and Tonio hung together up top, clinging.\n\nShe turned to look down at the wheel. Parrish was safe. Verena stood on his port side, brandishing the practice dummy. Bram was starboard, with a cooking pot. Parrish's bicorne hat had been stitched to the jib.\n\n\"Climb down now!\" Tonio hissed. \"Slow and careful.\"\n\nShe obeyed, matching his pace in case his injured hand cramped or his grip slipped.\n\n\"What's our speed?\" Parrish said. \"Our speed, Krezzo!\"\n\n\"Kir, I don't—I'm not sure. Five, last count. We lost the horn to that thing up there.\"\n\nParrish straightened, narrowed his eyes, and ran a hand through his curls, spraying water everywhere. He took a deep breath and raised his nose into the wind, as if he could smell the rate at which they were barreling through the dark and rain.\n\nHe looked at the stopwatch.\n\n\"More sail,\" he said. \"More sail now.\"\n\n\"Oh, crap,\" Sophie said. \"He's guessing.\"\n\nTonio gave her a pat, attempting to be reassuring.\n\n\"Rise, rise, rise!\" Krezzo bellowed. At home they'd say \"heave.\" The mainsail was jerking upward, past them, fast and messy. Broken remnants of sinewy stitching were pulling through the fabric here and there. The fabric caught the wind and the ship shuddered.\n\nNow Sophie was down, her feet on the deck, holding a hand up to steady Tonio.\n\n\"Keep your eyes open,\" Parrish said, with all the confidence of a man who was certain of success. \"They'll have ships coming round to intercept as we break the Baste.\"\n\n\"Yes, Cap'n.\"\n\n\"Sweet, you still with us?\"\n\n\"Yes, Kir.\" Her voice was a little strained.\n\n\"Come on down,\" Parrish said.\n\n\"I may need an assist.\"\n\n\"Hold, then. Hard to port, one last time.\" Parrish said it as calmly as if he were speaking to himself, but his voice carried—everyone braced.\n\nHe turned the wheel and just then Sophie saw the islet they'd been aimed at, a long knife of rock rising from the sea like a mammoth shark's fin. Had they turned soon enough?\n\nShe heard a hiss and felt a shudder run through the deck. The ship had kissed bottom.\n\nNightjar slowed a little, dragging.\n\nAs they passed the tip of the islet, a lighthouse on its peak flared to life, illuminating them from bow to stern in something akin to daylight. Sophie was momentarily blinded.\n\nThey raced out of the beam, which held them as long as it could, and out to open water.\n\n\"Two,\" Sweet called. \"Frigates, very fast, lots of cannon, I'm guessing.\"\n\n\"Can we outrun them?\" Tonio asked.\n\n\"We've got a decent lead.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Should we make for a Sylvanner port?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 8 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Bram set his stewpot on the deck. The slaloming between rocks had left him a little green, but he gave Sophie a game thumbs-up.\n\nParrish shook his head. \"There could be Havers between us and the Winter capital, Hoarfrost—they might even persuade the Sylvanners to hand us over.\"\n\n\"Why flee west?\"\n\n\"The Fleet is on its eastward procession right now,\" Parrish said. \"We'll meet them.\"\n\nVerena searched his face. \"Are you sure?\"\n\n\"Positive,\" Parrish said. \"There's nothing we can do now but treat the wounded, repair the sails, and prepare your case for presentation.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Let's work on this story segment. I'll provide a part, and you'll continue with 32 sentences in the style of A. M. Dellamonica. This is fantasy, pirates, romance genre and characters might appear without introduction.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With the Havers retreating, Nightjar fell into position next to Sawtooth, the two ships setting a course for the Fleet even as Parrish issued an immediate invitation to Annela and Cly to come aboard.\n\nAnnela arrived clad in long white robes. \"The whole Convene's officially on sick leave,\" she said. \"All of governance is on hold because of this tempest.\"\n\nShe was too much the politician to say, I hope you're happy, but the implication was there. You caused this, Sophie, she seemed to be saying.\n\n\"Time to fix it,\" Sophie said.\n\nCly, too, was dressed in civvies—Shakespeare outfit, black Sylvanner sash, and no sword. Instead of his dashing cloak, he seemed to wear an air of weariness. Despite her fears and doubts, Sophie felt a stab of sympathy. There was something about him that made you want to...\n\nWhat? Compromise? Forgive? Make him soup?\n\nAnnela drew herself up. \"How do you propose to fix anything?\"\n\n\"Pure unadulterated bribery. I offer Cly something tasty in exchange for Beatrice being forgiven. Just as you offered him a cruise with me.\"\n\n\"Bribing an adjudicator, mmm? How do you think that will go?\" asked Cly.\n\n\"Depends what we've got, right?\"\n\nHe inclined his head, indicating willingness to listen.\n\n\"Should we set up the conference room again?\"\n\n\"I can forgo pomp if His Honor can,\" Annela said.\n\nCly made a gesture that essentially said, Lead the way.\n\nAnnela may have seemed a little too grand to plunk herself down in the galley, but that was exactly what she did, taking a seat at the table where they'd laid out all their exhibits.\n\nVerena started with the forensic institute charter, giving due credit to Cly for the idea and laying out their starting principles—use of the scientific method, reproducible results, no magic. She explained expert witnesses and chain of evidence.\n\n\"You're proposing to set up in competition with the court aetherists, then?\" Annela said.\n\nCly tsked at her. \"Tell me there's no use for this, Convenor.\"\n\n\"We can show the use if you'll let us,\" Sophie said. She left the charter on the table, for Annela to approve or not, and gestured for Bram to move on to the meat of their proposal.\n\n\"If Cly lets Beatrice off the hook—\" he began.\n\n\"—and frees the goat-people in the lowland swamps,\" Sophie interrupted, earning a glare from her father.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Right, that's first,\" Bram said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Sorry. Then we'll submit the case evidence to the courts on Sylvanna's behalf, proving Haversham's responsibility for the throttlevine infestation.\"\n\nCly was all business. \"The evidence would have to be persuasive.\"\n\n\"It will be,\" Verena said.\n\nHe ignored both Verena and Bram, leaning in and looking straight at Sophie. \"And if I refuse your proposal, child? The throttlevine and the goat-people, as you call them, are to continue in their present balance?\"\n\n\"I—\" Sophie balked. What was she going to do, leave them in their current situation?\n\nCly gave her that sharkish grin.\n\n\"Everything's a duel with you, isn't it?\"\n\nVerena laid a hand on hers. \"Your Honor. We're going to tell you right now how the throttlevine is being seeded. You won't need the goat transforms once the vines are eradicated.\"\n\n\"Fair point.\"\n\n\"However, if you want us to present the evidence that will win your case in court—\"\n\nSophie finished for her, in a rush, \"Then you let them go, and you let Beatrice go!\"\n\n\"Better,\" Cly purred.\n\n\"The Fleet is on the verge of a major break, Your Honor,\" Annela reminded him. \"Largely because of your domestic problems.\"\n\n\"Your deceiving Sophie by sending her asea with no knowledge of Sylvanna didn't help,\" he said.\n\n\"Which would be why I came aboard Sawtooth to help with negotiations,\" Annela replied.\n\nAh, so that's what she's doing there! Trying to extinguish the fire her own orders ignited, Sophie thought.\n\nAnnela said, \"Even so. This is hardly the time to try to teach your daughter the finer points of haggling.\"\n\n\"Hey! What if instead of doing the rhetorical tap dance about whether or not this is a teachable moment, we stay on point. In fact, let's all agree that everyone here's been an utter jerk at one point or another,\" Sophie said.\n\n\"I haven't,\" Bram said. \"I've been angelic.\"\n\n\"Garland's behaved pretty well,\" Verena put in.\n\nDon't get me laughing. She glowered at them both.\n\nCly showed his teeth in something that might have been a smile. \"Show me what you have. And it better not be petrodemonic mummer images.\"\n\nIs that what we're calling photographs now? She fought the urge set off another round of snarky banter. Bram held up the second notebook Sophie had bought in the floating mall, all those weeks ago.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He had made it official-looking, sketching on a Forensic Institute of Stormwrack logo and adding the official throttlevine case number.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We call this a dramatic reconstruction,\" Bram said, demonstrating.\n\nSophie held her breath. Her big idea for a presentation had amounted to nothing more than having Bram draw a flipbook, stop-motion animation, drawings that moved as you flipped the pages.\n\nWithin the notebook was an animation of the turtle automaton. It began with a quick demonstration of its assembly and launch.\n\nBram's line drawings showed the automaton swimming within the dule of turtles, reaching the beach, and releasing the throttlevine pods. Birds carried the fruit-wrapped seeds into the swamp to take root as the pieces of the automaton were, finally, destroyed by the plant itself.\n\nThe flipbook was a kid's trick: Sophie had one, back home, that her grandparents had played with as kids. But Cly watched it twice, three times, taking in the animation intently before handing it to Annela.\n\n\"A powerful image—\"\n\n\"They're not petrodragon-whatever tainted mummer images,\" she said. \"You show this to a judge or jury—do you even have juries? Anyway, it instantly communicates how the Havers have been pulling this off. When the Havers see this, they'll know the game's up.\"\n\n\"Fine in theory, but what if they don't immediately settle the case?\" Cly asked.\n\nAnnela was watching the animation. \"You know they probably will.\"\n\nCly flicked the \"probably\" away. \"Sophie, you would need to offer me more than just this... assertion. If it came to trial.\"\n\n\"We have copies of the plans of the turtle. The originals belonged to Weyvan Highfelling, and they're in the keeping of the monks on Issle Morta. Who are unimpeachable, right?\"\n\nA slow nod. \"Yes.\"\n\n\"We and they have pieces of Highfelling's mechanism, and we have a whole automaton, plucked out of the Butcher's Baste. If you have Rees Erminne search Turtle Beach quickly, he might find others. It's only been forty-eight hours.\"\n\nCly leaned back in his chair, examining first the documents and then, when Bram produced it, the automaton itself.\n\n\"Well?\" It was Verena, for once, who couldn't wait out the silence.\n\n\"I'll set up a ritual duel with Beatrice immediately. Kir Gracechild?\" He set a hand, very deliberately, on the forensic institute charter and slid it across the table toward her. \"I believe you'll have to sell your friend Kir Salk at the Watch on this.\"\n\nAnnela shifted in her chair, eyeing the document, then lifted it as though it were a dirty rag.\n\n\"Well?\" Verena demanded. \"Do we want Mom freed or not?\"\n\n\"If I agree to certify this, Sophie, you will incur obligations to the Fleet and the Judiciary. Are you prepared to fulfill them?\"\n\n\"Staying's what I've wanted all along.\"\n\n\"The question now may be whether you'll be allowed to go home.\"\n\n\"Wait—\" Bram said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sophie raised a hand and he fell silent.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "(authors note, Your next response only must contain 66% dialogue)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She opened her mouth to reply to Annela, found her throat and mouth were parched, and made herself take a swallow of water. \"We'll work something out. You'll see you can trust me.\"\n\n\"Understand me, girl. Until I do, you'll stay here and work at this forensic. Sail out of formation and you'll find yourself on the wrong end of the Judiciary,\" Annela said. \"Please don't assume that because of your father's position that would be an... what's your term? Easy fix?\"\n\n\"I hardly think you need worry that Sophie expects anything benevolent or easy from me,\" Cly said, standing abruptly. \"Tell my wife I'll see her on the dueling deck.\"\n\nWith that parting shot delivered, he bowed and was gone.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Hey can you write in the fantasy, pirates, romance genre and use whatever I write as a jumping off point? Follow my lead on how characters are introduced.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It turned out that the Judiciary had one ship full of courtrooms and documents and clerks—real court, as Sophie thought of it—and another just for settling cases via combat.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The dueling deck was aboard Martial, the member ship from Haversham.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was a wide-draft ship, almost as big as a container ship from home, propelled not by sail power but by a combination of magic and steam.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It had big screws and a tiny boiler, no bigger than Sophie's hands, that burned minuscule amounts of coal dust.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "This was sifted by a strange old \"loader,\" a woman in her eighties who kept the boiler in her lap, cradling it almost like a child.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The wide deck of the ship was laid out in fighting rings—boxing rings, fencing rings, wrestling rings—all with seating for court reporters, witnesses, and referees.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "About two days after they'd struck their agreement with Annela and Cly, Beatrice was brought aboard and given a sword.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She exchanged one token clash of blades with Cly and then surrendered.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "After sailing around for a month and a half, trying to help her birth mother with her legal woes, this was the first time Sophie had actually laid eyes on Beatrice.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was clad in Verdanii robes and her hair had grown.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her skin was tanned.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Here,\" she said, after her surrender.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She handed Cly and Sophie each a big Verdanii coin stamped with the image of Breadbasket.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Damages paid for harm done.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We're finished, then,\" Cly said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He appeared to be planning to go back to work as soon as it was over; a minion was hovering, holding out his duelist-advocate's cape and the big ceremonial sword.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We're not divorced,\" Beatrice said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"How could I forget? I've run our case past Sophie's fellow, Bimisi. My heart stopped in a fight, for a few minutes, nine years ago. He seems to think we might invoke the 'till death' clause of our vows.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You died? That sounds promising.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I need to ensure that acknowledging it doesn't damage my legal status elsewhere. I wouldn't want to lose Low Bann. It may be that I have no heir.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Beatrice nodded. \"I don't expect it matters all that much.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Perhaps you prefer bigamy, my haughty angel, but I need to get on with my life. Sophie, may I write you?\"\n\nSophie swallowed. \"Of course.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "writing exercise: 7 sentences sentences, keep character vibes, urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre!", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Wasn't but ten minutes later that me and Snappy Gator enjoyed some iced coffee at the café next door to the grocery store.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He'd replaced everything and threw in a few extra bags of groceries besides.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(quick note: For the upcoming response only: include a touch of quoted content)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So, let me get this right,\" I inquired, leaning in. \"You're actually one of the first. You're pre-Code.\"\n\nSnappy quickly nodded in affirmation, his grayscale body showing slight flicker effects, like those of an old-school movie projector.\n\nWhen toons first arrived just a hair over a hundred years ago, it was shortly after their advent on the big screen, back when an animated person was literally just a pile of papers flashed through quickly and put up for entertainment. No one knows the full details of what happened; all we know is some obscure, failed assistant of George Eastman, with a little tech copying from Nikola Tesla, somehow breached reality using technology that couldn't even start up a modern-day watch.\n\nThe first toons came, and with them, small rifts appeared around the planet. Generally, when a toon pops into existence nowadays, it's more of a rarity than anything, but the first toons like Snappy…well, the rules were different for them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Original toons, the truly old-school, did horrifying things on the screen. They weren't candy-coated and wrapped in sugary sweetness; no, they could be downright brutal. Scary, even.\n\nThat's when humanity actually started pushing back a bit. Problem was, the toons didn't realize what they were doing was considered dangerous. They were just living up to their nature. They saw no difference between dropping a bed of nails on someone and offering him a ride to the supermarket. That's when the old-school toons like Snappy built The Code.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Humanity went along with it, as animation was still in its infancy, and goodness knows enough people had their underwear in a bunch over what was on screens anyway.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As humanity put limitations on what they made, so did the toons who came afterward. Well, they were held to the same accountability standards; it was inherent in their nature. One reason people get nervous about cartoons that push boundaries nowadays is: if the toon can do that on TV, who's to say they won't be able to do it while walking around in public?\n\nSnappy had been around a long time. He probably could have crossed paths with my great-grandparents and here he was, happily sipping some iced coffee with me, a poor schmuck who didn't realize a toon could shrug off getting hit by a bus.\n\nThe gator took a good long gulp of his coffee, actual human fare instead of just something summoned from his hammerspace, as they like to call it. \"Yeah, I'm pre-Code and I wear it like a badge of honor,\" he said, dusting off his monochromatic lapels.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Find a natural way to mention that You won't see me walking around all green and shiny. Naw, son, I'm an old-school fella. I like the classics, not to mention it's been my brand for the better part of a century. So, we were talking about employment.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You won't see me walking around all green and shiny. Naw, son, I'm an old-school fella. I like the classics, not to mention it's been my brand for the better part of a century. So, we were talking about employment.\"\n\nI perked up again.\n\n\"Yeah, I guess. I just do odd jobs for people, you know? General maintenance, for example; I'm pretty handy with repairing stuff. I will admit I don't have necessarily the cleanest apartment, but I can maintain a house if need be. Were you looking for just a personal assistant? Someone to mow the lawn, like a landscaper, or—\"\n\nSnappy waved a hand.\n\n\"You said odd jobs, and I need someone to do odd jobs. How about this? Tomorrow, we start you off. I've got an estate up near Mountain View. Heck, I built it around the little fissure that I came out of.\"\n\nI leaned in, never having had actually talked to a pre-Code toon in my life. \"So, all you guys come from those little rifts?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He nodded. \"Yup!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But what's it like on the other side?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Like, you came here from over there. So, what's over there?\"\n\n\"Oh, there's nothing over there. Absolutely nothing.\"\n\n\"But you came from there! You-you were able to walk and talk; once you came over to—\"\n\n\"Yeah! Once we came across the border, we were all as you see us now. A few of us have edited our appearances over the years to keep up a good image or maintain contracts.\"\n\n\"But, you can't just say that—you know, you don't—there's nothing on the other side?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Snappy shook his head.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Nope, there's nothing over there. I mean I could just ask you, you know, 'Hey, you were born. Well, before you were born, where did you come from?'\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "IMPORTANT: 'there' should appear 4 times in total", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That's not the same. I mean, I wasn't born fully formed and—\"\n\n\"But, you know, there comes a moment when you come into this world and before that, you can't remember. Now, some folks will say 'Oh, you were waiting to be born in some heavenly range' or you could just say 'Hey, there just wasn't anything before that.' I'd be doing you a disservice if I treated the question any differently.\"\n\nI nodded and had to give it to Snappy; he was one of the most down-to-earth toons I'd ever met. He still had that wacky, mad glee in his pie-with-a-piece-missing-looking eyes, but he could hold a conversation. He was probably well-practiced, having had to learn how to adapt to humanity when he was thrust into it.\n\n\"Okay, is there anything I need to know? Like what sort of clothes should I wear?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"just wear whatever is most comfortable for you. I'll probably have you work outdoors, but there will be some aspects of a uniform. I do like to keep a tidy estate.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I nodded, expecting something like a pin, a button, perhaps a lanyard with an ID on it", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And, not to be rude, but since we are talking jobs, how much are you offering to pay?\"\n\n\"Depends on how much work you put in and all, but you can pretty much name your price. I mean, I'm not really too keen on…how do I put this? The idea of a 9-to-5 for the same paycheck over and over seems a little,\" he shuddered, \"static. I mean, if you need something, all you have to do is ask. Pretty much anything around my house that I need, I can craft myself. It's not like I've ever needed to buy a meal. Although I do like the coffee here,\" he said, taking another glug. The caffeine hit him shortly afterward, and his fedora did a couple of spins. \"So, tell me about yourself.\"\n\nI shrugged. I didn't know what there was to say. \"My name's Tyler Fairfax. I have a boyfriend named Kyle.\" I paused. He was born of a different time, and I had to see exactly how he would react to something that had not been generally accepted until relatively recently.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Snappy just smiled and leaned in, curious.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Oh? And how'd you two meet?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I chuckled. \"That's a bit of an odd story. See, I was kinda living on the street and I've got a neighbor, Barry Badger, who got me an apartment in the toon district of town. Shortly after that, I met Kyle while I was doing some work around town. We hit it off and we've been together ever since.\"\n\nSnappy nodded. \"And your family?\"\n\nI winced. \"I really haven't spoken to them since I left home years ago. They weren't very accepting of me.\"\n\nHe frowned at that. \"Parents should never throw a child away. They're one of the most valuable treasures you could possibly imagine. So many toon families owe their lives and livelihoods to you boys and girls for all the shows you would consume.\"\n\nI had to laugh at that. Saturday morning to toons was an almost holy affair.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And nowadays, with cartoons running 24/7 on several channels…well, the nearly on-demand availability of what had been a special time made it kind of lose its splendor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Snappy patted me on the shoulder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Why don't I give you a bit of a signing bonus?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He reached into his hat and produced an actual human wallet. \"I keep this on me for special occasions,\" he said, fishing around and pulling out a rather substantial stack of $20 bills. Actual bills.\n\nHe handed it to me to count, and when I did, I was in shock. \"Snappy, there's like $500 here. Are you sure?\"\n\nHe shrugged and waved me off again. \"The only things I need to worry about moneywise are making sure my estate still has power and water and just enough food to feed any human guests or employee that I may have. I'm pretty much living on the interest in my bank accounts from when I was in shows back in the early days. I'm no Rockefeller, for certain, but I do know a thing or two about wealth. The fact of the matter is I don't really need this much money, so I don't mind giving it out to people.\"\n\nI blinked and pocketed it without question.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Thanks! I—wow, this is definitely making today turn up for the better.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Snappy smiled and finished his coffee.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, I need to be going. Would you like me to give you a ride home or anywhere else you need to go?\"\n\nI stopped for a moment, looked at the bags of groceries, and gave a quick thought to the other day. \"Yeah, actually. Can we stop off at Burger Circus? I've got a pay a man a tip.\"\n\n\"Really? What's going on over at Burger Circus?\"\n\nI regaled him of the story of having met Screwloose Squirrel and his kindness and giving me his meal for the day.\n\nSnappy grinned ear to eat. \"I remember Screwloose! Believe he came through one of the fissures, 7 to 10 years ago. The one on my estate, if I remember it. Actually, I'm the one who helped him set up his copyright page.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I stopped for a moment and then leaned in.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So, the copyright stuff. I know that City Hall handles some of it.\"\n\nSnappy wiggled a hand. \"You see, it's kinda hard to verify the information with toons unless you are a toon and so, yeah, just keep this between us. If there's a new toon that's coming into town, so to speak, they'll rely on the community or esteemed members thereof,\" he said, fanning himself dramatically, \"to handle getting the paperwork in order. For the Bay Area, that's me. There's been quite a few more popping out of the rift on my estate of late, but you'll find out more about that tomorrow.\"\n\nI nodded, picked up my groceries, and walked them over to his car, a classic Studebaker.\n\n\"I have to ask, why were you crossing the road? I mean, you were just doing your shopping over here, and—\"\n\nSnappy smiled, pointing to an empty spot across the road. \"Oh, I guess you didn't see it. There was an ice cream truck over there. I'm a sucker for those things.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I laughed. \"You know, you could have just gone into the supermarket and got some ice cream.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(authors note, <<USAGE LIMIT>>: 'nodded' must be used 2 times)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He nodded. \"I know, but there's still something special about just taking a couple of bucks and buying an ice cream at an ice cream truck. It doesn't happen much anymore. Just trying to reclaim a nice thing from the old days.\"\n\nI nodded and loaded my many groceries into his car. Soon, we took off. For an old toon, he was actually a fairly careful driver.\n\nI've been in rideshares with toons who did it for a little entertainment on the side and having some human money didn't hurt things. Snappy was calm, sedate, the drive as smooth as the jazz he listened to for about 10 minutes before we pulled into Burger Circus.\n\nI hopped out and held up a finger.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'll be right back. Give me just a moment.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "OOC, Only your next message should be 44% dialogue", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He nodded and put the car in park.\n\nOnce inside, I went to the counter where I'd placed my order the day before. A human stood there: blonde hair, green eyes, kinda short, plump, a hint of acne, probably no older than 20, I guess.\n\n\"Welcome to Burger Circus. Can I take your order?\"\n\n\"Actually, is Lou working here right now?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Did something happen?\"\n\n\"No, actually, he was quite helpful the other day. Why do you ask?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, it's just—I hate to say this, but it—you know how toons can get. They're always trying to—\"\n\nI stopped him. \"I'm employed by a toon, I have never had a problem with a toon, and frankly, this kind of language is worrying me a little bit about coming back.\"\n\nThe kid behind the counter straightened up and shook his head. \"No, no, no, you don't understand. Lou's a good friend of mine. It's just—he can get wacky sometimes, if you get what I mean.\"\n\nI grumbled and fished out a 20. \"I owe him for a chicken sandwich that he gave me when I was hungry, as well as a tip. Is there a manager I can give this to, to ensure it gets to him?\"\n\nThe kid lowered his gaze and nodded, shuffling to the back.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Soon, another human came up. She was tall, had dark skin and a silver nose ring.\n\n\"Yes, sir, can I help you?\"\n\n\"I just wanted to say how happy I was with the service that I got the other day from Lou. He was absolutely fantastic, and I forgot to tip him. I wanted to give him a little bonus for the delay. Can I leave this with you?\"\n\nShe nodded and I gave her the twenty. She blinked at it and looked back at me. \"Sir, are you sure you're in the right place? This is Burger Circus and you're offering a $20 tip.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I nodded. \"I was having a really bad day and he cheered me up. However,\" I said, leaning in, \"you might want to talk to your normal staffer who's working up here right now. He almost said some rather anti-toon stuff a moment ago. I don't think he meant any harm by it, but what kind of ally would I be if I didn't call this shit out?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She shook her head. \"Yeah, he comes from a fairly anti-toon household. He does his best, but he needs to catch up faster than what he's doing. He and Lou are good friends, though. Lou's a good guy, probably my best worker.\"\n\n\"Okay, well, thanks a bunch. I've got to head home. I've got a job starting tomorrow and tell Lou that things panned out for the very special episode.\"\n\nThe manager nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. \"I'll make sure to tell him.\"\n\nI headed out and hopped back in the car. \"All right, boss, let's get back to my place and I will see you in the morning.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He grinned, put the car in reverse, and backed out onto the road again. Another 10 minutes, and I was outside my apartment with a pocketful of cash, a trunk full of groceries and, so I learned upon opening the door to my place, a boyfriend full of printed papers with various job ads on them.\n\nI groaned and facepalmed, then muttered, \"I forgot to tell Kyle.\"\n\nHe piped up as he saw me come in carrying groceries. \"Wow, they must've had a sale! So, I found some jobs for you and—\"\n\nSnappy cut him off. \"Hey there, I found him a job first though!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kyle looked between me and then the alligator. \"What's this now?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I grinned, putting my hands on my hips. \"This is my boss, Snappy. Snappy, Kyle. Kyle, Snappy. I am now employed!\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "keep the story goin for 91 sentences more. urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre, A.J. Mayall style. characters might be from earlier chapters", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It'd been a week; one unbelievably crazy week. I don't say that lightly. The sheer insanity of this job was only made worthwhile when I got the check. Now, living in the Bay Area of California, with its abnormally high rent and a decent-paying job, or even a good-paying job, mostly just kept out of the gutters. If you worked for one of the big tech firms, you could probably live fairly comfortably, even if every landlord in the tri-county area priced out most of the population.\n\nLiving in Animætropolis, I didn't have to worry about that so much. However, the amount I made in one week for Snappy Gator—let's just say probably constituted almost a month's salary at any other standard job that I'd had. So, pies in the face? I'm willing to take it.\n\nHowever, as the week had gone by, things were getting a little more…bizarre.\n\nNow, mind you, heading into work one week later, I made sure my shirt looked nice, my jeans were well-maintained, and I held my head high, wearing my cartoon bowtie and saddle shoes. Upon entering the house, I called out for Snappy and got no answer.\n\nI got mostly used to the weird routes I'd need to take to actually get around the house properly, since I couldn't use Snappy's portable holes, moving walls, or flipping up an entire segment of wallpaper like it was a curtain to reveal impossible staircases.\n\nIt took me about three times as long as Snappy would like for me to get from room to room, but he also understood that I was limited by physical space and traditional reality.\n\nThe house was mostly empty. I saw a couple of the gardeners milling about in the back who wanted to come in for a glass of tea. Snappy, apparently, was a fan of iced tea and always kept more than enough pitchers on hand for anyone who might drop by.\n\nI nodded to the gardener, pouring myself a glass as well before I walked the halls. Eventually, I ended up in the living room, where I saw what appeared to be one of Snappy's earliest productions.\n\nThe title card had just faded from view, but it seemed to be a cute, if short, cartoon involving him on a train, trying to impress some lady.\n\nIt was like that famous cartoon with the Big Bad Wolf at the strip club, but a lot less, well, sexy. Snappy was portrayed more like a hopeless romantic than a horndog.\n\nI sat back as I watched his repeated attempts to woo the maiden fair, posing as an engineer, a waiter, and finally appearing in a tuxedo, carrying a bouquet of roses. He made what I can only assume was a Rockefeller reference to her when she clobbered him over the head with a frying pan.\n\nI couldn't help but laugh.\n\n\"So, you liked that, did you?\" asked Snappy.\n\nI looked around, trying to catch him. \"Yeah. Where are ya at?\"\n\n\"In here!\"\n\nThat's when I realized the broadcast was talking to me. I leaned in closer to the television and Snappy jumped out of it, straightening his lapels and doing a quick spin, turning into a tornado for all of a second before stepping back in his zoot suit.\n\nThe Happy Harmonies theme song played on the TV and it turned itself off.\n\nI had forgotten that as it was something I hadn't seen in a while. Toons have the ability, if you can believe it, to just hop into screens. They came from the television and the movies, and they can go back to them completely freely.\n\nNot that it was considered rude to do so in front of people, it's just, well, toons in society tried their best to acclimate. Snappy had been around long enough that he acclimated enough and, you know, what he did in the privacy of his own home is nobody else's damn business. I respect him for that.\n\nTo his question, though, as to whether or not I liked it, I nodded fast. \"Yeah, I mean, you can't beat the classics, but was that new material you were trying out?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Apparently, the whole 'retro' thing is in, so I'm setting up some old programs and trying to see if I can recapture that old glory.\"\n\nI smiled and toasted to him with the glass of iced tea. \"All the best of luck to you, man.\"\n\n\"So, your paycheck; any problems with that?\"\n\n\"Nope! Cashed it last night, and thank you! That was a lot more than I was expecting!\"\n\n\"Think nothing of it. You'll probably be due for a raise within a few months if you keep up at the rate you're going.\"\n\nI had to chortle at that. \"I don't really know what it is you want me to do. I mean, day one, you threw pies at me for almost 8 hours straight. Yesterday we were tuning pianos, only to have you start throwing them out the window. Does that have anything to do—\" I said, gesturing to the TV, \"—with your little project?\"\n\nSnappy nodded. \"Hey, if I've got to compete with all of these modern guys, I need to be at the top of my game with the good classic gags. A pie in the face is kinda cliché, but if you do it just right, it's fantastic. That's to say nothing about dropping a piano or an anvil on someone.\"\n\n\"Okay, well, what's today's agenda?\"\n\n\"I could start doing a couple of routines on you, if you want. If you wanted to help out the gardeners, you could. I don't know; what do you think?\"\n\nAt that, I just stammered. Again, this was just average stuff for a toon. He was used to just going with the flow, and now, here he was with an employee who was just eager to get work done, even if the reason was that he paid a shit-ton of money.\n\n\"How about a little R&D?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"You want to know what you have to compete against; why don't we just watch some TV, see what's going on.\"\n\n\"Oh, you mean like—\"\n\nI said, \"Yeah, let's watch the competition and see what the kids are all raving about these days.\n\n\"We have to be careful, you know, ever since all of that anime stuff came out,\" he said, hissing under his breath.\n\n\"Snappy!\" I said. \"I know you came out near the turn of the century, and your formative years with humanity were during World War II, but you're not going to get all—\"\n\n\"This has nothing to do with the USA versus Japan. I don't know, the rifts over there…the toons that popped out have a completely different ruleset. Doesn't make any sense to me, but they can actively hurt each other. Not just in a funny way, like, they can kill.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm sure that things come back, just like here.\"\n\n\"No! You don't understand! An anime toon comes after you, you might be blown up, and not the fun TNT kind, where you just become a pile of ash with a pair of blinking eyes. They don't mess around over there!\"\n\nI said, \"I never really looked into it. I had no reason to; most of the toons in the United States were more of your 'funny animal' types and a few humanoids here and there. Once the 80s hit, there was a whole influx of cookie-cutter, merchandisable cartoons.\"\n\nSnappy shook his head at that.\n\nI continued, \"I don't know what came first, the toon or the toy, in those cases. Seriously though, just between us…the rifts you mentioned, where toons come from. You said you've got one of those near your estate?\"\n\nSnappy nodded. \"Oh, yeah, it's in the guest house where Miss Blake lives. It appears in her basement.\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"It hasn't done anything lately. If anything, it kind of lights up a room at night, but you can just put something in front of it to block it out.\"\n\nI shrugged and nodded at that and flipped through the channels. I landed on one meant for little kids and tweens but appeared to be interrupted by a special news bulletin.\n\n\"In today's gaming news, famed eSports player Brandon Butler has gone missing. He was due to appear in a tournament with his team, Los Lobos Locos. Brandon Butler, known in the gaming community as DonkeyDog, vanished from his hotel room in Oakland sometime last night. A source reports that his quarters had been ransacked and blood was found on the floor, but we have no confirmation of either statement yet.\n\n\"What we do know is that he was the linchpin for his group against their slated rivals, the Timber Titans. We will have more details for you as they unfold.\"\n\nThere was a close-up of Brandon Butler's face; he was an Asian kid, probably no older than 24, skinny as a rail, with spiky hair.\n\nI looked at Snappy, he looked at me, then he grabbed the remote and switched the channel. \"I wish I could get a gig doing that.\"\n\n\"Doing what? Games? There are all sorts of streaming services these days and people watch a lot of stuff. I'm sure they wouldn't have a problem watching a toon playing a game.\"\n\n\"I don't mean playing the game, I mean being in the game. It's big business. I should've gotten in on that back in the early 80s. You know, I could have been the Pong ball.\"\n\n\"Snappy,\" I said, \"the Pong ball was just a white square.\"\n\n\"Well, it wouldn't have taken me long to figure out the role. I'm sure I could've done well.\"\n\n\"Snappy,\" I said, patting him on the shoulder, \"I don't think it quite works like that.\"\n\n\"No, you're probably right. Anyway, I don't know what would happen if I had my own game. I really hope it wouldn't be too violent, and most people don't remember me for my old shows much anymore. I'm mostly known as the guy who helps toons get their licenses when they pop into being.\"\n\n\"Hey, I just know you as my boss and the one toon who managed not to get hit by a bus.\"\n\nHe laughed at that and nodded. \"Very true. Very, very true.\"\n\nThen he threw another pie in my face.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "I'll start writing, then you take over for 36 sentences, matching any established character familiarity in the urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was pulling out Snappy's estate, taking a left onto the main road when suddenly, I heard a terrible thump off my passenger side. I found a man rolling off the hood of my car and onto the sidewalk. I slammed the brakes and came around. Jeans, boots, black leather jacket, dark hair…his face was obscured.\n\nI ran over to him, careful not to move him. \"Hey, man, are you okay? I didn't see you there! What the heck were you doing? You just jumped out in front of me!\"\n\nAnd that's when I realized there was no good reason for anyone to have been there. The rest of the maintenance crew, anyone else who worked on the estate, had left hours ago, yet this guy was hanging around.\n\nAs he turned over with a groan, I immediately recognized him. \"You're the fuckin' paparazzi guy! The hell are you doing?\" I paused. \"I need to call an ambulance for you.\"\n\nHe slowly got up and shook his head. \"Don't worry about it. I've been hit by worse.\"\n\n\"How do you know that? You could have internal—\"\n\n\"Because I jumped in front of your car, you idiot.\"\n\nThat's when I got mad. \"What the fuck is wrong with you? You did that on purpose?\"\n\n\"We need to talk. Whatever you've been told, there's something going on in there and I need a pair of eyes on the inside.\"\n\n\"I don't know who the fuck you think you are, I am not ruining this gig over—\"\n\nHe reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone. \"All I have to do is call the cops and say you hit and run on me.\"\n\nI was cornered. \"Hey, I don't know what the fuck's going on here, I'm just trying to do my job, okay, man? What sort of story are you doing?\"\n\nHe grinned and leaned back against the wall. \"Simple. People have been disappearing and I've come to believe that it has something to do with what's going on here, on these grounds.\"\n\n\"I get that Snappy's house is a bit of a maze, but disappearing people?\"\n\n\"You can't tell me you haven't seen something; you've been here at least a week.\"\n\n\"Dude, I just do odd jobs, okay? You know how bad life has to be where you willingly stand in a room and let a dude throw pies at you all day? I do not have the time for this bullshit, so, you know what? You wanna call the cops on me? Go right the fuck ahead; I don't have the patience or the energy to give a shit. I have to leave now because I'd like to spend at least one quiet evening with my boyfriend before I come back here tomorrow morning and probably have to help Snappy juggle anvils or some shit, okay?\"\n\nI don't know if he had never had a bluff called on him before, or if my situation actually struck a chord, but he put the phone away. \"Jesus, really? Pies?\"\n\n\"He pays well, though.\"\n\n\"Well enough to cover up some wrongdoing?\"\n\n\"There's no wrongdoing. He lives in this place alone. He makes iced tea for the gardeners, and his agent lives in the house in the back. What more do you need to know? It's like—I don't even know why you're following him. There's no story here, and a paparazzi—\"\n\n\"Paparazzi is plural. I'm not a paparazzo.\"\n\n\"What? But Snappy said—\"\n\n\"Yeah, I'm sure he said a lot of things. I'm sure he assumed a lot of things. I'm a private eye,\" he said, reaching into his pocket and flashing a license that looked official enough to me.\n\n\"For fuck's sake…okay, fine. What's going on?\"\n\n\"I'm here looking for a missing kid. The last known place where he was seen was in town here and it was believed that he'd worked for Snappy for some time. You've got to admit, something's going on here.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I'd had enough. \"If you're here for a missing person, you know, I really can't help you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My mind returned to Brandon Butler. \"Oh! I know what this is about!\"\n\nThe private eye perked up. \"Oh?\"\n\n\"I've been sworn to secrecy on this, but the person you're looking for, like, they just wanted a new life, okay? They're dealing with some stuff right now and they really need some time. Leave them be. Trust me, they'll pop back up in a couple of days. Let this stuff blow over, okay? Go tell your clients or whoever that the person is just looking for a new life, all right?\"\n\nHe grimaced and shrugged his shoulders. \"Okay, fine, you got me, but—\"\n\n\"And on top of that, what about the damage to my car?\" I said, noticing a small but obvious dent in the hood.\n\n\"You got any evidence that was me?\" he asked, giving a wry smile.\n\nI looked at him with a deadpan expression. \"Do you think anyone would notice the difference if I got into my car and ran you down good and proper?\"\n\nHe stopped and looked at me again. \"Are you seriously threatening me?\" he asked, turning his neck and cracking it.\n\n\"I'm not threatening anything. I have had a really weird day, and an even stranger week. I'm just trying to hold onto normalcy, and you tried to blackmail me. Frankly, if you want to call the police about a hit and run, I can give you a fucking hit and run. So, are you going to be paying for the repairs to my car or not?\"\n\n\"Fine,\" he said, gritting his teeth. He reached into his wallet and unloaded a stack of hundred-dollar bills. \"You think $500 will cover that? I mean, it's a simple popping of the dent.\"\n\nI shrugged and held out my hand for the money, pocketing it soon after. \"One second, I gotta take a photo of this and give to my insurance.\"\n\nI reached into my pocket and found it was empty. Fuck.\n\n\"Buddy,\" I said, \"I don't know what you want or what you're planning to do, but leave me out of it. If you have a problem with Snappy, take it up with him; I'm just a glorified pool boy, all right? If you'll excuse me, I have to go back in there and grab my damn phone.\"\n\nI muttered to myself as I got back into the car and pulled back inside the gates. When I checked the front door, I found Snappy must've locked it.\n\nI huffed and peeked in through the window. My phone was sitting on the fast charger. Apparently, in the time spent at Miss Blake's and dealing with the private eye, it had fully charged.\n\nI walked around to the back and tried the patio door. It was locked too.\n\n\"Fuck me, man! I really need to call Kyle and tell him I'm running late.\"\n\nOne of the windows had been left open, but I knew what that would look like. I thought it would be best if I at least let Miss Blake know, if someone noticed something, that it was just me.\n\nI walked toward the house and that's when I heard the screaming, louder now.\n\nThis wasn't someone practicing for a horror movie; this was the sound of someone in a horror movie.\n\nI tried her door, worried that maybe Butler had lost it and might've been a danger to himself or others.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It opened at my touch; apparently, she had forgotten to lock it after I'd stopped by.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One of the back doors was open a crack, and there was a faint light near the bottom. I figured it was the basement, but then that inhuman scream happened again.\n\nI hurried back to the main house and shuffled in through the window into the study. \"Snappy!\" I yelled. \"Snappy, are you there?\" But there was no response, and frankly, if something was going down, I needed to get over there first before I played nice.\n\nI ran to the main study, grabbed my phone off the fast charger, powered it on, and brought up the video. I hurried back, unlocking the patio door and rushed to Pamela's house, slipping back in through the front door.\n\nI sidled my way to the basement entrance and peeked down, recording the entire time. No one was to be seen as I descended into what had to be the largest basement I'd ever been in.\n\nAt the foot of the stairs, I came to a hallway with several rooms on either side. The screams were louder now, and I could hear a strange sound like television static and the echoes of cutting meat.\n\nI got in next to the door and I heard voices calling out, \"Hold him down!\" They were male voices I didn't recognize.\n\nThen I heard Pamela: \"He's as secure as he's going to get. Not to mention, after this process is over…\"\n\nI slipped my phone through a crack in the door and watched on my screen.\n\nBrandon Butler was nude and spread-eagle on an examination table in the far corner of the room. His body faced a sliver of light that pulsed with an odd static crackle. It bathed the room in that same glow that a lone television late at night does: somehow welcoming, but also sinister.\n\nWhat was happening to him, I will never forget.\n\nThey stood over him with a huge device that almost looked like a knitting needle connected to a tube. On the other end of the tube was a large vat filled with ink. They stabbed him in the neck with it and slid it in his carotid artery—or his jugular, I wasn't sure which—and turned the machine on.\n\nNow, I've done my fair share of morbid video searches on the net and I knew what this was: this was embalming.\n\nBrandon seized as the ink got flushed into his bloodstream. The wound on his neck gushed crimson.\n\nPamela looked at one of the men who had held Brandon down. \"Listen, you're paying good money for this, but people are going to ask questions. You can't just have the star player of your rival team go missing.\"\n\nThe man in a black business suit, who appeared to be in his late 20s or early 30s, shrugged. \"I couldn't give a shit about them. I just want our boys to take home the wins for the next few seasons of Legends of War.\"\n\n\"But what you're doing to him—\"\n\nAnd that's when I saw it. Brandon screamed louder and louder, and then his body twisted of its own accord. The glow of that crack seemed to focus on him.\n\nHe seized, lips pulling back, teeth clenched to where two cracked in half, before ejecting themselves from his mouth.\n\nPamela pointed at him. \"This is why we don't usually secure them this much. It's not going to mean anything in a couple of minutes.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "From the wound of his bleeding gums, large buck teeth erupted in a spray of red.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 27 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "[[OOC: IMPORTANT: 'sockets' should appear 2 times in total]]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "His body began to distort. I could hear muscle tearing inside of him. His rib cage and his pelvis drew in closer together. His back arched sickeningly as his spine twisted around itself, making him shorter.\n\nAll the while, Brandon Butler screamed. His fingers swelled, his pinky twisting in unnatural ways until his pointer finger exploded and showed a single white animated finger.\n\nThe rest of his hand produced similar digits, while his pinky, blackened, fell to the floor.\n\nHis eyes melted in their sockets and his skull deformed as his body crunched in on itself more. With his body so much smaller now, what had made him who he was had to come out somewhere, but to say he was vomiting himself up doesn't do what I saw justice.\n\nHis jaw unhinged and he kicked his feet as they lengthened and turned dark. Brandon blindly looked between the two in an absolute panic, and then his head—or I should say, his mouth—opened up wider, lips splitting up to the ears before he vomited out his own skull, topping the pile of muscle, blood, and viscera.\n\nEvery bit of his flesh was bruised and broken. You couldn't even tell what ethnicity he was. That's when I noticed that the bruises were turning to brown.\n\nHis sockets blinked one last time, almost looking like they had deflated, but when they opened back up, nervous cartoon eyes had taken their place. His nose swelled out, and little whiskers erupted from his upper lip.\n\nHalf of his body was some Cronenberg nightmare or orgasm, I couldn't tell which. What I knew for sure was that a rodent-like look was overtaking his presence.\n\nHe coughed a few more times, drooling out pounds of meat and broken and shattered bone and organs. His belly swelled as if it were full of bloat. He gripped the sides of the examination table with mismatched hands, turned his head, and released a festering pile of human offal onto the floor.\n\nThe change in skin tone continued to creep over him, mostly browns and tans. His spine had broken through over the tailbone, and where blood had first signaled the eruption, now ink flowed free and formed a large tail, like a paddle.\n\nPamela walked up and saw where the piece of the spinal cord was still hanging out of the body. She gripped it and pulled it like a ripcord.\n\nBrandon shook and spasmed, passing out. After everything was said and done, it was no longer Brandon Butler lying on the table, but a cartoon beaver.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Today you will be acting as a writing assistant for a segment of a larger urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist story. Your partner will send something and you will write the next 67 sentences. Characters may already be established.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I couldn't believe the horrific sight before my eyes, and I had only just decided to risk tipping my phone down a little.\n\nThe floor had been covered with thick sheets of vinyl. Pamela grabbed a huge floor squeegee and pushed all the viscera into a pile stained with ink. Brandon Butler, or the beaver in his place, just groaned under his breath. As I sat watching on my phone screen, I saw the tissue decompose rapidly; whatever this process was, it left nothing of the human behind.\n\n\"Okay, that's phase 1 done. I'll let you do the honors for phase 2, Mr. Markson.\"\n\nThe professional-looking young man cocked an eyebrow. I tried my best to keep all people in frame for this.\n\n\"I thought it was already done. I mean, look at him.\"\n\n\"Yeah, his body's been converted, but his mind hasn't.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about, 'his mind hasn't?' I see the brain matter on the floor right there! Dude puked up his own skull.\"\n\n\"That's the thing; he's still in there. If you want a toon to run around, you need to trick his new instincts to come into play.\"\n\n\"And how do we do that?\"\n\n\"The fastest way I've found is torture.\"\n\nShe walked to the far wall. I couldn't see much, but from the sound of things, it had a bunch of industrial equipment.\n\nShe came back in a frame carrying an enormous sledgehammer and handed it to Markson.\n\n\"So, how does this work?\"\n\n\"You kick the shit out of him until his body takes over.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Toons can shrug off any damage. They're practically indestructible. He doesn't know that yet.\"\n\nShe growled and grabbed the hammer. bringing it down on one of the gloved hands. There was a sickening crunch and I watched as the fingers curled up backward.\n\nThe beaver screamed in a voice somewhat like Brandon Butler's had been, but a little bit more nasal and higher-pitched. There was also a whistle to it.\n\n\"Like that.\"\n\n\"But toons can just shake that off.\"\n\n\"He's a new toon. His body doesn't know that yet. Right now, he's feeling everything.\"\n\nMarkson's eyes lit up as he took the hammer back and raised it over his head.\n\nPamela fished through a pile of paperwork that had been set aside. She filled a piece out quickly, to get his copyright in order. \"I'll have Snappy come down and give the stamp of approval, once you're done doing what you need to do to him.\"\n\n\"Does Snappy know?\"\n\n\"He might suspect something, but honestly? He's a toon. The idea of torturing someone to a place beyond where human death would occur and giving them a slice of apple pie are just two different actions to him.\" She sighed. \"I need to get more of these copyright pages printed out. If I hadn't found this one, I'd have had to dip into Snappy's collection and he doesn't take too kindly to out of time copyrights. He's a stickler for the old ways.\"\n\nThere was a sickening crunch and the beaver hollered; his kneecaps had been crushed. \"Please, just let me go! Why are you doing this, man? Is it because I said your team was boosted? Dude, please just let me go!\"\n\n\"Boost? Hey, I think I got a name for him! Boost Beaver. Come on, Boost! Come out and play!\n\n\"My name's not Boost…Markson, what the hell? We just play video games against each other!\"\n\n\"And you've personally cost my team at least three championships. You know what? Taking you off Los Lobos Locos and getting a new mascot that does whatever the fuck I tell him to seems like more than a win-win.\"\n\n\"Please, just—please, put it down! I—\"\n\nAnd then there was another sickening crunch. I didn't know what to do; I couldn't just run in there, so I slowly backed away. I had video evidence for police, but I wondered if they were going to believe it. Heck, I didn't even believe it and I'd just borne witness to it. What happened to Brandon, what continued to happen to Brandon filled me with dread, and from the sound of things, she'd done this before.\n\nGood God, there had been video of toons popping into existence, so I knew it wasn't all of them. But how many toons out there had been people?\n\nThat's when I heard Pamela pipe up: \"Oh, shit, I forgot to lock my front door. I'll be right back.\"\n\nWhen she dashed out of the room and saw me, her eyes went wide.\n\nI was shaking, still holding my phone. \"I, um, left this behind. I just came to pick this…oh, fuck.\"\n\n\"Markson!\" she screamed as she lunged at me.\n\nI tried to shove her off of me, but Markson came in and smacked me across the head with that sledgehammer.\n\nEverything went black.\n\nWhen I came to later, I was on that table. I don't know how much time had passed, but the room was clean, and I could actually see everything in it. I'd been stripped down, tied up, and placed close to the small tear in reality.\n\nAs I got closer to it, it seemed to hum, pulsing a little bit faster as if it were alive somehow and knew that I was there, like it was aware of me. \"Pamela, please, I won't tell anyone! Who the fuck would believe me?\"\n\nPamela held up my phone and replayed the recording. \"I don't know, Tyler, you tell me. I liked you, Tyler. Goddammit, why the fuck did you have to go and do this?\"\n\n\"Did you kidnap that guy?\"\n\n\"No, Markson kidnapped him. I'm just helping transition him. He'll be happier like that anyway. Toons always are.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yeah? I'd like to hear that from him!\"\n\nThere was a chipper noise from outside the room, a faint whistling of a jaunty tune. The door opened and Brandon Butler, or the toon he had become, walked in and gave Pamela a high-four. \"Golly, Miss Blake, I don't know what came over me! I was all nervous and scared…it must just be new existence blues, I guess!\"\n\n\"Brandon?\" I said, realizing I'd actually never talked to the man before.\n\nThe beaver looked at me quizzically. \"Who's that? I'm Boost, Boost D. Beaver, the proud mascot of Greg Markson's elite eSports team, the Timber Titans!\" He'd been outfitted with something of a uniform, mostly just a red shirt and a gaming headset rested on his head.\n\nHe had a nervous look about him. Maybe he was just drawn that way. That's when I realized Brandon Butler was, for the most part, dead. This toon had come from him, but it wasn't him anymore.\n\nPamela walked over to me. \"I'm going to call Snappy in a few minutes. You've been nice to me, and you did some amazing work around the house. I've got an idea for a few possibilities of what you can turn into, but in the end, it's really more about you inside. We can kind of guide the process a bit, but it's never exactly what we ever set it out to be. It's not like I can do specific commission work on this.\"\n\n\"Don't act like you're fucking sad about this. You could just let me go. Delete the video! No one will believe me!\"\n\n\"Yeah, but you know the truth, and it's not something I can risk now, because you look like the type of person who wouldn't actually help me out with this. I'll tell you what; it's damn good money. People want to make folks disappear. I just make them disappear in a way where at least a little piece of them remains.\n\n\"Let me out, please! I've got a life.\"\n\n\"You've got a boyfriend, that's it. Your job was here, and you told me yourself, you live in a shitty little apartment in Animætropolis. The only thing stopping you from being a toon right now is the fact that you've got a boyfriend.\" She let out a puff of air. \"Since I like you, I'm gonna do you a solid. I'll call up Snappy and have him bring down a good old-fashioned classic copyright page, okay? From the old days. Once this is done, you'll have a whole lifetime of memories. You'll never have been a success, but that's kind of par for the course with you, and I'll even do you one better, and give you a foil.\n\n\"What the hell are you talking about, a foil?\"\n\n\"You know, a partner, someone who gets in your way, someone you'll have something of a relationship with. It's pretty much the closest thing that toons have to marriage, and honestly, in the cartoon community, the majority of them tend to be the same sex, so that should suit you.\"\n\n\"Pamela, please…\"\n\nShe walked over and began filling the embalming machine with ink and a few other chemicals. \"I'm not gonna lie. This is gonna hurt more than you've ever been hurt before.\"\n\n\"I don't know. There was this one really shitty earache I had—double ear infection—I wanted to off myself from it.\"\n\nShe smiled, but in a solemn way. \"Gallows humor! It's a good sign, actually. Having a sense of humor will just make you funnier once this whole thing's over with. I'll drink a cocktail to you once we're done and whoever comes out of this room does. The thing is, it doesn't work if I put a painkiller in you, so you've got to go to the whole process.\"\n\nShe raised the device over her head. I struggled as hard as I could in my straps.\n\n\"I'm gonna tell you what I'm going to do, so you can prepare for it. I'm gonna take this trocar here, and I'll jam it into your carotid artery. Then, I'll turn the machine on and snip your jugular. This is going to pump a lot of ink through your body. Once I've got it about halfway done, and the process is started, I'll speed it along a little bit extra for you. It's going to hurt more, but it will be over faster. I'm going to have to stab you a lot of times in the gut and perforate pretty much every organ, but it's what needs to be done. Tyler, just know…I don't like doing this.\"\n\n\"Pamela…fuck you.\"\n\n\"Yeah, I suppose I deserve that.\"\n\nSearing pain crashed through my neck when she brought that thing down and forced it down the artery. I could feel it under my rib cage. For God's sake, she was in my heart!\n\nI sputtered and screamed.\n\nShe walked over and flipped the machine on. Pain unlike anything I've ever endured coursed through my chest. I wanted to grab my heart as it overfilled and inflated like a balloon before it squeezed, forcing that ink and blood slurry up into my skull.\n\nMy thoughts became cloudy, but my perception sharpened at the same time. I don't know if it was adrenaline or some part of the process.\n\nShe took a scalpel made an incision on the other side of my neck. I tried to gasp for air, and I did so with difficulty. God, this hurt.\n\nBoost looked at me and then at Pamela. \"Miss, I don't think you should be hurting him. I mean, I don't know about a lot of things but that—that looks like a crime or something.\"\n\nPamela looked at the beaver. \"Go to Markson and tell him this: tell him that Miss Blake asked you to ask him to hold your copyright, and tell you not to worry, and forget anything bad that happened in this room.\"\n\nHe blinked and shrugged. \"Okay, I guess you know best.\" He reached over and patted my foot with a gloved hand. \"I dunno, is this a hospital or something? I'm still kinda new to—\"\n\n\"Boost…\"\n\n\"Yes, Miss Blake, sorry,\" he said and shuffled out, his tail slapping the ground every now and then.\n\nI felt sick to my stomach; there was about a gallon of ink in me at least, but she kept adding more into the machine. That's when I looked at the tear. I could swear I felt a presence in the room.\n\nIs this death? Is that what this is? Is this me dying here?\n\nShe pulled the trocar out of my neck and stabbed it into my guts.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Expand on the story, maintaining character relationships, in the urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "When I woke up, Pamela was in the corner, filling out paperwork. I was still strapped to the table, entire body aching. It didn't hurt as much as it had before, but my arms and legs were still painfully stretched far longer than they should have been.\n\nI tried to speak, but duct tape had been wrapped around my mouth, or muzzle now. For God's sake, I was a talking animal. I looked down over myself: orange fur, white stomach.\n\nOkay, you can handle this. You're a fox. You're a cartoon fox. This is absolutely insane, but you're still you.\n\nThat's when I remembered what they had said about stage 1 being done.\n\n\"Mmfrr mmf hmm-hmm,\" was all I got out.\n\nPamela turned and looked at me. \"It's okay, Tyler. We'll get through this together and try to think of a name for you. If I undo the tape, do you promise not to scream, bring attention to yourself?\"\n\nI paused for a moment, realized I was out of options, and nodded. She came over and peeled the tape off my face. It hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to what she had put me through before.\n\n\"It's okay, Tyler, we can talk now before we start the next stage.\"\n\n\"Come on, you don't have to do this. Just reverse the process!\"\n\nShe looked at me, puzzled. \"There is no reversing this. Trust me, if I could turn toons into humans, do you know much more money I would make, even if I could just do it temporarily? The amount of stuff that toons would be able to experience…heck, some of them don't even know what pain is and have actually been curious about it.\"\n\n\"Really, just…\"\n\n\"It'll be okay. I'm going to do some terrible things to you and, eventually, your willpower will break. Your body's instinct for self-preservation will kick in and start shaking off injuries after a while. And every time you do, you lose a little bit of your humanity. The more toon you act, the less human you'll be. I don't have access to a steamroller, or else I'd take you into the back lawn and handle you that way. This is going to hurt a lot.\n\n\"Once it's over, you'll be a nice, friendly fox, who'll be just kinda confused. You'll have a good chunk of your personality traits but be eager to live life to the fullest. You won't have to worry about a world where people don't give a shit about you and toss you aside. You'll outlive them all.\"\n\n\"If it's so good, why haven't you done it to yourself?\"\n\n\"Trust me, me as a toon wouldn't work. Anyway, it took me years to figure out how this all operates, and I'd probably lose that information once it was done. So, I'm setting you up with a good, classic copyright, pre-Code, or at least around the time of the Code. As we can see, you're in color; you've been modernized, so you're not gonna be at all eager to hurt people, even accidentally. From the looks of you, you're going to be pretty kid-friendly, too, so all of that cursing of yours will be going out the window.\"\n\nShe rubbed her temples, and I could tell that carrying and disposing of what had been my body had likely exhausted her, but she had to cover her bases.\n\nPamela continued, \"I've already talked with Snappy and since I told him that Tyler said that he no longer really wanted to work for him, he could take you on doing the same odd jobs. Pay will be the same. You'll be taken care of. Heck, we'll probably be really good friends.\"\n\n\"Pamela, with all due respect, fuck you.\"\n\n\"That is not the sort of thing we like to hear,\" she grumbled. \"Toons like you shouldn't talk like that; better cut those words out.\"\n\nShe walked behind me, and I tried to crane my neck to see what she was grabbing. That's when I heard the pull cord of a chainsaw.\n\n\"Jesus Christ!\"\n\n\"Don't worry, you can't die.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do with that thing?\"\n\n\"I'm going to rev it and shove it down your throat. One, it's going to hurt a hell of a lot, and two, there might still be some residual things inside of you, and this will help loosen them.\"\n\nPanicked, I said, \"You said you want to talk. You want to talk?\"\n\n\"Yeah, okay, fine,\" she said, idling the motor. \"What do you want to talk about? The least I can do is give you some last words.\"\n\n\"Fairfax Fawkes.\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"That'll be my name. Fairfax Fawkes. Might as well keep some semblance of my identity.\"\n\n\"Okay. F-A-I-R-F-A-X, last name F-O—\"\n\n\"No, not F-O-X.\"\n\n\"Oh?\"\n\n\"No, F-A-W-K-E-S.\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"If that's what you want. Why that spelling?\"\n\n\"Because like Guy Fawkes, I am going to burn everything, and I'm going to remember this. I don't care what you say.\"\n\nShe wrote it down and filled in other aspects of the copyright. \"I measured your height while you were out. 3'11.5\", definitely G-rated, and I have you down to have a foil.\"\n\n\"How does that work?\" I asked, trying to keep her occupied as I thought of ways to escape. Yup, none.\n\n\"It will take time but, eventually, out of this rift or another one, part of you will come through. I don't know exactly how this all works; I've never made a foil with one of my converted before. He may be a normal toon who thinks he's known you for years, or he might be a darker part of your subconscious that's given form. It might be how you ideally see your boyfriend. Fucked if I know.\"\n\nShe picked up the chainsaw and revved it again. \"Now, again, this will hurt. Think happy thoughts.\"\n\nI gritted my teeth as she brought the chainsaw closer. I winced and struggled against my bonds. I'd seen toons slip out of handcuffs, stretch themselves around the room and tie themselves in a Gordian knot, and here I was, stuck in a rubber hose body, limited like any other human would be.\n\nShe brought the chainsaw to my face. I felt it against the skin of my teeth and then sweet agony ripped through every one of my senses. Teeth were shredded, my gums, the inside of my cheeks became hamburger.\n\nI felt her thrust that at the back of my throat. I half-expected to get decapitated from it but instead, she just twisted it and slid it down my gullet. I could feel my neck expanding around it. My body wasn't actually being damaged. I could feel everything as if it were still flesh and bone, trachea, voice box, turned into ground sausage inside of me.\n\nShe swept it back and forth, raising it, and I saw the line of the blade pulling up my chest and abdomen, but never actually breaching through me. There was a small part of me that wanted to shake my head, smile, and tell the camera that everything was okay.\n\nI fought it back because I knew…the moment I shook off the damage and gave in to it, I wouldn't be me anymore. I squirmed a little bit, pulling on my arms and legs.\n\nShe forced me to deep throat the chainsaw. Bits of blood and ink got stuck on the teeth of the blade and flung out under my nose. It must've been part of the residue she had talked about.\n\nShe gathered some of it and stamped the copyright page with it. I felt an odd falling sensation from deep within my soul, like something been ripped out of me and put elsewhere.\n\nI was a toon. Now, my soul was bonded to a piece of fucking paper. I wanted to give in for just a little bit. I'd be willing to give up some tiny part of my humanity. I knew that once I started down that path, though, I'd never be able to look back. There wouldn't be a me to look back to, just Fairfax Fawkes.\n\nShe swung the blade left and right inside of me before ripping it out of my throat. \"You have got the strongest will I have ever encountered.\"\n\nI choked on blood, unable to speak through my wrecked neck. My brain, or whatever I had in my head, kept telling me I could talk just fine if I wanted to. All I had to do was just make a gulping motion, do a quick little tornado spin, and pose for the camera.\n\nI had to resist. I had to endure this torture. Eventually, she'd have to tire and give out. Eventually, the chainsaw would run out of gas.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "lets continue this story bit. ninety-four sentences more like A.J. Mayall would. urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre. characters might be established already", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After a few minutes, I stumbled out of the elevator on my floor, dragging the bag of my bloody belongings with me. I shuffled along with two broken kneecaps, a broken finger…God, my fucking…I can't say cock and balls now, but you get the idea.\n\nI got to my door and sifted through the almost gelatinous, crusty pants, reaching in for my keys. I don't know if I had made too much noise, considering I was huffing and yelling, but as I struggled to get the key in the door, I heard a deadbolt twisting.\n\nI looked over and saw Barry poking his head out. He smiled at me. \"Wow, man…let me guess! You did a demolition derby or something? Are you here to see Fairfax? I think he's out.\"\n\nI shuffled over to him, pulling myself by my one good arm, and collapsed at his feet. \"Please, help me.\" Finally, I managed words. Garbled and barely audible, but words. It's when I realized that my voice box was under the tie, which seemed to be linked to my injury.\n\n\"What do you mean, help? What's going on?\"\n\n\"It hurts…everything hurts…\"\n\n\"Well, shake it off, man! Goodness knows I've been in far worse scrapes than that.\"\n\n\"I can't.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, you can't?\"\n\n\"I mean I can't, Barry.\"\n\nHe turned his head and looked at me. \"Do I know you?\"\n\n\"Please, I need help. Call an ambulance or something!\"\n\n\"Okay,\" he said, leaning in, looking left and right. \"It's all right, man. Like I said, just shake it off; there are no cameras here. No human's going to get broken of an illusion, and frankly, it's not illusion-breaking if it's for a gag.\"\n\n\"I can't shake it off. You don't understand. I am incapable of shaking it off!\"\n\nAt that moment, Betty, his wife, who looked fairly similar to him with a slightly lighter build, longer eyelashes, and done up in a 1950s housewife dress, poked her head out.\n\n\"Is everything okay out here?\"\n\n\"Yeah, just some fox guy here to see Tyler. He's in pretty bad shape. He won't shake it off.\"\n\n\"It's not that I won't shake it off, I can't shake it off.\"\n\nShe leaned in and caressed my cheek. I smiled weakly. \"Now, come on, it's just us here, okay? No humans around. Seriously, what would Mother and Father say?\"\n\n\"Who? What?\"\n\nAt that, Barry and Betty took a very cautious step back and looked at each other. \"Okay, Mr. Fox, this is not funny. We would never, ever deny Mother and Father.\"\n\n\"Who are you talking about?\"\n\nBetty clutched the pearl necklace around her neck. Barry gripped me by the shoulders and shook me roughly. \"That isn't funny!\"\n\nI screamed in pain and he let me fall.\n\n\"You're acting like a human!\"\n\n\"Barry, it's me!\" I whined.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"It's Tyler.\"\n\nBetty had a chuckle at that. \"Of course you're not Tyler. Tyler's a good boy who lives next door, and you are definitely not a human.\"\n\nI reached for the bag and poured out the belongings. Barry and Betty knew what I normally wore; seeing some of my standard attire caked in dried and drying blood made them scream and step back.\n\n\"It's me, Barry. I don't know what's going on, but this was done to me.\"\n\nThe two looked at each other and pulled me into their apartment. Betty helped me onto the couch while Barry grabbed my belongings and brought them inside. Their apartment was pretty much a reverse of mine in layout; sofas in different places, different bookshelves, and they had all-toon appliances.\n\nHe huffed in a way that only a badger could, putting his hands on his hips and looking down at me. \"Okay, I want some answers. Where is Tyler? What are you doing with his belongings? And why are you trying to get into his apartment?\"\n\n\"Barry,\" I whimpered, \"it's me. We talked the other day. You invited me over for dinner. You wanted Kyle to come.\"\n\nBarry's eyes went wide. \"But you're a toon! You can't be a toon! That's not possible!\"\n\nI gulped and shook my head. \"It's possible. I'm proof of it. It's happening in the guest house at Snappy Gator's estate.\" And then I launched into an explanation of what happened and why I could still feel pain even though I had a toon body.\n\nBetty was the first to speak. \"Who would do this?\"\n\n\"Her name is Pamela Blake. There's some rift in her basement and she's figured out a way…\" I began to cry. \"I just wanted to die and it wouldn't let me die. Everything hurts…\"\n\nBarry began, \"Just shake—\"\n\n\"You don't understand. The process where your mind gets erased is from giving in to the gags. Every time you do, you lose a little piece of yourself. Phase 1 hurt so much but phase 2 was torturing someone beyond the point where humans would die a hundred times over. Then, their mind just breaks.\" I sniffed. \"There was some eSports gamer kid, Brandon Butler. His rival team kidnapped him. It was on the news. They brought him to Pamela, and I watched her do it. Now, he's the rivals' new fucking mascot and he has no recollection of who he was. He thinks he's some toon that popped into existence a couple of hours ago.\"\n\nBarry eyed the door, and then his wife. He leaned beside me and held my good hand. \"Okay, so what you're saying is—\"\n\n\"I'm a toon that, if I get injured, I feel it like a human. And I don't heal.\"\n\nHe looked at my inverted rubber hose legs, my finger hanging limply, and I coughed up a little bit more of the blood and mucus.\n\nBetty cringed and hurried to my side to wipe my mouth. \"Sweet Mother and Father. Barry, it's Tyler! Just listen to his voice. It's Tyler!\"\n\n\"Yeah…my voice is a little higher now. I thought it was because they kicked me in the dick with a fucking sledgehammer.\"\n\nThat's when Barry looked me up and down. \"G-rated toons like you, especially classic-looking,\" he said, noting the bow tie, \"would never actually be able to curse. Okay, here's the thing. We can't go to the police with this.\"\n\n\"What? But—\"\n\n\"Tyler, I care deeply for you. I've enjoyed looking out for you for a long time, but this—this is above us. Now, if we can find a way of reversing this, awesome. I'd love to help you. But if the police find out that humans can become toons, every missing person case will start getting blamed on us. We've had it bad enough, and the fact of the matter is, there's nothing we can do. We have a code of our own that we keep to ourselves. You're going to have to be brought in the fold, piece by piece.\"\n\n\"What the hell do you mean, Barry?\"\n\n\"What's happened to you can't become public knowledge.\" He rubbed his chin. \"Let me get this right; you said you can't give in to the gags.\"\n\n\"Right, otherwise I lose myself.\"\n\n\"What if a gag was done to you, one that fixed you up?\"\n\n\"I dunno. I couldn't talk before, vocal cords shredded, but then this guy put the bowtie on me. It still hurts but it works. But if you do a gag on me, isn't that the same thing?\"\n\nHe grinned and shook his head. \"No, no, far from it.\"\n\nBarry waggled his eyebrows, stood on one foot and shifted his body to the side, then spun like a tornado. For a few seconds, he was a tornado. When he popped into being again, he was wearing a doctor's outfit. He held a stethoscope to my chest and listened.\n\nIn a mock German accent, he said, \"It seems der Patient is suffering from many maladies all at vonce. It is gut you come to see me; ve fix you up fast, ja?\"\n\nBetty clapped her hands at the performance, and I was taken aback by the sheer insanity of it all.\n\nHe reached behind himself and produced a blood pressure cuff, wrapped it around my arm with the broken finger. He pumped it so many times, my hand inflated like a balloon. It hurt at first, but then I heard a pop. When he took it off, my hand deflated with an audible…well, it sounded like a fart, honestly, and my hand was fine.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Holy shit, Barry, this is working!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Ach, vatch the language; children might be vatching.\"\n\nHe then went to my legs and pulled out a reflex hammer. I winced; Betty reached behind herself and produced a pie, which she handed to Barry.\n\n\"Now, vhen I hit your bad knee, I vant you to tell me vhat you're thinking. If you do it right, I will give you some pie.\"\n\n\"Barry, this doesn't make any—\"\n\nHe hit my left knee with a hammer. I screamed, but my leg reacted as if it were actually hit with a reflex hammer. It swung up, hit the pie, slammed it into Barry's face, and the pain was gone.\n\nI grinned and said, \"Do it again, do it again! Other side!\"\n\nHe shook his head and gave me a stage whisper. \"Now, son, you know if you do a joke twice in a row, it's only half as funny. That's why, for a sequel, you always have to go bigger.\"\n\nThat's when he produced a large, wooden mallet, raised it over his head, and I braced myself for even more pain. He paused, producing a marker, and wrote \"Rx\" on the side.\n\n\"Now it's time for your medicine!\" He hit me in the goddamn knee. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and then it didn't.\n\nI stood and winced. My groin was still a bed of agony.\n\n\"Don't vorry about that. Ve have just the thing.\" He grabbed me and pulled me through the house to the bathroom. \"I alvays tell my patients who complain about problems in that…area that they need a good, cold shower.\"\n\nHe tossed me into the bathtub and turned the water all the way to the right where it said cold, colder, coldest, then spun it around a few more times until a small flag popped up that simply said \"Margaret Thatcher, bikini model.\"\n\nHe flipped on the button to turn the faucet to send water up to the showerhead and, I shit you not, within half a second, I was buried under about a ton of ice cubes. Let it be known that I do not handle the cold that well.\n\nI sputtered and crawled out, soaking wet and shivering. My skin was actually blue instead of orange! I breathed in, taking in some hot air, and exhaled; all of the blue popped out of me, forming a frosty version of myself which waved and vanished.\n\nBarry blinked at that and screamed, \"Oh, no!\"\n\nBetty came in. \"What's wrong?\"\n\n\"He responded with a gag. It was minor, very minor, but—\"\n\nI went wide-eyed. \"All this time, trying to escape the pain and resist the gags…and it was actually having the pain go away that took down my guard.\" I sighed and continued, \"Thanks. I kinda need to get back to my place.\"\n\nBarry nodded. \"I don't know what to tell you, but if you get hurt in any way, you come see me immediately. I have no problem doing a Dr. Badgerson show for you if it helps you out.\"\n\nBetty walked up and hugged me, then grabbed my cheeks. That's when I realized something kinda odd; I never really noticed how short I was. When they pulled me in, I was looking up at them because I was crawling on the floor.\n\nNow that I was standing up, I should have been freaking out over our being the same size, but it felt natural. This must mean the part of my humanity I lost was insecurity about my new shape.\n\n\"Uh, where do I get pants?\"\n\n\"Huh? You're G-rated; you don't need pants.\"\n\n\"I know that and you know that, but—\"\n\nBetty patted him on the shoulder. \"Human habit.\"\n\nBarry looked at me and nodded. \"Here's the thing. Yes, there are some G-rated toons that wear pants, but most of them don't for a reason: they're G-rated.\"\n\n\"I get that, but—\"\n\n\"Higher ratings…\" he twiddled his thumbs for a moment, \"need to wear pants. Not because they want to, but because—\"\n\nI went wide-eyed. \"Oh, they're anatomically correct.\"\n\nThe two badgers nodded in unison.\n\n\"And I am not.\"\n\nThey nodded again.\n\n\"Which means if I go around wearing a shirt and pants…\"\n\nBarry piped up, \"Outside of a gag. When performing a gag, costumes are completely acceptable.\"\n\n\"Okay, barring that, I'm just going to have to walk around naked.? Between the bowtie and the fancy shoes, I look like a Chippendale's dancer in this getup!\"\n\nBarry crossed his arms. \"Hey, now. I don't wear pants; do you call me a freakin' exhibitionist?\"\n\n\"Well, no, but you're a toon.\"\n\n\"Same as you. No one's going to notice.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but I feel like I'm walking around naked, and—\"\n\n\"And no one will notice. You don't want to draw attention to yourself right now. Blend in. You're in the perfect neighborhood for this. Now, I'll talk to the church group and—\"\n\nI stopped for a moment. \"You two go to church?\"\n\n\"Yeah, but—\"\n\n\"I've never ever heard you talk about going to church. Wait…toons have church?!\"\n\nThat's when Betty reached forward and grabbed me by the muzzle. \"Shh! We don't talk about it with humans. Just go with it. We'll explain things as they come up and help you however we can.\"\n\n\"Okay, okay,\" I said, nodding, trying to make sense of it all. \"I need to sleep and figure out what the hell is going on in my life.\"\n\nI shook myself, making sure that I wasn't feeling any pains here or there while also making sure I literally wasn't shaking off any residual injuries.\n\nNo sooner had I unlocked the door and stepped inside than I heard a buzzing from the bag.\n\nOh, God…my date with Kyle.\n\nI opened the bag and pulled out the phone. Sure enough, he was calling and had sent several text messages. It was a cruel thing to do, but I swiped it to voicemail. This was too much for me to deal with, so how the hell could I expect him to, let alone believe it?\n\nMy clothes got tossed in the bathtub; I'd deal with them in the morning. My head was such a mess, I didn't know whether to wash them, burn them, or keep them evidence.\n\nI crawled to my bed and got in, so tired after everything. I wanted to sleep for a year and hoped I'd be back to normal and out of this nightmare when I woke up.\n\nHeck, maybe if you didn't finalize the process, it eventually reversed itself. Then, I thought about all the body parts I had literally expunged. What if my cartoon self melted away with nothing else inside me? What if not finishing the process is what ends up killing me?\n\nI closed my eyes.\n\nI had no idea how long I was out, but I awoke to a loud, rattling knock at the door. It had to be Kyle. He'd probably seen that my car wasn't here but would want to check anyway.\n\nWhen I got to the door, I realized I was no longer tall enough to peek through the peephole. I braced myself for what would probably be a nasty breakup and opened the door.\n\nIt was Snappy. \"Hey there, Fairfax!\" he said, walking in and whistling a jaunty tune before settling on my sofa. \"It's so nice you decided to come work for me.\"\n\n\"Snappy, what do you mean?\"\n\n\"Well, Miss Blake told me you popped into existence, and, you know, as a personal favor for getting her a very classic copyright page to work with, I have first dibs on holding your copyright. Now, then…we know that you're new, but due to the operations of how your copyright works, we're going to assume that you've had an illustrated career that never took off. You know, someone who never even hit cult classic. I bet you probably got at least three or four iterations somewhere inside of you. So, let's see what you got!\"\n\n\"Snappy?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yes, Fairfax?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 79 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You know who I am, right?\"\n\n\"Yes, you're Fairfax Fawkes. My new employee. A fresh new toon who gets to have a very illustrated history, and I can't wait to hear all about the life that has been given to you. I also can't wait to see your foil when he pops into existence. I bet the antics will be spectacular.\"\n\n\"Snappy, I need you to listen to me and I need you to listen good, okay? What I'm about to say is not a gag. It's not a joke. Okay? Very serious.\"\n\n\"Well, okay then. Hit me with the information.\"\n\n\"It's me, Tyler. I'm Tyler. Tyler Fairfax. I mean, you've been to this apartment!\"\n\n\"He used to work for me, but he decided that doing odd jobs wasn't good enough. Well, he skipped town, and I know it's easy for a toon to find fresh accommodations fast. Happy coinkidink! That's fine, and I'd welcome him back with open arms, but—\"\n\n\"Snappy, it's me, okay? Miss Blake is taking humans and turning them into toons. I managed to get out, but there is something very wrong going on there.\"\n\nSnappy snorted for a second, then laughed.\n\nI stamped my foot. \"I said I wasn't joking, Snappy. It's me. I should not be like this. I should not have this body. She took my identity from me and she bound my soul to a piece of paper and gave it to you as a gift.\"\n\n\"Well, that is a funny story and an interesting origin but, unfortunately, it's not going to mesh with the fact that, according to the paperwork, you came into existence almost back in the 20s.\"\n\n\"Snappy, what can I do to actually prove to you that I'm a human in the body of a toon?\"\n\n\"I don't know, what could you possibly do that could prove that to me?\" he said in an almost mocking tone.\n\nAnd that's when I realized he's expecting me to be a G-rated toon in every sense of the imagination. It was time to show him by breaking the rating.\n\n\"Fuck. Shit. Cunt. Asshole. Fuck every viewer out there. Tell the children to eat their parents.\"\n\nSnappy went wide-eyed. I'd never seen him angry before. He hissed and charged at me. \"What in tarnation do you think you're doing?! You can't talk like that.\"\n\n\"I just did, Snappy, because I'm a human inside of a toon body.\"\n\n\"Now, now, now, you're fresh; your ink just hasn't set yet. You're just trying to get one of those R or X ratings, that's all. I'll see you at the estate tomorrow unless you have anything else you'd like to say that would prove that you aren't a toon.\"\n\nI bit my lip. I wasn't sure how this would go down, but from what little I gathered from Betty and Barry, I said four words that, had he not already been monochrome, would have drained all the color out of him.\n\n\"Fuck Mother and Father.\"\n\nSnappy grabbed at his chest and fell against the wall.\n\nHe looked at me like I was a monster. \"Who would ever—\"\n\n\"Snappy, it's Tyler. I don't know what I said, I just know that I'm not supposed to say it. I don't know the meaning of it. If I've offended you in any way, I'm sorry, but I'm a shade under four feet tall, my dick and balls are gone, I've lost a finger on both hands and I have a goddamn tail. Now the only good thing I've got going for me is that I've already paid my rent, but if I get injured, I can't heal from it; I feel it like a human because I'm in an in-between space.\"\n\nSnappy was still visibly disturbed by my outcry. He made a strange gesture with his hands. He took his right hand and moved it to the left, right in front of him, made a fist, and slammed it into his midsection, while his left hand made a twisting motion off to the side.\n\nI had no idea what it meant, but it had some special significance to him.\n\nSnappy said, \"Okay, I don't know how to handle this. This is new. This is very new. Um, okay. This was not what I expected. So, what you're saying is—\"\n\nI nodded to him before he perked up.\n\n\"You didn't quit?\"\n\nMy jaw dropped. Mind you, not to the floor. I had to stop myself from that, though the temptation to give in to the gag was strong.\n\n\"No, I didn't quit my job, but—\"\n\n\"Then, I'll see you tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Snappy, wait! I-I don't know how to do this. How do—I don't know how this body works.\"\n\n\"I'll help you out with that, then, Fairfax.\"\n\n\"My name is—\"\n\nHe crossed his arms over his chest. \"Your name is Fairfax Fawkes. It says so on your copyright.\"\n\nThat's when I realized it was like with Boost before, and what Miss Blake had mentioned: this was just an action to him. It was something humans did. This was just to him a new thing that humans did, which was become a toon.\n\nAs much as I liked Snappy, I had no ally in him. He was friendly, he thought well of me, but he also would drop a piano on me before I could have a real connection with him.\n\n\"I see you're already wearing the uniform. Good! You really don't need to wear anything else, but—\"\n\n\"Snappy,\" I said, frustrated, \"I don't even know the ground rules of being a toon.\"\n\n\"Do you want to go over that with me real quick? I mean, I do act as an advisor for newly emerging toons.\"\n\nI sat down and sank my face in my gloved hands.\n\n\"Your mileage will vary because, obviously, you're a unique case, but…one: we do not hurt the humans.\n\n\"I know, it's not really—\"\n\n\"No, no, of course you have the physical capability of hurting a human, but it goes against who we are. We're here to entertain. We're here to put on a good show, to make people smile. Humans hurting humans makes human smile, but toons hurting humans make some just feel disturbed.\n\n\"Two: always make sure that you've got a good deal, and you got a great one with me. I'm gonna hold your copyright for a good, long time. I'll get you some good exposure and pay you well. Heck, you may end up the taking over the guest house eventually.\"\n\n\"But Miss Blake—\"\n\n\"Is human! She'll die eventually, and that's sad, but we'll continue. Just wait it out.\"\n\n\"Am I still doing odd jobs?\"\n\n\"Of course, and they'll be odder still, now that you can take it.\"\n\nI held up a hand. \"I can't be injured.\"\n\n\"Of course you could—\"\n\n\"Snappy, I'm putting that as a caveat in the contract, because I really don't want to come back to your estate if she's still there.\"\n\n\"I will talk with Miss Blake about this. I'm sure we can come to some sort of understanding.\"\n\n\"Snappy, why don't you just call the police? We—\"\n\nHe froze and gave me the same look that Barry had while ago. \"This is a toon matter now.\" He reached over and tipped up my chin with a finger, looking me right in the eyes. \"Fairfax, I need you to start accepting more of who you are. First off, the name—may I say?—classic choice. I love the play at the end. The funny spelling of Fox,\" he said, holding up his hands as if he were looking at a matinee sign.\n\n\"I think you could be one of the greats, but we're going to have to have some ground rules for you. So, since you and Miss Blake seem to be on the outs and you do not want to be…\" he made finger quotes, \"'injured' in any way, I suppose I can just have you do some human work for me.\"\n\n\"Human work?\"\n\n\"Oh, you know, I'll have you run errands, file paperwork. I've needed a system like that for a long time.\"\n\nI sat up. \"That's the sort of job I was trying to do in the first place.\"\n\n\"Why didn't you say so?\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Literary Collaboration:\n- Sentences: 99 sentences\n- Match character context\n- Genre: urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I woke up the next morning and sat up. I didn't know what to do. I could feel the compulsion to get my duties done; this must've been the work of the copyright. At the end of the day, I was still beholden to Snappy.\n\nOut of habit, I walked to the shower, but I'd forgotten I had my clothes in there, now fully dried and looking like some macabre art exhibit. Anyway, I felt over my body and realized I didn't feel dirty.\n\n\"Well,\" I said to myself, \"I don't know if I even need to shower anymore. If anything, it will save on the water bill.\"\n\nThere was a knock on my door. I heard Barry's voice from the other side: \"Come on over for some breakfast, kid.\"\n\nI opened up and smiled meekly. \"Thanks. You two have been a real lifesaver.\"\n\n\"Think nothing of it, man. So, Tyler—\"\n\nI held up a hand. \"I have a new name on my copyright. My boss told me I need to start getting into the role. I'm really not happy about this whole thing, but at this point, I don't have a choice. I can't even quit this job now, can I?\"\n\nBarry shook his head. \"Toons can't break copyright. They can buy themselves out of it or wait for the contract to end. As long as he's not technically in breach, you're stuck.\"\n\n\"I don't know how much of that's been set in stone yet. I'm still very new to this.\"\n\nBarry slugged me in the shoulder. \"Most current contracts aren't that long. A lot of toons who work normal human jobs don't even have that sort of limitation put on them. It makes it easier for their human counterparts to work with us.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Would you want to work with someone who instinctively couldn't leave the job? For us, it's natural. It feels right to belong; it's part of who we are, deep down in our ink. To humans, they had to deal with this thing called slavery. I shudder to think that the nice people we know could be descended from folks who did such things.\"\n\nI blinked and shuddered. \"God, I never thought of it like that. I just thought of it as a television contract or a music gig.\"\n\n\"We like to belong. We enjoy entertaining; we're here for people. It's part of our culture, it's part of our heritage, it's part of the fabric of every toon. The modern day's been a great thing for us,\" he said, guiding me into the hallway.\n\nI closed my door and we walked into his house. An elaborate animated breakfast was set before me: a pile of pancakes as tall as I was with a whipped cream sculpture of myself on top. A cherry sat where my big inkblot nose would be.\n\n\"Humans…they do terrible things to each other,\" he said, gripping me by the shoulder. \"I'm going to refer to them as 'them' at this point because you're not one of them anymore. You're one of us. So much of this would've been instinctual to you had the process finished, but then we wouldn't have you anymore. So, you said you've got a name on your copyright. What is it?\"\n\n\"Fairfax Fawkes,\" I said. \"F-A-W-K-E-S for the last name.\"\n\nBetty poked her head around the corner and nodded. \"That's not bad! Did the person who did this come up with it?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"No. I kinda did. They were my last words, as it were.\"\n\n\"A good choice. I like it, Fairfax.\"\n\n\"You guys are taking to this pretty easily.\"\n\n\"Well, it's not the weirdest thing we've seen humans do. You ever heard of the lambada? Dubstep?\"\n\nBetty piped up from the kitchen, adding, \"Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives!\"\n\nI chortled at that. \"Okay, okay. Still, I'm going to have to get some work done.\"\n\nBarry smiled, patting the seat next to his. \"You can finally sit at our table and experience toon food the way it was meant to be,\" he said, sliding about seven pancakes onto my plate.\n\nI looked at him. \"I don't think I can eat all that.\"\n\n\"Of course you can.\"\n\n\"It might be considered a gag.\"\n\nHe inhaled through his teeth. \"You're right. Try what you can; we'll see where your limits are.\"\n\nI nodded and they looked expectantly giddy. I sliced into the stack of pancakes, stabbed the triangular section with a fork, swirled it in some maple syrup and brought it to my lips.\n\n\"Sorry, it tastes the same as it always did.\"\n\nBarry's jaw dropped. His actually made it to the floor. \"No way! This is the best,\" he said, pulling about five pancakes off the pile and flipping them into his mouth, swallowing them whole.\n\nHe shuddered, almost orgasmically, and sat back in his chair. \"That is amazing, honey. You are the best cook.\"\n\nBetty blushed and looked over at me. \"But he—\"\n\nA light bulb appeared over Barry's head. \"How about this?\" he said, going to another room and returning with a bowl of fun-size candy bars. \"They're a couple of months old but might still be good.\"\n\nI shrugged and opened one up. It looked okay. I popped into my mouth and sweet heavenly bliss filled my senses. \"Oh my God, Harry Potter was right! Chocolate does fix everything!\"\n\nThe two badgers looked at me incredulously.\n\nI coughed a little bit. \"Ooh, I think it went down the wrong pipe.\"\n\n\"You don't have a wrong pipe,\" said Betty.\n\n\"That's true,\" I said, rubbing my throat.\n\nBarry waved his hands. \"Okay, here's the thing, you're always welcome to come over for dinner, but we need to find a way of getting you toon food.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"Because that candy bar won't actually give you any sustenance.\"\n\n\"Wait, you mean—\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" said Betty. \"Human food is to toons like toon food is to humans.\"\n\nI nodded and ate the pancakes. They didn't taste bad, they almost didn't taste of anything, like a song with the volume turned all the way down or a good show on an old TV with bad reception.\n\nOr La Croix.\n\nI got through about three and a half pancakes before my stomach rumbled. \"Yeah, that's definitely my limit.\"\n\nBarry and Betty continued to eat. \"Okay. Honey, would you mind putting away the rest of it?\" Barry said to his wife.\n\nBetty nodded and lifted up the table, opened her mouth wider than I'd ever seen a toon, and let everything, plates and all, fall into her mouth. She chewed once, twice, thrice, gulped it down, and then let out a belch that rattled the windows. Next thing I knew, she deflated back to normal size.\n\n\"Sorry, excuse me!\"\n\nI sighed. \"So, I need to tell you guys that I did something yesterday.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Well, I had to prove to Snappy that I was who I said I am. He showed up at my place last night. Try as I might, he wouldn't believe me.\"\n\nBarry nodded. \"Okay, what'd you do?\"\n\n\"First, I tried breaking my rating by cursing at him…a lot. He was perturbed but assumed that—I dunno, he said something like 'my ink hadn't set.'\"\n\nBarry looked at Betty and shrugged. \"I'm not really familiar with the ins and outs of new toon arrivals. I don't really handle that sort of thing, but Snappy's been around for almost a hundred years and he's made it his business to help out the new guys. So, what finally got him to realize?\"\n\nI paused. \"I said something that you kinda told me not to say. I don't want to say it again because the look on his face was one of abject horror and I have a feeling that I'm going to go to Toon Hell because I said it.\"\n\nBarry looked at Betty. \"And what could you have possibly said?\"\n\nBetty clutched at her pearl necklace. \"Oh dear, did you say something bad about Mother and Father?\"\n\nI gritted my teeth nervously and nodded slightly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Barry got up from the table and looked ready to punch me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I swear I could see steam coming out of his ears. \"You did what?!\"\n\n\"I had to prove that I'm a human in a toon body!\"\n\nBarry's eyes were turning red. \"You would—after we've done—\"\n\nBetty grabbed Barry and held him. \"He doesn't know.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" I said. \"What is this Mother and Father? I don't know.\"\n\nBarry shook, taking deep breaths until he was visibly calm again. \"You have to understand that what you did goes completely against everything we believe in.\"\n\nI scowled at him. \"Barry, the way we met was my being gay got me kicked out of my folks' house because it went against their religion. Don't you dare do the same thing to me. I don't know if I could live with myself, and the fact that matter is I don't know if I can die now either.\"\n\nBarry stopped, looked down and nodded. \"Sorry about that. I have to keep reminding myself when I look at you that you really don't know these things.\"\n\n\"Well, tell me already! We've been beating around the bush for like five minutes! What is this church you go to? Who are Mother and Father?\"\n\nBetty held up her hands. \"We'll get to that eventually. I'm trying to think of a good human equivalent.\"\n\nBarry snapped his fingers. \"Fight Club!\"\n\n\"That's a good one! Yes, it's like Fight Club. We never talk about it unless it's with someone who's a member and that is toons. Humans can never know about it. Well, some kind of know about it a little bit, but we keep it very hush-hush.\"\n\n\"And because I have a human mind, I'm not allowed to know.\"\n\nBarry shrugged. \"That's kind of why we haven't told you anything. Don't worry about it just yet.\"\n\n\"Okay.\"\n\n\"You've never really been religious before, right?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"I haven't been.\"\n\n\"Just keep going down that path for now. We'll talk about it later. It's a cultural thing you're going to need to know, but you've got bigger fish on your plate.\"\n\nI chuckled. \"Yeah, I know.\"\n\nThat's when the smell hit me; Betty, without missing a beat, had put a large fish on my plate.\n\nHours later, in my apartment, I was trying to figure out how to handle this. How was I going to handle Kyle? How was I going to handle working for Snappy, knowing that a person who tried to murder me was still a good friend of his who still lived in his backyard and would never even be punished for what she did?\n\nI needed somebody to figure this out. That's when I remembered the phone number. I peeled off my shoe, pulled out the card, grabbed my phone, and dialed it.\n\n\"Hello?\" came a familiar voice a few rings later.\n\n\"Hi, this is—we met last night.\"\n\nThere was a long pause. \"What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"I need your help.\"\n\n30 minutes later, I was sitting in Burger Circus, getting some very odd stares from both the humans and the toons. I kept human money in my shoe, which I guess was getting passed off as an odd gag but was mostly done because I had no pockets. Frankly, I felt nervous and exposed; here I was, in a family establishment, not wearing any damn pants.\n\nScrewloose was in, but I didn't let him in on who I was. It was weird getting to meet him again. I ordered a burger, some onion rings, and a milkshake, which got me a very odd look from him. I was still sitting on the pancakes, but onions rings are hollow, and therefore don't take up space in your stomach.\n\nI glanced over at some of the other toons. I saw a pig, a cow, and a bull eating animated food they pulled from their hammerspace, giving me a very odd look for enjoying human cuisine. I was still kind of stuffed, but I needed some comfort food.\n\nI took the rest to go when I saw the swarthy man walk in. He scanned the room and saw me, tipped his chin up at me, and took a seat across from me at the table.\n\n\"Okay, I'm here, let's talk.\"\n\n\"I need to get this reversed,\" I said, gesturing to myself.\n\n\"I don't know how I'm going to help you with that.\"\n\n\"Listen, you're a private eye! Can't you, like, look into it or something?\"\n\n\"Are you going to pay me?\"\n\n\"Of course I'll pay you!\" I blinked. I didn't even know this man's name yet. \"But I don't know who you are.\"\n\nHe shook his head and extended a hand. I grabbed and gave it a hearty shake. \"People call me Chance. Chance Ovuskno. Think 'of-husk-know' if you're having difficulty pronouncing it.\"\n\nI looked at Chance and smiled. \"I'm Fairfax.\"\n\n\"Nice to meet you, Fairfax.\"\n\n\"Nice to meet you too, Chance.\"\n\n\"With the pleasantries out of the way, I might be able to give you a bit of a discount if you help me with the case I'm currently working on.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"Well, I'm looking for a missing kid.\"\n\n\"If it's Brandon Butler, then he's—\"\n\n\"No, no, I've got some connections in eastern Europe. There's a very wealthy family with loose ties to some royal house. They ran afoul of gangsters, and—I'm not certain of the full details on it.\"\n\nI crossed my arms in front of me. \"You're a private detective and you don't know?\"\n\n\"Fine, I know, and I'm not at liberty to tell you about it, but there's a kid who's gone missing and I'm trying to find him. The last place I heard that he was seen at was around Snappy Gator's estate. I'm trying to find him and bring him back to his family.\"\n\n\"You wanted a man on the inside before. Would you take a fox?\"\n\nChance nodded. \"Any day. I would be more than happy to have a pair of eyes and ears in there.\"\n\nI inhaled. \"Listen…I've got a copyright binding me to this job. If you can get that broken or something, I'd be really grateful.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I'll do this one for free if you help me find the kid.\"\n\nScrewloose came to our table, presenting me my milkshake. \"Chocolate-dipped strawberry, large. For you, sir?\" he said, looking at Chance, who shook his head and pointed at me. Screwloose inhaled and sighed, rolling his eyes. \"Darn hipsters,\" he said, putting the milkshake down in front of me.\n\n\"Hipster? Why am I—\"\n\nChance pointed at the food. \"You're eating human food. He assumes you're doing it ironically.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, toon food tastes kinda bland to me, and this tastes great. I'm sure that'll change in time. I dunno, this whole thing's just…insanity, and I've got to get to work still.\"\n\n\"What's Snappy have you do?\"\n\n\"I dunno. I haven't called him yet. To be fair, I could just say I was doing paperwork and he'd probably still pay me. It didn't have to actually be his, and he'd probably think it was a good joke.\"\n\nChance grinned and looked me up and down. \"Well, that's good. You know, you're looking a lot better than yesterday. You finally shake off those injuries?\"\n\nI lifted a hand and shook it side to side. \"You remember how nervous I was when you put the shoes and the bowtie on me?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"It turns out that I can't do a gag and or embrace my toonhood, but if someone else does it to me, that circumvents the consequences.\"\n\nChance nodded. \"Fascinating!\"\n\n\"Now, at least I know that there's an out in case someone actually does drop an anvil on me. You know, except for the fact that I'll actually feel the cracked skull and brain injuries.\"\n\nChance stood and shook my hand again. \"We'll meet again tomorrow. I'd really like to help you out on this stuff, and frankly, that woman has been a suspect in mind for some time. Also, I'm going to need to let you in on a few other little secrets.\"\n\nI rubbed my eyes. \"Please, no more secrets. I'm so done with secrets.\"\n\nChance dropped a five in the tip jar at the front counter, and Screwloose gave him a friendly wave.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I waved over to Screwloose shortly after and asked for a bag so I could take this home, which he did, begrudgingly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 25 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So, I would be an outcast in toon society unless I figured out how to fit in.\n\nI bagged my food and headed back to my apartment. When I got there, I could hear my phone buzzing on the couch. I'd taped my apartment key behind the center button of my bowtie; I pulled it out and let myself in.\n\nIt was Kyle. He was owed an explanation. I answered the phone.\n\n\"Thank God! Tyler, you there?\"\n\n\"I—Kyle, I don't know how to tell you this…\"\n\nKyle chuckled. \"You sound funny. Coming down with something? You're all squeaky.\"\n\n\"I—I've been going through a lot.\"\n\n\"It was just one dinner. Like, don't worry about it. I just—did he throw too many pies at you or something?\"\n\n\"No, no, no, it's not that. I—Kyle,\" I started crying. \"I want to see you but I don't know if I can. I need you, but I don't know if you can take what's happened.\"\n\nThere was silence on the other end. Then: \"Tyler, you made it home okay last night, right? I drove by earlier and I didn't see your car. Were you in an accident?\"\n\nHe wasn't far off with that. \"Yeah, I kinda was. I'm back at my place. My car's over at Snappy's and I'm not going to be doing much work at his house anymore. I will probably be just running errands for him, but you have to understand…something happened last night and you're not going to believe it if I tell you.\"\n\nKyle paused, and I could tell he was struggling with that but also knew that I was a person who liked his space. \"Whatever's going on, we'll get through this together.\"\n\n\"Okay, just…give me some time but also be ready to possibly get the news that we might not be an item anymore, as much as I really want us to be.\"\n\nKyle was shaken at those words and I could hear a crack in his voice.\n\n\"I love you, man,\" he said.\n\n\"I love you more,\" I said to him. I hung up, curled into a ball and ugly-cried for a good thirty minutes before I got a text from Snappy giving me my day's agenda. Every fiber of my being became fixated on completing the tasks for the person signing my paychecks and holding my copyright.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Expand the story by adding 122 sentences. Context: May include pre-existing characters and lore.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "I convinced Snappy to let this new task be my primary action for him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He seemed almost giddy that I wanted to digitize the entire catalog of every toon he had helped process, going back almost a hundred years.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Even with me and Chance both going over it without the extra research he was putting into things, it would easily take us a month or two.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "That time was well spent with him training me how to use almost every weapon he had in his warehouse.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It had taken some time to get used to the guns' kickback when you weighed practically nothing; it was a serious issue.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Plus, my toony fingers were fat, so pulling the trigger sometimes posed a problem. The upside was that wearing gloves all the time meant no fingerprints, not that I had any, and, well, toons don't shoot people.\n\nI was busy practicing at the range he had set up. Somehow, he found a set of noise-canceling earmuffs that fit my big ears. Not to toot my own horn, but my aim had gotten good, and the weeks had gone by a lot faster than I was expecting. Despite all the time learning and refining these skills took, Kyle and I talked on the phone almost every night.\n\nHe didn't like that I'd put off actually seeing him for so long, but he accepted that work took up most of my time, just like it took up most of his. Now, though, I was ready to show him who I was, but I needed to get this, my training, taken care of first. I spent a goodly number of nights back at the warehouse, and Chance and I became good friends.\n\nIf you'd told me a month ago that I'd be hanging out with a mercenary and discovered that I was actually fairly competent with firearms, I'd've called you a goddamn liar. Frankly, if you'd told me anything about what had happened in the last month, I'd've called you a goddamn liar…well, except for the asshole frat boys; I probably would've believed you on that.\n\nI made a point of checking in with Barry every few days. He congratulated me on staying off the radar. I didn't have the heart to tell him what I'd been doing; I don't think that he'd have approved, but extreme situations call for extreme measures.\n\nChance told me more about Vic Pascu. He was an innocent kid, probably no more than eighteen when he disappeared. His mother was a politician and was well known for breaking up crime families in Romania. His father was an established businessman who had reinvested in the local community. The protection racket run by the local crime lords was practically put out of business, as a result.\n\nAll that mattered to me was putting a bullet between Pamela Blake's eyes for what she had taken from me.\n\nWhile we outnumbered her, she had a lot of visitors, most of whom Chance knew as black marketeers. We planned to raid her place, but we would have to do it at night. At any other time, there would've been a greater risk that we would fight more people. Me, being a toon, meant acting as the meat shield would be the obvious thing to do. The thing is, I didn't want to feel fifty bullets going into me, even if I knew I'd survive the encounter.\n\nWith this in mind, Chance taught me how to shoot fast from around corners, evasive maneuvers, jujitsu, and Krav Maga. Chance had some serious training under his belt. He said he'd worked for years running black ops as a contractor for various military organizations, mostly in Europe, but beyond that, he didn't like to talk about it.\n\nIt was nice being taken under the wing and being treated like just one of the guys by someone. My guess is he understood what it was like to be a part of society but still be outside of it.\n\nHe commented that my focus when put to a task nearly rivaled his own. I took that as a compliment. Impressed that I still kept connections outside of a job, mostly Kyle, my apartment, etc., he said that once this was over, I could run ops for him and that the pay was great.\n\nI didn't know about that. I mean, yeah, tracking down a missing teenager who'd been gone for almost 10 years seemed like a nice thing to do, but what would the next job be? Going after Mexican cartel? Flying to Russia and taking out a diplomat? That's the sort of blood I didn't want to have on my hands. I didn't want to have any blood on my hands.\n\nChance was at his computer; he had a VPN on a laptop running an operating system I'd never seen before, doing all of his dealings on the dark web. He showed me how everything worked. I even got some logins and a crash course on how to handle more delicate transactions.\n\nFor the most part, when I wasn't training, I was doing my job for Snappy. I photocopied everything twice: one for City Hall, one for Snappy. After updating the database with the information, Chance got the original copyrights and an update to his copy of the database. There were hundreds, if not thousands of toons in there.\n\n\"Ugh,\" I said, setting another stack aside. \"None of these give us anything to work with. We have no confirmation that they did anything other than meet. Even if she did, we have no proof she converted him into a toon. And if she did, you know, how would we know?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"Maybe she kept a record. Snappy wouldn't necessarily know anything.\"\n\n\"Okay, fine, but then what? We find the toon and tell him that he actually was human at one point? He's not gonna have any memory of that, so I'm hoping he wasn't one of the converted.\"\n\n\"She does deal with humans as well, you know.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I know, but still, worst-case scenario, we take her out, we get all of her info, and we find some—I dunno—hedgehog or wolf or something who doesn't want to talk to us, who won't believe us, because he'll have no memory of being Ludovic Pascu.\"\n\nChance grunted. \"Yeah, don't remind me, but we have to try.\"\n\nI walked back to the firing range and set the guns back in their designated cases, closing and locking them.\n\n\"Seriously, Fairfax, you really are good at this.\"\n\n\"I don't know if I have the stomach to do what you do, man. It's like…this, now? Yeah, I can handle it because it's personal but, I mean, you answer to the highest bidder. Do you…\"\n\nChance looked at me. \"I was wondering when you'd ask. You want to know if I go for the highest bidder or if I'm a little more selective in who I go for.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I've seen some of the contracts that are out there for people like you. Some of them are husbands and wives who want to get their spouses killed, people who want to have business rivals just taken out or to have information planted on them.\"\n\nI pointed to one of the requests that had been on a screen. \"That one right there wanted someone to take child pornography, hack into a senator's computer, and plant it in there to discredit him! Why would you even—I want to go after the people making the child porn and make them pay!\"\n\nChance patted me on the shoulders. \"Yeah, I generally don't take jobs that involve kids unless it's something like this.\"\n\n\"He's got to be in his mid-20s by now, almost 30, yeah?\"\n\n\"And people are still looking for him. They want him found and I'll find him. I made a promise that I would bring him back to Romania, come hell or high water, no matter what condition I found him in. If that means he comes back in a body bag, so be it.\"\n\n\"Let's go over the equipment again. I can't carry much, so you'll have to tell me what you're bringing.\"\n\nHe nodded and unpacked a few crates, put on a pair of goggles, and then a metal framework around his arms that locked at the wrist up to the shoulder. At the bottom, on the elbow, he plugged in several magazines for his Desert Eagles.\n\n\"What does this do again?\" I asked.\n\n\"They wirelessly connect to the eyepiece,\" he said, pointing at the goggles. \"I aim at someone, and I'm a pretty damn good shot, but this automatically pulls my arm into the optimal position, down to half a millimeter, for a lethal shot. I generally use this with more silent weapons, but I'm prepared for the worst, especially considering what could happen if I get knocked out.\"\n\nI shuddered; I hadn't thought about that. I thought I was putting a lot at risk, but Chance could get knocked out and wake up the next day like Brandon and not even have any recollection of who he was the day before. If I got caught, they could just torture me until my body finally gave in.\n\n\"I can go in through the front gate, but—\"\n\nChance shook his head. \"You'd have to put in your passcode, and that would get logged. I'm going to head over and carry you in my backpack…\"\n\nI huffed.\n\n\"Hey, you weigh like 40, 50 pounds, tops. It's hard enough for you to fire big guns.\"\n\n\"Fine.\"\n\n\"Because of that, I'm not to be able to carry as much computer equipment as I normally would for an information extraction like this. I've been doing some surveillance on the place. It looks like she's got more people coming by tonight. I think they're prepping for another conversion, but it's not going to happen tonight.\"\n\n\"Don't you want to wait until she's alone?\"\n\nChance shook his head. \"I want to take her out of business, and I want there to be at least one person to run away, a living message to the next guy wanting to do whatever the fuck they think they were doing to never, ever even consider trying it again.\"\n\nI whistled. \"Well, damn, man! Let's do this!\"\n\nI stood at the ready and had the worst kink in my neck. The back of my bowtie was the only place I could secure both guns and I only had room for one magazine in each shoe. A second was stuffed behind the back of each hand in my gloves. My supply was limited. Had it been one on one, it would've been more than enough, but God knows what we'd walk into.\n\nWe drove to Snappy's neighborhood, but took a few different turns and found a wooded area that abutted to the back of Snappy's property. I crawled into the backpack and tried to shimmy myself in a small as possible. With the laptop hugged to my chest, I leaned back on one of the spare hard drives.\n\nChance secured the pack to his back and trudged through the dark woods. It had to have been close to midnight. I saw Chance looking around when we'd reached the wall around Snappy's estate. Then he scaled a tree.\n\n\"I'm going to toss you over into the yard.\"\n\n\"Wait, what are you—\"\n\n\"Hold onto the computer!\"\n\n\"Wait, no!\"\n\nI was airborne and then fell about 9 feet onto my side. My shoulder screamed in pain, but I held onto that laptop and did my best to roll.\n\n\"Fuuuuu…\" I wheezed, the wind knocked out of me.\n\nChance scaled the wall and dropped down beside me about 20 seconds later.\n\n\"Come on, get up!\"\n\n\"Fuck, I think my shoulder's dislocated!\"\n\n\"We don't have time for this shit. Get up!\"\n\nI shook my head and crawled out of the bag. My left arm was hanging a bit limp and I had to flick my left wrist with my right hand. Definitely dislocated, which is odd, considering I didn't really have bones.\n\n\"Son of a bitch, why didn't you just carry me on your back?\"\n\n\"I couldn't afford to carry that much weight and drop that far. Sorry man, I'm so used to toons shaking shit off and—\"\n\n\"We've been working together, practicing for the better part of a month, and it never occurred to you that a nine-foot fall would hurt me as much as if I were a human with no physical training in this shit?\"\n\n\"Let me see what I can do.\" He looked at my limp rubber hose arm, grabbed my shoulder, and pulled. I yelped slightly, and I was worried that we would alert the guesthouse, but to my relief, nothing happened.\n\nThere was a meaty pop. I was able to move it somewhat, but I would definitely need Barry's help on this. It felt really weak.\n\n\"Okay, I think it's just sprained now or something. I'm gonna need a cast.\"\n\n\"You are such a baby. Come on, I've completed jobs after being shot.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"This is my first job, and I've never been shot, and I don't want to be shot.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He grunted as I walked beside him, still rubbing my sore shoulder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You go into shock pretty fast, actually. It feels like you've been punched really hard and the shock to the system prevents a majority of the pain from actually getting your senses. When it fades, it's one of the worst things you can feel.\"\n\n\"It doesn't make me feel any better about this whole thing.\"\n\nHe looked at me. \"You'll live through it. They shoot me, I could just be DOA.\"\n\nI looked at him. \"Yeah, and if I collapse because I'm in too much pain, all they have to do is unload every ammo clip we brought into me. Eventually, my body will just tornado and I'll be whoever they wanted me to be in the first place.\"\n\nThere was a bright flash and Chance pointed off in the distance. We hid behind some foliage as five black sedans, led by Pamela's car, entered the estate.\n\n\"So that was why no one responded to my crying out,\" I muttered under my breath. \"We got here just in time.\"\n\nI lost count of how many huge muscular men in tight but well-fitted suits emerged from the cars. There was also an older man with a few younger men who did not seem to have the same build.\n\nChance grabbed a pair of pocket binoculars and peeked in. \"I think…yeah, that's the Dellamorte family. I was worried about this.\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"You don't need to worry about them just now. They deal in human trafficking, primarily sex trafficking.\"\n\n\"So, what you're saying is…\"\n\n\"I'm worried they'll take some of their girls who been a little more uppity…\"\n\n\"Oh, God,\" I muttered, realizing what he meant. \"Turn them into toons, X-rated ones, and then they hold the copyright. The girls have to do whatever the hell they're ordered to do.\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"And how do you know them?\"\n\n\"I did a job for them once,\" he said. \"Something I'm not terribly proud of.\"\n\nHe looked at me and saw the look of sheer shock and horror on my face.\n\n\"I didn't know what they were when I took the job! It was early days for me. It was good money, okay? Dirty money, blood money, but there was a lot of it. I've done some shit I'm not proud of; working with them is one of them.\"\n\nI reached behind me and pulled out my pistols, checking to make sure that the safeties were on and that they were loaded. \"Then let's give you an opportunity to earn a bit of forgiveness for that sin, huh?\"\n\nChance gave me a side glance and nodded. \"I suppose so.\"\n\n\"What did you—\"\n\nChance held up a hand. \"I don't wanna talk about it with you. Not yet. We know each other pretty well, but I don't know you that well.\"\n\nI nodded; I knew how it was.\n\nWe waited for a few minutes, peeking from the outside. They had a man stationed on either side of the front and back doors. We circled the place a few times, keeping a good, long distance. The thugs or bodyguards or whatever they were weren't expecting anyone to come around, so they were taking their jobs pretty lightly.\n\n\"Okay, okay,\" Chance said, looking through the binoculars. \"I see one in the kitchen, one at the door to the basement, and my guess is there's probably seven men downstairs, and that's not counting the Dellamortes and Pamela. What's your thinking?\"\n\n\"I'm still technically allowed to be on the grounds, and I'm a toon, so they're not going to suspect me of doing anything violent.\"\n\nChance nodded.\n\n\"I'll just run around to the front. I'll try to act a little bit more wacky than usual and ask to come in. If the guy turns me down or refuses to let me talk to Pamela, you take on the back door. You'll cause enough of a ruckus that the guy will turn around to see what's going on but he won't see me sneak in.\"\n\nChance grinned. \"That is...,\" he whistled, \"an oddly effective technique. Damn, Fairfax! You have a knack for this.\"\n\nI shrugged, \"I mean, to me it's just basic strategy, just running the numbers.\"\n\nChance paused and scruffled my hair, I pushed him off, \"Quiddit.\"\n\n\"What's the rest of your plan, fox?\"\n\nIt took me a moment, but I continued, \"If you come in through the back door, you'll take out the first guy easily enough. The second guy on the inside is gonna run out, see what's going on. You take him out. The guy in the kitchen will run toward you. I take out the guy at the door. The other guy's going to be halfway to the back door when he hears my shot. He'll turn around. I'll get him while he's confused, and then we basically sandwich him in, go downstairs and raise some hell.\"\n\n\"I'm buying you a beer after this. Hell, I'll buy you a fucking bar with what I'm getting paid for this.\"\n\n\"Not necessary, but thanks.\"\n\nThis was it; it was time for my great act of vengeance and I was about to become a killer. I paused. Could I really go through with this? I looked at the man at the door, trying to imagine putting a bullet in him, watching the light go from his eyes. Then I thought about Kyle, and being made human again, and what I would pay for just my identity back.\n\nWith what Chance had told me about these men, what they had done, and what they were likely about to do, I couldn't let that stand. One bad action doesn't make you a bad person, no matter how bad that action is. At least, that's what I was trying to tell myself. I'd probably be fine at the end of the day.\n\nAfter all, toons don't kill people.\n\nI stepped forward out of the shadows. Once I'd cycled around Snappy's place, I whistled a jaunty tune, making sure I had some extra bounce in my step. I kept my back straight to make sure the guns didn't jostle or make too much noise. God, my neck hurt from this…shoulders, too.\n\nThe guy had to be somewhere in his mid-30s, and I'd grabbed his attention. Now, might I add, while I'd kind of gotten used to it a bit with going out in public and being around Chance, being nose to navel with most humans is still a very intimidating experience.\n\nI smiled up at him. \"Well, howdy hey there, man! I need to talk to Miss Blake.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, she's not taking any visitors right now.\"\n\n\"Oh, are you her new doorman?\"\n\n\"No, I work for one of her guests.\"\n\n\"Oh, well, I am also one of her guests, so can I please see Miss Blake?\"\n\nHe looked at me up and down and shook his head. \"Get outta here, toon.\"\n\n\"But it's really important! You see, I'm Mr. Gator's personal assistant,\" I said, thumbing behind me toward the main house, \"and I really need to tell her about something.\"\n\nHe leaned in and growled, \"I don't give two shits who you work for. I don't give a shit if you live on this property. You have no fucking rights at this doorstep. Now get your ink-and-paint ass outta here before I beat your orange face black and blue.\"\n\nI frowned at that, then did a little dance, trying to play up the act. \"Aw, man, you just need to smile more!\"\n\nHe looked down at me and cracked his neck and then his knuckles. \"See, this is the thing about toons I actually like: you actually never know when you're about to have your ass handed to you. I can hand your ass to you over and over again. It's not like you're gonna fucking do anything.\"\n\nI tried to give him big, sad, puppy-dog eyes. \"Aw, but I need to talk to my friend Pamela! It's important! You see, someone very close to her died recently, and I need to tell her, and—\"\n\nThe guy groaned. \"Fine. I'll pass on the message. Who the fuck died?\"\n\nI heard the first shot from the back, followed by a heavy thud.\n\n\"What the fuck was that?\" said the bodyguard as he turned around. As he moved, I saw the man on the other side move toward the shot.\n\nEverything slowed down. The bodyguard had forgotten about me. I reached behind me, pulled the two guns out, cocked the hammers, and clicked off the safeties. I had already lined them up: one his head, one at center mass.\n\n\"You want to know who died that was close to her?\" I said in my normal tone of voice. \"I'd say the motherfucker standing on her doorstep, who was probably no more than 50 feet away from her, give or take, was pretty fucking close.\"\n\nI pulled the triggers. He jerked back and I watched the left half of his face fly off. His chest exploded.\n\nThe sound was deafening, and I stood there shaking. I just shot a man in cold blood.\n\nGod, what the hell have I done? I trained weeks for this, but…\n\nI wanted to throw up. Unsure if it might be considered a gag, I fought the urge. I didn't want to lose a piece of my humanity by showing some.\n\nHe fell against the door and I kicked it open, smearing his brain tissue on the bottom of my shoe. As I predicted, the man on the inside of the door, turned around, gun aimed over my head, and looked down at me, perplexed.\n\n\"The fuck is a toon doing holding a gun?\"\n\nI pulled the triggers again and again and again. I tried to think of every parent missing a child somewhere in the world. Those who had no idea where they had gone, who would never see them again. Every parent who had to worry if their child was dead and for those who held hope they were alive but would never see the bodies. I did the unthinkable acts so they would never have to.\n\nI walked over his body. Down the hall, I saw the bodyguard positioned on the outside of the staircase to the basement firing around the corner toward Chance. I ducked and rolled, wincing when I felt a meaty pop in my left shoulder again.\n\n\"Fuck!\" I hissed, which drew his attention.\n\nBullets whizzed over my head and a few landed in thuds, ripping holes around me through the sofa I hid behind.\n\nChance was being held at bay by suppressing fire, but he was walking backward toward me. I had to act quickly; I reared back my right hand and threw my pistol over the sofa at him. While I peeked through a hole he had shot, I waited for him to be distracted, attempting to catch the gun.\n\nI popped up and fired with my bad arm, clipping him in the neck. I heard him gurgle and wheeze; it reminded me of the noises that Brandon Butler had made when his throat was cut…the noises I probably made when mine was cut.\n\nI felt sick again, getting a flash of everything going on downstairs.\n\nThe thug charged at me and raised his gun in my direction. I was waiting for the pain, my left shoulder already screaming from the recoil of the shot I had just taken. Suddenly, his face exploded and covered me in God knows what.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Chance stood there, looking down at my blood-soaked form, shivering at the sight of it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 76 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There is something unnatural about a toon covered in gore.\n\n\"I'm just letting you know, you're taking a shower before we leave here.\"\n\nI nodded and picked up my gun, looting the bodies of the bodyguards like I was in some tabletop RPG. \"If there's anything that you want to use, grab it. They'll be coming up any second now.\"\n\nChance shook his head. \"They're way down there. We've got high ground, but they've got all the supplies were going after. God, what I'd give for you to be able to jump through the screen right now.\"\n\nI hissed at him, \"Don't even fucking joke about that shit, Chance!\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Right, sorry.\"\n\n\"Ahh, fucking shoulder!\"\n\nChance looked over the weapons they had and then hefted up the body of the second man I'd shot. \"Fuck, he's heavy. Can you help?\"\n\n\"With what? I got, like, no muscle mass like this.\"\n\n\"God, I gotta do everything.\"\n\n\"I took out two and a half of them. I think we're on even standing.\"\n\n\"I hate it when you're right. Oof, this is going to get nasty,\" he said, holding the body in front of him.\n\n\"Jesus Christ, you can't use him as a human shield!\"\n\n\"Well, seeing as neither of us is wearing a bulletproof vest…\"\n\n\"They don't make them in my size, but you could've worn one.\"\n\n\"Guys like this? They know to go for the knees or the head. Center mass is something that rookies do.\"\n\nI glared at him. \"I took someone out on center mass.\"\n\n\"Oh? Then they're rookies too.\"\n\nHe slung his arm under the back of the man's shirt, hooked it around the back of his collar, and kicked open the door. A barrage of bullets came in, sending the body into a jerking fit from the repeated impacts. Chance threw, no, pushed the body down the stairs when the firing stopped.\n\nI ducked between Chance's legs because their attention would still be high up. With both guns raised, I aimed for two who had hunkered down at the base of the staircase. I got one through the eye but the other bullet went over the target's head. There was a meaty thud from the one I'd picked off and Chance took down the one I missed.\n\nHe made it down the stairs in double time and I stuck behind him.\n\nI didn't want to be back in this place. All that training and now that I was back in this guesthouse, in this basement, where this had happened to me, it was all coming back…it was all fresh.\n\nChance took a few more shots, felling another bodyguard. As we passed by a pair of doors, heading toward the far back room where the conversions took place, they burst open. The older man and the two younger ones who Chance identified as the Dellamorte family members booked it up the stairs, covered by one of their bodyguards.\n\nThe older man stopped when he saw Chance. \"Ovuskno?\"\n\n\"Shit.\"\n\nI called back, \"I got the rest of them! You go repent for your sins, man!\"\n\nChance nodded. \"You sure?\"\n\n\"I got this. Don't ask me again, because then I might lose my nerve, but right now, I got this.\" I ducked behind a door, and as another thug came out, I clipped him in the groin. He screamed and I shot him in the neck.\n\nHe clutched his throat, falling to the ground. I kicked his gun away and shot his hands.\n\nHe could crawl away or bleed out, for all I cared.\n\nThere couldn't be many more and I was two doors down from dealing with Pamela.\n\n\"Miss Blake, we've got you covered,\" I heard from the conversion room.\n\nThe door flung open; they pulled out semiautomatic rifles and fired in the \"spray and pray\" method. They took out their friend who was bleeding on the ground in their attempt to hit me.\n\nI ran, and in their shock at seeing a toon running at them with pistols akimbo, they tried to aim lower, but I was faster, sliding between them, aiming up. In a one-in-a-million shot, my bullets found the bottom of their chins and came out the top of the head.\n\nThere it was…where this whole ordeal had started for me. I breathed a sigh of relief that there was no one strapped to the table, I don't think I could bear to see what happened to me and Brandon happen to anyone else ever again.\n\nThen there was Pamela Blake, huddled in a corner, staring at me, covered in blood, righteous fury in my gaze.\n\nShe shook her head, her makeup smeared, in jeans and a T-shirt. Whatever this meeting was, it had obviously taken a toll on her.\n\nI raised my pistols. \"You're going to pay for what you did, Pamela. You're going to pay for what you were about to do.\"\n\nShe raised her hands and then put them behind her head. \"I'm not armed.\"\n\n\"I am, and I don't give a good goddamn. I was unarmed when you strapped me to that table, when you made me deepthroat a fucking chainsaw, when you took my life away from me! You wanted to act like you were so fucking sad about everything when you could've just let me go. Like you said, no one will ever believe me. Well, you know what? No one's ever going to believe what happened here, but they'll find out what you did.\"\n\nShe snarled. We circled each other, and I fired a warning shot when she got near the door. Soon, it was me standing near the rift, and her near the table.\n\n\"Do you have any last words?\" I said, giving her the same false dignity she had attempted to give me.\n\nShe shook her head, a tear running down her cheek. She was caught.\n\nI slowly brought both my guns up side-by-side, aiming at her face—her, admittedly, very pretty face—and pulled both triggers.\n\nCLICK! CLICK!\n\n\"You have got to be shitting me…\"\n\nShe produced a small knife disguised as a decorative hairpiece. I felt it lodge into my right shoulder; I cried out as I looked down, ink flowing from the wound, tinged with hints of light orange.\n\nI dropped my right pistol, but I brought the left one up. I used my shaking right hand to pull out the spare clip from my left glove, and as I was about to slap it in, I saw Pamela get a wide, wondrous, gleeful smile on her face.\n\nBehind me, I heard, \"Hey, old buddy, old pal!\" in a nasal, snide, bubbly voice\n\nWhen I turned, I saw a chubby cartoon skunk with a mischievous grin on his face and a purple T-shirt. He reached behind himself to produce a large, cast-iron frying pan and smacked me upside the head with it.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "I'll share a piece from a longer story, then you take over with 80 sentences in A.J. Mayall's voice, keeping within the urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre. Some context may come from earlier chapters.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I wasn't knocked out, but I was dazed. I moved toward the open door, re-cocked the gun, and pointed it at the skunk, then at Pamela. I pulled back the hammer and aimed for center mass. When I pulled the trigger, the skunk, in a fit of panic and confusion, threw himself in front of the bullet. It indented in his body and then ricocheted around the room for a few seconds. It came to a stop, striking and going flat on the ceiling, then fell and bounced off his nose.\n\n\"Now, Fairfax,\" the skunk said, advancing on me, \"is that any way to talk to an old friend?\" He was about the same height as me, but he looked stockier.\n\n\"Who the hell are you?\"\n\nHe stopped, looked at Pamela, and did what can only be described as an aside to a camera. \"With friends like him, who needs enemies? And with enemies like him, who needs friends?\" He then looked at me and opened his arms wide, \"It's Scratch! Scratch T. Skunk! I'm your foil.\"\n\n\"For fuck's sake…\" I said, at which point, he went wide-eyed.\n\n\"Don't talk like that! I don't know what's going on, but you put those guns down right now! You'll hurt someone!\"\n\n\"That's the point, Scratch, or whatever the hell your name is.\"\n\n\"No, no, no, we don't play that way. Drop an anvil on someone, fine. Slam someone's hands in a piano, okay. Run each other over with steamrollers, perfectly acceptable and decent behavior for us. But a gun? A real gun with real bullets, aimed at a real person? Have you lost your golly gosh darn mind?\"\n\nGunfire went off in the distance. Scratch looked up, then at me, and then at the woman. \"Oh my gosh! You're really involved in this, aren't you? No, you're not doing this. I'm not gonna allow it!\" he said, standing in front of her like a cartoon shield. \"Ma'am, you just get behind me, okay? I won't let him hurt you.\"\n\n\"Get out of the way, skunk. She's gonna pay for what she did to me!\"\n\n\"Oh, really? What did the human do to you?\"\n\n\"She's turned me into this, you idiot. I was human until about a month ago when she put me through this conversion process.\"\n\nHe looked at me quizzically, and then with visible unease. \"Fairfax, I'm gonna talk real slow and quiet, and I want you to listen to me, okay? We have been rivals since the early days.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about? You just popped into existence!\"\n\n\"No, no, we go back decades. Yeah, our shows never made it big, and no one really cared for our antics because, you know, other people always kinda did a little bit better, but we always stuck together. I chased you, and you outsmarted me, and then I outsmarted you. Then we did that whole thing with the World War II propaganda. You were hesitant about breaking out of the black-and-white era, and I said I didn't have to worry about it, but I'd be willing to try a bit of color, so…\" he said, tugging at his shirt.\n\nI looked incredulously at him. \"This is the foil, right?\" I said, turning to Pamela.\n\nShe nodded.\n\nEverywhere I tried to aim, he moved between the gun and her. \"And he,\" I hissed through clenched teeth, \"has all of the memories and all of the life built in that the cartoon you tried to turn me into would've had.\"\n\nShe nodded again.\n\n\"What are you two talking about, Fairfax? Listen, I know times have been tough and I know that sometimes I'm not the easiest toon to work with. Trust me, I'll take a pie in the face for you any day, but you can't go around actually hurting people for no good reason!\"\n\nChance burst into the room and saw me bleeding from the shoulder, the knife still embedded in it. \"God! Did she do it again?\" he said, pointing to the skunk.\n\n\"No,\" I said, looking up at him. \"Meet my foil. He thinks he's my partner.\"\n\nScratch looked hurt at that. \"What? You think that this human is going to be a good partner for you?\"\n\nI nodded. \"We've been working together for a bit. It's been pretty damn good.\" I faced Chance. \"Did you get the guys?\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"They got away.\"\n\n\"Damn it!\"\n\nScratch shuddered and looked back at me. \"Seriously, what is it with you and the swearing? Stop it! You're G-rated! Stop trying to break your rating! How are you breaking your rating?\"\n\nChance raised his gun. Scratch stuck his thumb in his mouth and inflated himself until he was practically a wall that took up the majority of the room. \"Uh-uh,\" he said through clenched teeth. \"You're not hurting her.\"\n\nI looked to Chance and then at my bleeding shoulder. \"Dude, I'm beginning to feel kinda weak here. What do we do?\"\n\nHe looked at the skunk and smacked me upside the back of the head. \"Why didn't you tell me you had a foil?!\"\n\n\"It was in the copyright! At some point, he was just supposed to pop into existence, but I didn't know when. It must've happened because I got too close to the rift again.\"\n\nChance spat on the ground and pulled me under his arm like a football. \"Fuck this; we're getting out of here,\" he said, bolting up the stairs.\n\n\"But she's got the—\"\n\n\"If there's a goddamn toon who's going to be a human shield, we're at a damn stalemate unless you can pull a gag to stop him, which you can't. Eventually, someone will have called the cops over all the gunfire.\"\n\n\"She's right there, and—\"\n\n\"And we'll have to come another time. Damn it…it's going to be a while before I can let you back in my place.\"\n\n\"But we've been—\"\n\n\"Compromised, Fairfax. We've been compromised. You've been spotted by her; you think Snappy's not going to know about this, especially now that your foil has seen what you've been doing?\"\n\nIf I could've gone pale, I would've. I fought tooth and nail, but Chance took the guns from me, threw them in the backpack, stuffed me in it afterward, and bodily threw me, knife still embedded in my shoulder, mind you, over the wall. I landed with a thud and I felt the blade going deeper.\n\nI screamed.\n\n\"Just don't get the equipment messed up,\" he said after I heard him scale it and heft me back up. He sprinted back to the car and peeled out.\n\nChance dropped me back at my apartment. \"It's going to be a while before we can re-gather. This entire operation may be a bust, now that she knows were onto her and she knows what we're willing to do. Not to mention, I think I know what's coming for you, and you've got a lot of explaining to do, man.\"\n\n\"Explaining to who? The cops? Toons don't hurt people.\"\n\n\"No, to Snappy.\"\n\nI gulped. All he had to do was order me around and I had to. He could tell me never to see Chance again, and I would instinctively avoid him. That had nothing to do with gags; that was just the power of the copyright.\n\nI hunched over and he snapped his fingers. \"Ah-ah-ah. Clips, too.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I nodded solemnly and fished out the two from my shoes and the one I hadn't used from the back of my right hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'll call you later, okay?\"\n\n\"No, I'll call you. I got to get a new burner phone now. It'll be a while.\"\n\nI nodded and huffed back upstairs. I was injured and there was only one person I could turn to, but in my current condition, I didn't know how to explain it, so I went to my apartment first.\n\nI knew that, at least with humans, you don't want to actually take a knife out because that opens up the wound and causes it to bleed more. I didn't know what that would do to me since I couldn't bleed out and die, but I'd probably pass out. If I'm passed out long enough, it would instinctively shake itself off.\n\nI whined and try to keep my voice low. There was no choice; I'd have to wake up Barry and Betty soon enough.\n\nOut of habit, I went to the bathroom and started the shower. It felt comforting to do something human that was safe again. There was so much blood on me; it rippled off of me in waves. It was lucky that my fur, shoes, and gloves didn't stain.\n\nAfter a few minutes, I took off my bow tie, gloves, and shoes, and just soaked in the hot water, nursing the wound on my shoulder. I stepped out once I was certain that I was clean enough.\n\nOnce dressed, I stumbled next door and knocked on the badgers' door.\n\n\"Hrm?\" I heard Barry say.\n\n\"It's Fairfax. I'm hurt bad.\"\n\nThey say that badgers are grumpy, and Barry was no exception. He opened the door and grumbled, \"What did you get yourself into this time?\" Then he saw the knife. \"Oh, Mother and Father…what are we going to do with you, Fairfax? Come on in.\"\n\nI lay in his tub and whined as he put pressure on my wound and pulled the knife out. \"Okay, haven't got much time here, okay, man?\"\n\nI nodded fast.\n\n\"This is an actual knife, though. This should have just bounced off of—\" He sighed. \"Right…you can't do that. Make a personal note that weapons don't bounce off of you at all, even human ones.\"\n\nHe wrapped my shoulder with gauze and then when I mentioned my dislocated left shoulder. He nodded and wrapped that one as well. When he saw the lump on the back of my head, he wrapped any part of me until I was looking like a mummy or a full-body cast with two blinking eyes.\n\nHe said, \"This'll probably hurt a little bit.\" Barry pulled the bandages and I was sent spinning.\n\nI'd never tornadoed before and it was, oddly, a very freeing experience. I was just chaos with nothing holding me down. I felt like I could just run over and destroy anything I wanted. It was like all of my rage personified. It felt like the best gift I'd been given since this whole ordeal started.\n\nWhen I came to, I staggered, dizzy. Barry steadied me and smiled. \"There you go. So, what were you up to that got you involved in that?\"\n\nI didn't want to tell them but, then again, I didn't have to.\n\nThere was a knock on the door.\n\nBarry groaned. \"Oh, come on, we weren't that noisy.\" He peeked through the peephole and stammered for a moment. \"Huh? I wonder what—\"\n\nHe opened the door and there was Snappy, looking furious at me. \"I thought I'd find you here,\" he said, storming up to me, a piece of paper crunched in his hand. \"Did you do what I just heard you did?\"\n\nI looked at Barry, then Betty, who had just come out of the bedroom.\n\n\"Can we talk about this at my place…please?\" I said between clenched teeth.\n\n\"Oh no, I think that your friends really need to hear what you've been up to. Did you know that our friend Fairfax here has been associating with a human of ill repute?\"\n\nBarry arched a brow and looked at me.\n\n\"In fact, he just attacked someone who lives on my property.\"\n\nBarry glared at me. \"I thought I said to keep things on the down low.\"\n\nI looked at him and said, \"It's the woman who did this to me. I had a chance to pay her back.\"\n\n\"Oh yes, and she's very happy about how you decided to pay her back. Really, disturbing a business transaction of hers, running away potential clients…\"\n\nI gulped and I shrugged. From the way Snappy was talking, it just made it sound like I got over there, raised a little hell, but nothing illegal.\n\n\"And, might I also say, you treated your newly spawned foil very poorly.\"\n\nBetty perked up when she heard that. \"Oh, your foil arrived? Boy or girl?\"\n\nAt that, Snappy piped up happily, \"It's a boy. A skunk. Scratch T. Skunk, with all the appropriate memories,\" he said, looking at me disdainfully, \"unlike some people. You know,\" he said, holding the paper in front of me.\n\nBarry stammered, \"You've got a—is that pre-Code?\"\n\n\"On the verge of Code,\" Snappy said.\n\n\"Those are for toons that are like,\" he said, gesturing to Snappy, \"of your age and distinction, sir.\"\n\nSnappy snapped out of his anger and shook himself into a prideful stance, his thick tail slapping the ground happily. \"Why, thank you, sir. See? Someone is being polite. Scratch will be over sometime soon, and I expect you to apologize to him.\"\n\n\"I'm not going to.\"\n\nHe held the copyright in front of me and glared. \"You will apologize to your foil and make nice.\"\n\nIt felt like the word of God was being forced through me. All I knew was the next time I saw Scratch T. Skunk, I would ask for his forgiveness, be it through clenched teeth or through open and honest happiness to see him. I wasn't sure.\n\nI looked at Snappy and gritted my teeth. \"And I expect you want me to apologize to Pamela, too?\"\n\nHe leaned in close. \"I don't like the tone of your voice, sir.\" He thrust that copyright in front of me, holding it tight. \"No. You're not going to apologize to her. You are going to leave her alone. You will never raise a hand to her, you got that? You will never harm her or anyone around her.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Again, I felt that wave through me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 32 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Take that back, Snappy.\"\n\n\"No, I'm not going to take it back. It was very rude, what you did,\" he said, turning around and walking out the door. \"And seven murders, too! Shameful!\"\n\nI froze and looked at Barry.\n\nHe looked at me and shook his head. \"Get out. Just…get out of my house.\"\n\n\"But Barry—\"\n\n\"You killed people? You killed seven people?! I don't think I want to know the sort of toon that you were meant to be if you had that in you, but I'll tell you this much: the human I knew would never have done that.\"\n\nI looked at him pleadingly. \"Barry, I had no choice. What those people did—\"\n\n\"Yeah, they hurt you.\"\n\nI grabbed him by the shoulders. \"They were sex traffickers. They kidnapped kids and sold them in the sex trade.\"\n\nBarry froze, his instincts to never harm humans conflicting with his instincts to bring joy to children, and never let harm come to them.\n\nSnappy walked off, whistling a tune, while Barry and Betty looked at me in shame.\n\n\"They were going to start the process. At least it was looking like it. Taking kidnapped kids and teens, converting them into X-rated toons, falsifying copyrights and selling them to the highest bidder.\"\n\nBetty looked visibly sick.\n\n\"What do you want me to do with that information?\" Barry said, pulling at his hair, not knowing how to process it.\n\n\"You're the one you told me not to go to the police, so I didn't, but damn it, I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place no matter what I do. You said you'd look out for me no matter what; I'm holding you to your promise, okay? Do you think I wanted to do all this stuff? I just want to become human again! I don't want to be a damn toon!\"\n\nBarry narrowed his gaze again. \"And what's so bad about being a toon?\"\n\n\"Nothing is bad about being a toon! Just…I'm not one.\"\n\n\"Well, you are now, okay?! Come to grips with it, make peace with it, but you can't go around dispensing vigilante justice. You know, you're lucky that I believe you on this…real lucky. This is your last chance. Keep your nose clean, Fairfax; get your life back in order.\"\n\nI nodded. Maybe it was time to give up the whole thing once and for all. \"I think I'm going to call Kyle, tell him I'm ready to show him who I am now. I don't know what I'm going to do.\"\n\nBarry patted me on the back. \"It'll be a while before I can really see you in the light of who I thought you were. But I also know you've been pushed farther than any person I've ever known. You don't know the rules yet. I can only imagine how insane our life must be for you. You're mad at Snappy right now, and I get that, but the things he just told you to do? The commands? Just run with them. It seems cruel, I know, but it's probably the best thing for you. If you're going to be walking between both worlds, fine, but walk a good path.\"\n\nI nodded, my head hanging in shame.\n\nBack in my own apartment, I picked up my phone and dialed Kyle.\n\n\"Tyler, what is it? It's like 4:30 in the morning.\"\n\n\"Can you come over? I'm ready to come clean with you.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "CONTINUE STORY SEGMENT. PARAMETERS: fifteen sentences sentences, A.J. Mayall style, urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre. NOTE: PART OF LARGER NARRATIVE.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "[Author's note: For the upcoming response only: include a balanced amount of quoted content]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I told Kyle to call me when he got here. He seemed relieved when he saw my car out front. I was peeking out the window and kept the lights off so he couldn't look in.\n\nHe texted to inform me he was here, so I called him back. \"Listen,\" I said, \"you're gonna see something you really aren't expecting.\"\n\nHe sighed and went, \"Well, I thought you were in an accident, a really bad car accident, but the car's here and it looks fine. How bad can it be?\"\n\n\"Just,\" I said, tears welling up, \"just stay on the phone with me? When you come up, I may talk through the door for a couple of minutes before I let you in, okay? This is hard for me. I want you to listen to my voice.\"\n\nI could hear a smile through the earpiece. \"To be honest, whatever it is, you sound a little cuter now.\"\n\n\"Seriously, hon? This isn't the time—\"\n\n\"I'm trying to make you feel better, okay? I love you.\"\n\n\"I love you, too.\"\n\nTwo minutes later, I heard him step up to the door and knock. I hung up and sat on the other side of the door, tapping my head back against it. There was no going back now.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Tyler,\" he said, \"please let me in.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Kyle, I-I need you to know that this is me, okay? It's my voice, right?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, but hon, it can't be that bad.\"\n\n\"Yeah, it really is.\"\n\nI turned and took in a deep breath, ready for him to either laugh, thinking this was some elaborate prank, or scowl and leave, thinking it was an elaborate prank.\n\nI reached up, undid the deadbolt, and opened the door.\n\nHe looked forward, curious where I was, and then he looked down, his eyes meeting mine. \"Oh, hello! Are you one of Barry's friends?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Kyle, it's me.\"\n\nHe stepped back, a look of incredulity on his face.\n\n\"That's why I wanted you to listen to my voice. This happened at my job because I got nosy.\"\n\nHe hurriedly came in and closed the door. \"This isn't funny.\"\n\n\"I know. Why do you think I've been avoiding you for what, three weeks now?\"\n\n\"Oh my God,\" he said, pacing around the room. \"You're a—you're a toon!\"\n\n\"Yeah…it wasn't a fun process, I might add. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I just wanted to go to Burger Circus with you. I had to go grab my phone and then I—\"\n\nI cried. I ugly-cried.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kyle stopped and put a hand on my shoulder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(ooc: Ensure 'everything' appears 3 time(s) in your answer)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Okay, tell me what happened.\"\n\nSo, I did. I got him caught up with everything. I may have glossed over a few minor bloody details and remixed a couple of facts, such as saying we knew in advance the people going to be there were sex traffickers, but mostly, I cried.\n\n\"I don't know if I can ever turn back. I can't shake off damage. I have to be really careful with everything I do now because I won't heal like humans do. I've been relying on Barry for everything. Someone steps on my foot, slams my hand in the refrigerator door, it just keeps throbbing until I would shake it off, and I can't do that.\"\n\n\"So, what all has happened?\"\n\n\"I don't know. I think I've passively done enough minor gags, and I'm a little bit more comfortable in the body. I'm still getting used to it.\"\n\n\"You still have your filthy fucking mouth,\" he said, jokingly.\n\n\"You bet your sweet fucking ass I do, shitbag.\"\n\nHe chuckled, but I could see tears welling up in his eyes, too.\n\n\"It's good to see you, Kyle,\" I said.\n\nI leaned forward to hug him. He seized up for a moment and then relaxed, wrapping his arms around me.\n\n\"It's good to see you, too, Tyler.\"\n\n\"There's something else. I've been copyrighted. Snappy holds it. He hasn't done anything bad with it, except… the person who did this to me? She still lives on his property. I can't approach her or raise my hand to harm her.\"\n\n\"That has to be—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I finished his sentence: \"A living hell. I can't quit the job. It goes against my instincts now, and if he commands me to forget about ever wanting to leave the job, well, I'll just be blissfully happy doing a job I absolutely hate while constantly wanting to get the fuck out of there.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He held my hand and we walked to the bedroom.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Kyle sat on the bed and I crawled up beside him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I cried into his shirt; he wrapped his arms around me and held me.\n\n\"We'll be okay, we'll be okay.\"\n\n\"Along with the copyright, I have a new name now. It's kind of weird being called Tyler since I kind of got used to the new one.\"\n\n\"What's your new name?\" he asked, gripping my shoulders.\n\n\"Fairfax Fawkes. F-A-W-K-E-S,\"\n\nHe nodded solemnly. \"Okay.\" He gestured over my body. \"Do I need to use new pronouns for you as well?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"No, I'm still he/him/his, even without the—\"\n\n\"Yeah. Not gonna lie, I'm going to miss that.\"\n\nI glared at him. \"You think I don't?\"\n\n\"Point taken.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Thank you.\" I lay back on the bed and looked into his eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "God, I missed those eyes. I took in his face, he had a nice five o'clock shadow, and his arms seemed a bit more toned. Likely working out in the time he wasn't spending over at my place.\n\n\"I've wanted to hold you for so long,\" he said, wrapping his arms around me.\n\n\"I've wanted to tell you for so long and I just—put yourself in my shoes.\"\n\nHe looked down. \"I think my feet would drown in those clown stompers.\"\n\nI laughed.\n\n\"You said it hurt a lot.\"\n\n\"I prayed for death and it wouldn't happen. There was just this…energy holding my soul. Pieces melted away, parts fell out of me, and my body…\" I looked up at him and lifted my left leg. \"When this crunched down to this hose that it is, it squeezed everything into my abdomen and…hon, I had to throw up my own femur.\"\n\nHe shuddered. \"Baby, why didn't you tell me?\"\n\n\"You think I didn't want to? Who would believe me? A toon shows up to Burger Circus, broken and afraid, refusing to shake off damage, and says, 'By the way, I'm your boyfriend. Sorry I'm late for the date!' You would've thought it was some crazy toon who sipped too much toonshine and was going for a shock factor.\"\n\nHe opened his mouth to contradict and stopped himself. \"You're right. Who would expect this?\" He shook his head.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm so, so sorry.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Can I kiss you?\" I asked.\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\nI leaned in and brushed my round, inkblot nose against his cute little button nose, my lips meeting his. I melted into him…not literally, mind you. I felt my hands paw over his back. I held him and felt the warmth of his body against me.\n\n\"I hope I'm not being too forward or inappropriate, but I've missed you, and I've been wanting to…\"\n\n\"So have I. You have no idea how pent up I am. I don't even have a hole down there.\"\n\n\"Really?\"\n\n\"I haven't needed to use a toilet in five weeks. It's kind of ridiculous.\"\n\nHe smiled and put his hand between my legs. I shivered. He rubbed me tenderly. My eyes half-lidded and I leaned back.\n\n\"Does that feel good?\"\n\n\"You can't imagine. I tried to pleasure myself a few times since the whole thing started and…it felt really good, but I don't have the equipment to finish off. It's a life of perpetual want and no climax.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It doesn't hurt or anything?\"\n\n\"No, it's more just frustration.\"\n\nHe grinned and kissed my ear. \"Let's just say I went to a leather shop and was pondering getting you a cage to keep that bad boy locked away.\"\n\nI glared at him. \"I really don't want you to make fun of this.\"\n\n\"I'm not. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to use humor to lighten the mood.\"\n\nHis hands reached around behind me and gripped my rump, fingers pressing the slight dimple where a crack should be, feeling around. \"So, you got nothing?\"\n\n\"The only hole in me as a mouth, and,\" I held up a hand, \"yes, I know there is the whole gimmick of a toon flossing between the ears, but—\"\n\nKyle nodded. \"I got it. It's a lot to process.\"\n\n\"Don't think of this as a transition. Think of this more as changing the desktop wallpaper. I'm still me. Everything that would affect me as I was, still does. I just look different now.\"\n\n\"So, all the same urges?\"\n\n\"Oh, yeah.\"\n\n\"Would you want to…\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(hey for the next response, DIRECTIVE: Incorporate \"You accept me like this?\" in response)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I grinned. \"You accept me like this?\"\n\nHe nodded and kissed me on the lips, then whispered in my ear, \"I love you so much, Fairfax.\"\n\nMy heart raced and I helped him peel off his shirt.\n\nHe smirked and stood up. \"Well, if anything, you're about the right height now.\"\n\nIt was my turn to look incredulously at him, as well as a little bit put off, but when I saw the way the moonlight hit his body in the dark room, I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, letting them drop to the floor. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and lowered them, exposing his manhood. It sprang to life and actually bopped me in the nose.\n\nKyle giggled. \"Go on, let's see what you can do.\" I smiled up at him and opened my mouth, taking him in. I missed the taste of him, the feel of intimacy, the loving man who loved me.\n\nI wrapped my arms around him and kneaded his ass with my hands as I nursed on him. Kyle moaned. I bobbed faster and he reached down, stroking me between the ears with a free hand. Then he gripped me and held me in place as he slowly thrust back and forth.\n\nGod, I love this man.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I'd give anything to be back with him as I had been.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was fairly certain that he was getting close. I fondled his low-hanging testicles when he released my head and pulled back. \"No, no, no…get on the bed,\" he said, putting his hands under my armpits, hefting me up. \"Get on all fours, fox boy,\" he said, turning me away from him.\n\nHe crawled up and positioned himself behind me. \"Kyle, I don't have any—\"\n\nI felt him slap his manhood right there. He gripped what I had of an ass and squeezed it inward, hotdogging me. He rocked himself back and forth, shushing and reassuring me.\n\n\"I don't care what you look like. I don't care what limitations we have. I love you and I want to be here for you, and I want nothing more than for you to feel like you always did: loved.\"\n\nI ground back against him, and after a few minutes, he shifted to a sitting position. I sat on his lap, my back against his chest. Below, I could feel him rubbing his hardon where my manhood had been.\n\nIt felt wonderful.\n\nHe guided my hand down to stroke him off as he rubbed me in turn.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "We moaned in ecstasy together, and I leaned up, turning my head to kiss him deeply.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 11 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I could feel his pulse quicken. He arched his back and shot rope after rope of seed across the white fur of my belly and face.\n\nKyle chuckled and kissed my nose.\n\n\"I love you so much,\" I said to him. \"You're the best partner a fox could have.\"\n\nThe sound of breaking glass scared us enough that we screamed. Toon or not, I had to protect Kyle. As soon as I got off the bed, I saw the intruder in the doorway. Holding a broken bottle of soda was Scratch T. Skunk, staring in abject horror and fury.\n\n\"I'm your partner!\" he said. \"What the heck do you think you're doing?!\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue with the same vibes and character familiarity in the urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Add this exact quote somewhere appropriate: \"Scratch, I understand that this seems like an aberration to you,\"", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Get the hell out of my—\" I stopped and realized what was about to happen. \"I'm sorry, Scratch. This is my boyfriend, Kyle. I really, really am sorry.\"\n\nI can't believe I actually apologized to him. I wanted nothing to do with him; he was just some side effect of my conversion.\n\n\"No, you're not his boyfriend,\" he said, looking at Kyle. \"I am his friend and, might I add, he's G-rated.\" He faced me again. \"So, answer me, Fairfax,\" he said, motioning wildly to the pair of us.\n\n\"Scratch, I understand that this seems like an aberration to you,\" I said, grabbing a bed sheet for modesty and to wipe myself off, \"but you have to understand…all of your memories, everything that you think is going on here is wrong.\"\n\nKyle piped up, \"I don't know who you are, or what's going on, but Fairfax has filled me in on some of the details.\"\n\n\"Oh, really, Mr. Homewrecker?\" Scratch said.\n\nI slammed my foot down. \"I've apologized for the stuff I said and did at Miss Blake's house. I'm also going to let you know the reason I'm apologizing is that Snappy held my copyright and told me I had to.\"\n\nI grinned. Technically, I wasn't breaking any command I'd been given. I didn't have to say why I was apologizing; I only had to apologize for the initial issue.\n\nScratch took a few steps back and shook his head. \"I don't know you anymore.\"\n\n\"We never knew each other in the first place.\"\n\n\"Okay,\" Kyle said, \"Scratch, right?\"\n\nThe skunk nodded, a huffy look on his face. \"Yeah.\"\n\n\"You follow movies?\"\n\n\"Yeah…\"\n\n\"Okay. Do you remember Dark City?\"\n\nI watched for a moment, as he seemed scrunched his face in thought and suddenly nodded. \"Yeah! I remember seeing that back…was it the late 90s? Boy, did we look weird back then! You with that neon pink hat!\" he said, chuckling and pointing at me.\n\nI gritted my teeth and just let Kyle do the talking.\n\n\"Do you remember the whole point, where people were fed memories? You know, they were convinced of a complete life they'd had…an entire marriage, an entire created history with someone, even if they'd only met each other three minutes prior.\"\n\n\"Yeah!\"\n\n\"That's what's going on here with you.\"\n\n\"But that's silly! I—\"\n\nI said, \"Scratch, the first time we met was two seconds before you hit me with that frying pan.\"\n\nScratch backed up and shook his head. I couldn't tell if it was disbelief or him understanding what was happening. \"I have to go. I just—\" he hissed at me, \"you were making whoopie with a human! And you're G-rated!\"\n\nHe actually cried and walked out, slamming the door behind him. I peeked out the window and saw him sobbing and shuffling down the street.\n\nKyle held my shoulder. \"Go to him.\"\n\n\"What?!\"\n\n\"I know that he's some new toon who just popped into being a couple of hours ago, but to him, you're his oldest friend.\"\n\n\"He's my foil. We're like rivals, you know? Anything I want to do, he makes it his job to stop me.\"\n\n\"He honestly seems concerned about you.\"\n\n\"Well, he can be concerned somewhere fucking else. I don't know him. I don't share a history with them.\" I held his hands. \"You, I have a history with. You, I would give anything for.\"\n\nHe smiled and kissed my nose. \"And what if the first time you had actually met me was the moment you opened the door to let me in, before we made love tonight, and everything before this was a fabrication of your brain.\"\n\n\"That's ridiculous. We both—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He nodded. \"I know. I've loved you for years now, but to him, you've been partners for the better part of a century. Go to him.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Maybe later. If I'm going be working at Snappy's place, he'll turn up eventually.\"\n\n\"Okay, just don't take a month to reach out to him. Right now, you look like you could use all the friends you can get.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but what I don't need is someone who doesn't realize I can't survive having an anvil dropped on my head.\"\n\nKyle smiled and kissed my forehead. He lifted me in his arms and cradled me. \"You are rather adorable like this.\"\n\nI chuckled. \"Don't get used to it. As soon as I can find a way out—\"\n\n\"I'm just saying…if this is how things are, I'm okay with it. Just do me a favor, okay?\"\n\n\"What, you want me to do what Barry's been telling me to do? Just accept it and move on?\"\n\nKyle shrugged. \"You can't confront the woman who did this to you, right?\"\n\n\"Correct.\"\n\n\"And there's already some private eye or mercenary or something who's trying to take her out?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Did Snappy at any point say you weren't allowed to stop someone else from taking her out?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"And didn't you tell me you wanted to be this guy's eyes and ears inside the complex?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Then it seems like your role in this whole thing is kinda settled.\"\n\n\"But she did this to me! I need to be the—\"\n\nKyle put a finger to my lips. \"No, you don't. What you need to do is just go to work, do your job, get paid, and come home to me every day.\"\n\n\"Kyle…what are you saying?\"\n\n\"I'm saying, 'Would you mind if I moved in?'\"\n\nI blushed and shook my head. \"No, I'd love you to be here! Heck, Barry and Betty love having you around.\"\n\nHe smiled and carried me back to bed in his arms. \"Come on, let's just try this out for a bit, okay?\"\n\n\"Okay. I just—\"\n\n\"If this Chance fellow that you mentioned can find a way of reversing the process, then we got it settled, but we have to accept the very serious probability that this was a one-way trip and we'll adjust our lives accordingly.\"\n\nI felt tears well up again. I've been trying to hold onto the hope of being human but if even Kyle was trying to tell me this was how things would be…\n\n\"Fairfax, let's say you had been in a car accident on the way to Burger Circus, and you'd been paralyzed. I'd still be by your side and you know what? Yeah, there might've been some hope for you to regain the use of arms and legs, but eventually, you just have to accept that these things kinda happen.\"\n\nHe paused. \"Okay, not these things,\" he said, gesturing at my current form, \"but you get what I'm talking about. I've been worried that I was gonna lose you for a month, and I don't care how I have you back. I'm just glad that you're here.\"\n\nI leaned in and kissed him passionately. I closed my eyes, putting my head to his chest to listen to his heartbeat.\n\nWeeks passed before I heard from Chance again. I actually wasn't expecting to hear from him again.\n\nSnappy had made a point of having me work remotely. He was still upset over the incident at his estate, and even though I had been commanded not to interfere with Miss Blake, he didn't want to take any risks. He said I was too crafty for normal commands…I acted too human. He also mentioned I was the best executive assistant he'd ever had; once a week, Kyle drove me down, we collected a few briefcases full of papers, and he helped me do all my data entry.\n\nI did keep a copy of all the information, eventually convincing myself that, if Snappy needed a backup, I wanted to be a good employee. I wanted to be a good toon, but deep down, I knew in the unlikely event I heard from Chance, I'd be ready to give him more information.\n\nWhen my cell phone rang, it showed the number as \"Unknown.\" At first, I thought it was just a spam call, but I answered it anyway.\n\n\"Fairfax,\" he said. I felt a chill go down my spine.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hey,\" I said.\n\n\"You doin' all right?\"\n\n\"Yeah. So…what ended up happening outside that night?\"\n\n\"I tried to get a good couple shots, but the guys were good and while the dark wouldn't usually have been a problem, they had their high beams on; I couldn't aim right. They tore out. What about you?\"\n\n\"Snappy's got me doing the same project. Kyle's been helping me with it. I'm getting close to having all of the information done, and I've been doing such a good job that Snappy's been subcontracting me to other really old toons who work in his field. Basically, he's piling me with as much paperwork as possible to keep me busy and away from the estate.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, be ready for round two against her.\"\n\n\"I don't know what I can do!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I've been commanded not to raise a hand against her.\"\n\n\"You can still do tactics.\"\n\n\"Like what?\"\n\nHe paused. \"You were able to establish the situation pretty fast, and aside from the unforeseen circumstance of your foil popping into existence, you would have had her dead to rights.\"\n\n\"I can't even approach her house. I don't even know what sort of security measures she's got up now. Honestly, I'm shocked she's still living there. For all I know, she's moved. I haven't even asked Snappy about it. He never wants to bring her up in conversation.\"\n\n\"Okay. Point taken. Do you know anyone who might be able to help, then? Someone who's good with a gun?\"\n\n\"If only we could get Boost Beaver to break his rating. I've followed his livestreams in the past couple of weeks. When it comes to first-person shooters, the dude could teach you a thing or two.\"\n\nHe grinned. \"That's something he's got over you, then.\"\n\n\"It was my first go, and I had seven—\" I stopped myself from completing the sentence as Kyle looked over at me. \"Listen, I'm trying to get my life back in order. I've been getting more information and you're welcome to it, but I don't want to risk what I've got now. I've got someone who cares about me, who's willing to help me out. I'm trying to have a support network.\"\n\n\"Aren't you still mad at what they did to you?\"\n\n\"Sure, I'm still furious, but there's nothing I can do.\"\n\n\"Okay, I can come over and get a copy of the information, if you want.\"\n\n\"You know, I'd like that. It'd actually be nice to see you.\"\n\n\"All right, I can come over later today.\"\n\nAbout 45 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. I grinned and jaunted over, throwing the door open. \"How's it going, Cha—\"\n\n\"Hey, Fairfax,\" said Scratch. \"Can I come in?\"\n\nI looked down at my shoes and then at him. \"I suppose, for a little bit.\"\n\nHe took a seat on the couch. Kyle walked in and gave him an awkward glance.\n\nScratch scowled and made a face at him. \"I'm going to spray that guy one day.\"\n\n\"You will do no such thing, not in my house, or you will never be allowed back in here,\" I said.\n\nThat snapped him out of his feelings of indignation. \"You really would do that, wouldn't you? Everything we've been through—\"\n\n\"We haven't been through anything, Scratch. I keep trying to tell you this. I've got a guest coming over and—\"\n\n\"Fine! You don't want me around? I understand!\"\n\n\"Scratch, you're welcome to stick around and hang out.\"\n\n\"It's just…\" he sniffled and looked at Kyle for a moment. \"You're supposed to be my friend! My entire existence is based around you, okay? I'm not the main one; I'm the foil. I don't get to have rollicking adventures, I get to stop you from having them. I don't get to have romance, I get to ruin your dates. That's the nature of my existence and you're just kicking me out and I haven't done anything!\"\n\nKyle looked at me and nodded toward Scratch. \"Talk to him. I'll be in the other room.\"\n\nI scooted up on the couch and looked him in the eye. \"Scratch, I-I don't know what to tell you.\"\n\n\"Tell me that we're still friends, at least. I can't get a job without you; my copyright's tied to yours. I'm just going to meander and do nothing. I'm going to be in entertainment limbo. I'll be lucky if I get secondhand splatted by someone throwing a pie somewhere. What have I done to you?\"\n\nI patted his shoulder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You haven't done anything wrong. I'm not trying to do this to be mean to you or hurt you.\"\n\n\"But you are! I'm your foil. You can't just ignore me. We're not like the humans where if they fall out of love, you know, it's sad, they cut to black, and the next season, there's a new boyfriend or girlfriend who comes in. We stick together forever. We go through the cycles of 'Are they enemies?' 'Are they best friends?' 'Are they roommates?'\"\n\nI wiped away a tear on his cheek. \"Scratch, it's okay. We'll figure something out. I'm trying to be a better toon.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Does that mean you're going to stop—\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Kyle and I are an item. We've been an item for a very long time, and you're not getting between us. But,\" I said, \"I need someone to help teach me how to be Fairfax. I need to fit in better. But you have to understand a few things.\"\n\n\"Like what?\"\n\n\"Okay. You remember when you smacked me with that frying pan,\" I said, trying not to remind him of his recent addition to reality despite having a century's worth of memories, \"I was stabbed?\"\n\n\"Yeah, with a human weapon; that was weird. And why didn't you just shake it off?\"\n\n\"That's the thing. I can't, okay? I keep trying to tell you. I was human, and I was converted into a toon, and they put my copyright on a really old copyright page. Pamela Blake wrote me to have a foil because I had a boyfriend as a human and she wanted to make sure I wouldn't be alone.\"\n\nHe grabbed me by the shoulders. \"See? We're supposed to be together! Even by the story you just told me, we're supposed to be together. If you were human and you are turned into a toon, then you're not human anymore and you shouldn't be with him. You need to be with me!\"\n\n\"That's not how it works, okay? I don't know you that well, and I wouldn't mind getting to know you, but you need to understand that there are boundaries.\"\n\nScratch looked hurt but slowly nodded. \"Okay. Boundaries.\"\n\nThere was another knock on the door and I let Chance in.\n\nScratch backed up against the back of the couch. \"I remember you! You're the one who convinced Fairfax to do those horrible, horrible things!\"\n\nChance smiled. \"Guilty as charged. Your buddy's got a knack for it, though. Bloodthirst like I ain't seen in years.\"\n\nI brought a finger up to my mouth. \"My boyfriend's here. I don't want him knowing about that stuff. I can help you out with Miss Blake but I-I can't hurt her, okay?\"\n\nScratch looked at me and then him.\n\nI walked into the other room, returning with a stack of papers and a few thumb drives. \"This is everything I have. Maybe I could try to make some connections for you but by copyright decree, I cannot raise my own hand to harm her, as much as I'd like to.\"\n\nChance nodded and took the paperwork and the thumb drives, giving me a two-finger salute off the temple. \"I get it.\"\n\n\"Thank you for your understanding. Please stay in touch.\"\n\n\"I want to be kept updated as often as possible,\" he said, giving me a slightly sorrowful look.\n\n\"I want to help, but all I can do is run information at this point.\"\n\nChance nodded and saw himself to the door. \"That's good enough for me. Wouldn't mind having a pair of eyes and ears guiding my hand.\"\n\nThat's when I had an idea or, at least, a flash of one.\n\nOnce Chance left, Scratch hopped up. \"I thought you were giving all that violence up.\"\n\n\"I'm trying to. I've never been violent before, but I can hold a grudge like nobody's business.\"\n\nScratch nodded. \"That's at least one thing we have in common. We can start there. Put 'er there, partner,\" he said, offering me a gloved hand to shake.\n\nI grinned and grabbed it, which sent several thousand volts of electricity through my body.\n\nI seized up and fell over. Scratch leaned over and laughed, dusting my face with his tail before heading out.\n\n\"I'll talk to you later, buddy-o.\"\n\nI lay on the ground in pain for five minutes before Kyle came in and checked in on me. He ran to me, my fur was still standing on end.\n\n\"Hon, what happened?\"\n\n\"Joy buzzer. Scratch. He's still not fully on board yet.\"\n\nKyle tried to lift me up and got a static shock of his own. In the kitchen, he found a pair of oven mitts with a rubber grip on them and carried me over to Barry's place.\n\nHe was out doing errands, but Betty invited us both in and she patched me up fairly quickly. Electroshock probably would've worn off soon enough anyway, but I didn't want to risk having a cardiac issue.\n\nI was weak, and when Barry came home, we had a fun little dinner, just the four of us.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Betty had called him and had him bring some human food for Kyle.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 37 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We made a double date out of it.\n\n\"You're trying to get to know your foil?\" Betty said, smiling.\n\n\"Yeah, he's pretty insistent. It's not fair to him for me to keep ghosting him like I have been.\"\n\nBarry slapped my shoulder. \"You're a lucky man to have a foil. Few toons get them nowadays; they're really an icon of a bygone era. Trust me, there is nothing greater than a foil.\"\n\n\"Why? It's like his entire purpose is to basically be some sort of anti-me and make my life a living hell.\"\n\n\"He'll make your life interesting, but he'll still have your back at the end of the day. When you're up against the wall, that'll be when he turns face and takes a bullet for you.\"\n\n\"You sure about that?\"\n\n\"As sure as I am of anything else in life, which, let's be honest, is pretty chaotic.\"\n\nI couldn't help but laugh.\n\nWe were having a good time when my phone rang. Kyle had taken it upon himself to carry our phones in his pockets, since he was able to.\n\n\"I don't recognize the number, but it's for you.\"\n\nI checked it. It wasn't Chance's new burner.\n\n\"Hello, this is Fairfax Fawkes.\"\n\n\"Hey, buddy-o.\"\n\n\"Oh, hey, Scratch. We were just talking about you.\"\n\n\"Really? What about?\"\n\n\"The nature of foils and how we really need to kind of connect more.\"\n\n\"Oh, good! I thought of the perfect way for us to connect. You see, you want to have human companions, so I'll have a human companion too! Sending you a text.\"\n\n\"He's making human friends,\" I said, honestly happy for him.\n\nBetty churred. \"That sounds wonderful.\"\n\n\"He's sending me a text right now.\" My phone beeped and buzzed. \"It just came in, give me a second.\"\n\n\"We just took a selfie together,\" Scratch said with a mischievous chuckle in his voice.\n\nI flipped open the text messages and went wide-eyed. Scratch was giving me the slyest, cockiest shit-eating grin I'd ever seen, posing with his arm slung around Pamela Blake's shoulder.\n\n\"Like I said, I'm here to foil your plans. Talk to you later, best friend.\"\n\nAnd with that, he hung up. I put the phone down and shivered. Barry patted one shoulder while Kyle patted the other.\n\n\"It'll be okay, man. Just give him time; he'll come around.\"\n\n\"He's teamed up with the woman who did this to me. He's betrayed me and I've been trying to reach out and be friends with him.\"\n\nMy phone buzzed again, and I saw a picture of Scratch hanging out with Snappy, taking a selfie with my copyright page. Scratch pointed at the portion that mandated I would have a foil, his name now signed in the space.\n\nHe then sent me one last message: \"Together Forever. Whether you like it or not. Love, Scratch T. Skunk.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Literary Collaboration:\n- Sentences: 39 sentences\n- Match character context\n- Genre: urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It had been about a week since the double date dinner and I hadn't heard from Scratch since. He was making a point of spending time with his new human bestie, I guess.\n\nI didn't mind. Honestly, I had reached out a few times over text, but he had decided to be pettier than I was believed he would be.\n\nI still didn't know how the whole toon foil thing worked, but Barry wasn't concerned. He said relationships like that were generally more antagonistic, especially in the early days. Frankly, I didn't want to have a full toon enemy whose sole purpose was trying cause me as much harm as possible.\n\nDoing the data entry for Snappy was going well, and I'd settled into a good routine. I didn't need Kyle's help that much, but it was nice having him around. He needed to finish moving his stuff in and he'd taken to the neighborhood well.\n\nOur landlord, Max, stopped by to finalize signing the lease. He found it odd for Kyle to move in and share my single bedroom, but he'd been probably hesitant to have me move in back when I was human.\n\nIt was good to just stare into his eyes every night, though…Kyle, not Max. Max was a brown mouse, much shorter than me, pretty broad with a pudgy tummy. He put forth a grumpy exterior, but he was a good guy when he thought no one was paying attention.\n\nAfter a while, being bound to working for Snappy instead of it being something I agreed to grated on me. As nice a job as it was, I wanted out. I wanted to make my own choices.\n\nI didn't have a choice in being bound to a copyright, but I should have a choice in who holds that copyright. I'd gone through a good chunk of the paperwork he wanted, and I still didn't mind doing it on the side or in general, but I wanted to be in charge of my own destiny.\n\nOne dreary Wednesday, Kyle drove me down to Snappy's place. I'd expected Scratch to answer when I knocked on the door but, thankfully, my employer did instead.\n\n\"Ah, Fairfax! Do you need more paperwork? I thought we were still set up for a good couple of weeks.\"\n\nI shook my head and responded, \"Actually, I wanted to talk about my copyright with you.\"\n\n\"Oh? What about it? I've got it filed away and things are going good so far.\"\n\n\"Yeah, about that. How much would it cost to buy it out from you?\"\n\nSnappy looked perplexed. \"What do you mean? Aren't you happy with the job?\"\n\n\"I'm fine with the job. I actually kind of enjoy it still. But I didn't really get a say in you having it. It was done to me. I thought it was pretty much toon custom that a toon himself gives his copyright to an employer, and it's even more generally accepted custom that they can request it back. I know that you're old-school and that's an old-school copyright. I've been doing some good work for you; I'd honestly like to be in control my own destiny and not have you order me around like that. Nothing personal. And I'd still be more than happy to do the data entry jobs.\"\n\nHe scowled. Obviously, something was bothering him about this.\n\n\"This has nothing to do with Miss Blake, does it?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"No, I mean, I'm not gonna lie, that does irritate me and I understand that if I hold my own copyright, all of your commands involving that go away. At this point, I'm just trying to adapt and acclimate to being a toon. There's really not much I can do at this point. I'd kind of have the agreement that we had when I was human, and I'm willing to come in and do work for you. I will leave her alone if need be. Although, I do wish there was a way to have some form of recompense for it.\"\n\nSnappy shook his head. \"I can't risk that. The stuff that you did back there? I need to keep an eye on you. I'll tell you what. I'd be more than happy to sell it to you for, say, $500,000?\"\n\nI stepped back. \"Are you serious? I didn't give you my copyright, she did. She took it from me.\"\n\nSnappy shook his head. \"No, she made it for you, and that is a debt that very few toons can ever pay off.\"\n\nI crossed my arms and looked at him, seeing him in a slightly different light. \"But you've helped all of these toons. I've been filing paperwork for you and getting everything all nice and digitized for you for weeks now. Are you telling me that you hold the fact that you got them all set up over their heads? For all I know, my neighbor, who's one of the nicest guys I know, might owe you that level of debt, and you don't own his copyright!\"\n\nSnappy rocked back and forth on his feet, holding his arms behind his back and whistling.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Well, you're not them. The others probably do owe me a significant amount, considering I helped lay the groundwork for us. But I can't have you getting your copyright back and then raising hell on my property because you have a problem with Miss Blake.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Why do you think I have that much of a problem with Miss Blake? I mean, I absolutely hate Pamela, and, you know, if given the opportunity, I'd totally return all the favors that she did to me, but—\"\n\n\"Well, her new assistant has been coming in and helping me out quite a bit. My goodness, does he enjoy talking about how much you dislike Miss Blake!\"\n\n\"Oh, really? Scratch?\"\n\nSnappy nodded. \"Indeed! He's a good and proper toon, takes his pies like a gentleman and a scholar, while you just complain all the time.\"\n\n\"He was naturally born a toon!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"You've had a couple of months to get used to things.\"\n\n\"That's not enough time to completely erase an entire human life!\" I hung my head and threw my hands up in frustration. \"$500,000? Really?\"\n\nSnappy shrugged. \"Them's the breaks, kid.\"\n\nI grumbled, turned on my heels, and stormed back to the car. \"Fine. When will you have more paperwork for me to handle? The current queue is getting a little low.\"\n\n\"I'll see about getting you another load here soon. You've been doing a good job. Paychecks been looking okay?\"\n\n\"Yeah, they're fine, but this is still the Bay Area. While rent's a little bit cheaper for me, and I don't have to worry about food expenses, I've got Kyle living with me now.\"\n\nSnappy saw Kyle sitting in the driver seat of the car. They waved to each other. \"A good guy you've got there. He helping you out?\"\n\n\"Yeah, but Snappy…I'm really unhappy about this whole situation.\"\n\nHe looked at me forlornly. \"If you want, I could just command you to be happy about it.\"\n\nI looked at him in a panic. \"No, please…anything but that. I don't want someone else controlling me anymore. Like I said, I'm not looking to quit my job. I just want to be able to have my own copyright.\"\n\n\"Well, I've never known a copyright to be bought back this quickly. Normally, there's usually at least a few years of contractual service.\"\n\n\"Okay, fine. How long do I have to wait until my copyright expires?\"\n\nSnappy paused for a moment. \"Well, I know you want Miss Blake to have some harm come to her, so I'll make you a deal: when this whole situation is over with and there's nothing you can do, I will give you back your copyright or you can buy it off of me earlier.\"\n\n\"I have to wait decades for her to die of old age before you give me my own paperwork back?!\"\n\nSnappy nodded.\n\n\"So, my options are Miss Blake dies, and I'm not allowed to hurt her, or I pay you half a million dollars, which you don't need and I can't quickly save toward on my salary?\"\n\nSnappy grinned. \"You got it.\"\n\nI growled and stomped back to the car, yanked open the door, and plopped in the passenger seat.\n\nKyle looked over at me. \"It didn't go well, did it?\"\n\nI shook my head and explained our conversation.\n\n\"Jesus! With everything she's done to you, it's a shame you can't hurt her. Heck, I'd go back there and shoot her myself considering what she did. I'd risk going to jail for you.\"\n\nI looked at him. \"Don't you dare. Let's just go home.\"\n\nKyle nodded and pulled out. On the way back, we stopped at Burger Circus. I didn't get as many odd looks this time, considering I was sitting with a human.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Any time I stole a fry or took a bite of out of my own cheeseburger, it was assumed I was eating human food to make my dining companion more comfortable.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "In a way, I was, but Burger Circus was such a guilty pleasure.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I waved to Lou and he smiled back at me. While he'd been a little disturbed the first time I'd come in, I'd stopped in often enough, picking up milkshakes and takeout for Kyle (and myself), that I'd become a regular. What can I say? My life had taken such a weird turn of late that I felt like I was always ending up at Burger Circus.\n\n\"What are your options?\"\n\n\"Snappy said half a million or Pamela Blake dies. I'd do both if it'd secure shit.\"\n\nI cursed under my breath. I'd been making a point of keeping my otherwise filthy fucking mouth G-rated while out in the general populace. Still, a girl in the next booth over did do a double-take when she heard me swear.\n\nKyle held my hand. \"What happened? You're generally pretty quiet about stuff, especially when you're keeping a secret from me, and I thought we weren't doing that anymore.\"\n\nI sighed. \"If I tell you this, do you promise not to leave me? Do you promise that you'll try to understand this as best as you can?\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"That friend of mine, Chance? He kinda does contract work.\"\n\n\"You said he was a private investigator.\"\n\n\"Think more ex-Special Forces or something mercenary.\n\n\"Oh…\"\n\n\"I don't know if I'm supposed to be telling you this, hon, so I hope I'm not putting you in any danger, but I don't think so. Chance is a good guy.\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"We went to, shall we say, aggressively check on Pamela, try to convince her through force, if need be, to tell us if there was a way to reverse the process.\"\n\n\"Okay, and?\"\n\n\"We brought weapons with us.\"\n\nKyle went wide-eyed. \"You didn't—\"\n\n\"When we got there, we found out her latest clients who wanted to do the conversion process were some crime syndicate Chance had prior knowledge of. I'm not gonna tell you much about them because, again, I don't want to put you at any risk. All you need to know is they were involved in human trafficking, primarily sex trafficking.\"\n\nKyle went pale. \"I'm glad you're okay!\"\n\n\"It's not like they could hurt me. Well, they could, but it's not like they could kill me.\"\n\nHe nodded.\n\n\"I had to defend myself.\"\n\nKyle paused. \"You're trying to beat around the bush with something.\"\n\n\"Hon, these are very bad people. Chance is used to this sort of warfare; I'm not. I had to shoot some of them. I didn't want to, but they were going to hurt kids. They were going to kidnap teens and adults, and God knows who else, and force them into becoming toons. They'd go through the process I went through, and hon, it's horrifying.\"\n\nKyle put his burger down, giving me a look of unease. I felt cornered.\n\nGripping his hands, I looked him in the eyes, \"I mean, think about how bad sex trafficking is. Now, imagine if you're put into a body and the person who you're sold to literally owns your soul, not just the flesh. They could make you happy about it. Your family would never see you again because they'd never recognize you, and you'd never recognize them because you'd been tortured to where your mind broke.\"\n\nKyle shuddered. \"God…\"\n\n\"I'm not proud of what I did…but I think I'd do it again.\"\n\nHe put down his sandwich and re-bagged everything. \"This is a lot to take in. I know you got into some fights in the past, but this is big.\"\n\n\"I know. This stuff keeps happening to me, and I'm not allowed to tell anyone about it! I can't go to the cops because…well, I killed people,\" I whispered, making sure the girl didn't hear me this time, \"and she still won!\"\n\n\"Because of Scratch,\" Kyle whispered.\n\nI nodded. \"Because of Scratch. Now, he wants to help her out because I'm not being as good a friend to him as he'd like.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Scratch is a bit of an asshole, isn't he?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "CONSTRAINT: Include 'would' 2 time(s)", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I shrugged. \"I don't know what he is. He's tied to me and, I don't know, I feel bad for him. But there comes a limit to my pity. He made these choices and he's going to do his own thing, regardless. What I really wish is that I had someone like Chance, who was like me.\"\n\n\"A toon who's good with guns?\"\n\n\"Yeah, but really good. Someone who can go in guns blazing—\"\n\nThat light bulb went off in my head again, metaphorically. Who knows what that sight gag would cost me? \"Oh my goodness. Boost!\"\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"Boost Beaver. He's the guy who got converted before me. His copyright was sold to some—I don't know, what was it? A game network or an eSports league. Yeah, a rival team!\"\n\n\"What about him?\"\n\n\"What if we can get him down here? Maybe he could, you know, help Chance take out everyone.\"\n\n\"Didn't you say he went through the full conversion process?\"\n\n\"Maybe could give me some pointers. I mean, I did some training with Chance, but this guy—\"\n\nKyle shook his head. \"There's a difference between playing a few FPS games and legitimately being a commando.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"It was worth a shot. Listen, I got some things to think about and I-I kinda want to visit Chance and see what's going on with him.\"\n\n\"I can drive you over to his place.\"\n\nI shook my head and waved my hands emphatically. \"Not right now. The stuff that he gets into, the stuff that I was starting to get into, I don't want you touching that world. I'll have to call him up when we get home.\"\n\n\"Well, I've got your phone in my pocket.\"\n\nI'd forgotten about that; I'd grown used to leaving it back at the apartment, \"Okay. Could you dial him up and give me the phone?\"\n\nHe found the call log, pressed an entry, and passed me the phone.\n\n\"Hey, fox,\" I heard his gruff voice answer.\n\n\"Hey, Chance.\"\n\n\"Got any more of that paperwork for me?\"\n\n\"Yeah, I do. Listen, when you come over to pick it up, would you mind giving me a lift back to your place? I want to consult with you about some stuff.\"\n\n\"What? Are you wanting to do round two?\"\n\n\"Kinda, but you know my hands are tied against it. I had an idea, though. You still have all that drone stuff, right?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"Could it be remotely piloted?\"\n\n\"Well, yeah. Why?\"\n\n\"Come on over, then. I've got an idea.\"\n\nHe grunted and turned off the phone. Shortly thereafter, I got a text: will be at your place in an hour.\n\nI looked at Kyle and showed him the text message. We quickly cleaned up our table and headed home.\n\nWhen we got there, Scratch was waiting at the door. He looked a little solemn. I tried not to glare but I'm sure I didn't give him the happiest expression. He smiled when he saw me, though it may have been a response to my less-than-pleasant expression; after all, it was in his nature to cause me mischief or trouble.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Hey, Fairfax! Listen, I was wanting to talk to you about some stuff.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(hey for the next response, For your next response only, include a fair amount of dialogue)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh? Did you get tired of dealing with Pamela? How many people has she converted?\"\n\n\"About that…you know…I may have acted too rashly.\"\n\n\"You think so?\"\n\n\"Please, don't be like that, okay? This is weird for me, too, but—\"\n\nI reached behind my bowtie, pulled out my key, and let myself in. Kyle smiled down to the two of us and went to the bedroom while Scratch and I talked.\n\n\"What do you want, Scratch?\"\n\nHe rested his forehead in his gloved right hand. \"Let's say that I'm starting to see some things and…I'm coming around to believing your story. What do I do with that information?\"\n\n\"Why? What's up?\"\n\n\"She's been talking with humans…humans I'm not really keen on. I'm not supposed to have heard some things…\"\n\n\"But?\" I pressed.\n\n\"I think she's going to try another conversion here soon: a demonstration for the,\" he snapped his fingers, trying to jog his memory, \"the Delmontes?\"\n\n\"The Dellamortes?\"\n\n\"Yeah, that's it!\"\n\n\"Okay…let's see what we can do here. I can't hurt her; copyright restricts me.\"\n\n\"Uh-huh…\"\n\n\"You can't hurt her either since you're full toon.\"\n\nScratch nodded. \"Do we call the police?\"\n\n\"No; evil like that's gotta get stamped out. I've got some ideas, but I don't know if I can trust you, Scratch.\"\n\nHe looked hurt. \"Hey, just because I was born to be your ultimate nemesis doesn't mean we can't be friends.\"\n\n\"I understand that and I'm trying to get a grip on what our relationship is supposed to be, but I'm not ready for that yet.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"Fair enough. What's left?\"\n\n\"I got my friend Chance coming over, and I'll probably be indebted to him for a good, long time just to hire his services.\"\n\nScratch went wide-eyed. \"You mean the guy who had all the guns? B-but you're not allowed to hurt her!\"\n\n\"True, but I'm not the one who'll be hurting her. My specific instructions were I'm not allowed to raise a hand to hurt her. That doesn't mean I can't have someone else raise their hand to hurt her, and at no point did it say that I had to raise my hand to prevent her from being hurt.\"\n\nScratch shook his head. \"I thought I was supposed to be the crafty one.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"It happens to the best of us. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to check something out.\" My computer was already on, so I loaded up the Timber Titans livestream.\n\nI felt bad for Boost. When the human members of the team weren't playing, which was the majority of the day, Boost was put on camera and he had to play almost every second that they weren't.\n\nHe seemed to enjoy himself, \"pwning n00bs\" and getting good tips and donations for the team. He wasn't, however, allowed to compete.\n\nI quickly made an account under my new name and sent him a quick message while he was between matches, reintroducing myself.\n\nHe responded that he remembered me and wondered what I needed and if the process had finally made me feel better. He mentioned that he stuck around a bit after we'd met, finalizing some stuff upstairs. I was way too out of it to even notice him.\n\nI asked if it would be at all possible for him to make it back down to San Jose, that I might need his help with something that involved a lot of guns.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He told me someone else would be taking over the stream shortly, and that he could just hop on over through the screen.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The team was based in Toronto. Physical distance didn't seem to matter when it came to how far toons could travel between screens.\n\nBy the time his turn finally ended, Chance had arrived. Scratch kept to himself off in a corner, while Boost popped out of my monitor and Chance got his copy of the paperwork.\n\nI knew I had to be careful with how I worded things around Boost. He was now a full-fledged toon, no longer Brandon Butler. The idea of him actually hurting people would go against every aspect of his core being, even though they were the people who hurt him the most.\n\nI did ask him a few questions though before we started. Mainly, what it would take for his copyright to be purged. He informed me that when the team disbands, he's free to go. I felt glad for him; eSports was a big-money business. It struck me as being nothing more than a 20- to 30-year fad, but for all I knew, his team could last 150 years.\n\nI might be out of my contract with Snappy before he was out of his.\n\nChance interrupted, \"So, what do you guys want?\"\n\n\"You have a lot of…\" I looked at Boost, \"paintball guns, right?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" Chance said, getting the hint fast, \"a lot of them.\"\n\n\"And some of your drone tech, it could be used to hold paintball guns, right?\"\n\nChance grinned, seeing where this was going. \"Uh-huh.\"\n\n\"They could be operated remotely through a computer, right?\"\n\nHe chuckled and I saw Scratch look at me from the corner, a look of horror on his face.\n\n\"Here's what I'm thinking. Boost, would you mind being a backup for Chance and me having a paintball league. I thought that you might get a kick out of trying something a little bit different than your average fare.\"\n\n\"When were you thinking of doing it?\"\n\n\"Maybe tomorrow night.\"\n\nBoost rubbed his neck. \"I'm not sure.\"\n\nChance looked at me a little oddly and shrugged. \"I suppose we can do something.\"\n\n\"Okay, then. Boost, if you want to head back to your house, we will continue this without you.\"\n\nHe smiled. \"Actually, do you mind if I check out your system? There was a game I wanted to try out.\"\n\nI nodded. \"Feel free to log into your account if you want.\"\n\n\"Sweet! Thanks!\"\n\nHe got behind my screen and loaded up his profile on the streaming service.\n\nI laughed. \"Your account is the official account of the team?\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I'm the mascot. Part of my duty is to maintain it. I have to play the games when the other guys aren't so that we're running 24/7. While we do have some moderators, I've got to help clear out the chat now and then, like when it gets nasty.\"\n\n\"And wherever you log in, it—\"\n\n\"Wherever. Heck, I could stream right here.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"You said your teammates were streaming right now.\"\n\n\"Yeah, they're really good. I'm so happy to be part of the team.\"\n\nI cringed. Brandon Butler deserved better.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My attention turned to Chance.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 24 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Do you have plans tomorrow night?\"\n\n\"I kinda do. Why?\"\n\n\"Can you put them on hold?\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"I'm not sure. I mean, I know you've got your vendetta, but—\"\n\nI held up a hand. \"Listen, if this isn't something you're comfortable with…\"\n\n\"Nothing like that; I've been finding some really awesome information lately.\"\n\n\"That's great, but I was hoping we could finish this thing once and for all tomorrow.\"\n\nHe grunted. \"Yeah, I suppose we could try again.\"\n\n\"Awesome!\"\n\nI open the door for Chance and he left, giving me one last look. Something was up, but I couldn't tell what. Boost continued watching his livestreams, and Scratch walked over to me.\n\n\"You're going to kill her tomorrow.\"\n\n\"It's one of my two options. I want out.\"\n\n\"But I talked to Snappy earlier today! He said that you like doing your job.\"\n\n\"I do like doing my job. It's easy work, great pay, but Scratch…how do I put this? How would you feel if someone sold your copyright to a porn network and they expected you to perform on stage?\"\n\nHe made a disgusted face. \"I'm G-rated. There's no way I could—\"\n\n\"Let's say it happened. Someone held your copyright and commanded you to perform sex acts. Would you be forced to do it?\"\n\nHe shivered. \"Technically, yes, but no one would—\"\n\n\"That's the kind of situation I'm in. I didn't sell my copyright to Snappy. I was brought into this world against my will. My copyright was made and signed with my blood while I was tied to a table, okay? That copyright was given to Snappy. I never approved it, and I've been given two options. Pay Snappy half a million dollars, which, even on the salary he gives me, would take forever and a day to scrimp and save for, or wait for Pamela Blake to die. You tell me: what would you do to get out of the situation of someone forcing you to break your rating repeatedly on camera?\"\n\nScratch fidgeted. \"I'd do everything in my power to get out, but there's so little—\"\n\n\"Exactly. There's so little that you can do…but I'm crafty like a fox.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative storytelling\nContext: Match existing character backgrounds if present\nMy role: Provide opening\nYour role: 84 sentences in the urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I held Kyle all night. I was hard for me to get any sleep, not that I particularly needed it, but some habits are hard to break.\n\nChance was acting odd, but I put it up to the fact that during the past month, I'd been getting way too used to being a toon and we'd grown a little distant. We weren't besties, but he was my first real human friend after the transformation.\n\nMy guess was he was tired of waiting for me to finally stumble across the information he needed, considering most of the stuff I had was decades old.\n\nLater that night, I contacted Scratch. I just wanted to check in on him and make sure he was doing okay. I was starting to understand the bond between a toon and his foil. It wasn't quite a friendship. He wasn't an enemy, he was a thorn in my side, and I had gotten him into this. He wasn't happy with what I was planning but, as far as I knew, he hadn't warned Pamela.\n\nKyle had gone off to work that day and I made sure everything was in order on my computer before calling Chance to pick me up. He'd taken about an hour to show up and I brought what paperwork I had with me.\n\nHe was quiet, so I broke the silence first. \"What's been going on with you? I know I haven't really been in touch aside from letting you know when I've got more paperwork updates.\"\n\nChance shrugged. \"Still no luck in finding Vic. I appreciate all the help, but—\"\n\nI nodded. \"You don't know if you can trust me.\"\n\nHe looked down and nodded with a sorrowful gaze. \"That copyright's got you by the balls.\" He winced when he said it. \"Sorry…I know that's a tender subject for you. I work in the shadows, and should the cops come by and Snappy puts that copyright in their hands or he orders you to tell the cops everything you know…\"\n\n\"It scares me, too. I'm not happy about this either.\" I smiled when I looked through the folder. \"Fun fact, though: this is some of the older stuff, and I actually found Snappy's copyright in here.\"\n\nHe grinned. \"I could take you over to Snappy's place. You could hold that and tell him to—\"\n\nI shook my head. \"No, he already owns my copyright; I can't just hold his copyright, too. He'd have to give it to me.\n\n\"Didn't you—\"\n\n\"It's complicated. The person who technically brought me into the world gave my copyright to him. So, it's kind of a weird starting point loophole. I don't fully understand it myself, but it's not like I can just grab every single one of these papers, go to the middle of Times Square, hold them above my head, and command a toon army to do my bidding. There has to be a willful transaction.\"\n\nChance nodded. \"Okay. What's your plan?\"\n\n\"The plan is for you to go onto the property tonight and kick a lot of ass. I was hoping to set up a drone and put some weapons on it so Boost could give you some support.\"\n\n\"It's not a bad idea, but these aren't those sort of components; they're more for augmenting a person.\"\n\nI groaned. \"Damn it.\"\n\n\"Don't worry, we'll come up with another plan.\"\n\nWhen we got back to his warehouse, I helped him load up supplies and lots of guns. With everything loaded, I logged on to his accounts on the dark web and checked for new contracts for him, the sort of thing I did when I was staying there shortly after my transformation. It was nice getting into old habits.\n\nI didn't like the business of killing people, but I was kinda good at it.\n\nChance held up a mini-camera and said, \"How about I wear this and you can monitor my progress. If things go bad, then you'll at least know to call the cops and have them come out and investigate.\"\n\nI nodded. It was the least I could do.\n\nWe waited until nightfall. Chance was outfitted in black: suit, boots, gloves, night vision goggles, the whole shebang.\n\n\"Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?\"\n\n\"You'd be too much of a hazard. I have to look out for you and you can't do any damage.\"\n\nI looked down and saw the bare spot between my legs. \"Yeah, you can definitely say I've been neutered.\"\n\nChance patted my shoulder. \"Don't be like that. You'll be okay. Anyway, once I take her out, I'm going to go through her private inventory and see if I can find information on Vic. I'm fairly certain that he was converted, and, if anything, I can at least take a photo of the evidence. It'll be easier to track him down once I know what he looks like.\" He rubbed his head. \"You said you can't just take someone's copyright and hold him to it.\"\n\n\"Right. You have to have some sort of transaction.\"\n\n\"Can one copyright holder sell it to another?\"\n\n\"Probably. It might be frowned upon, but rules are weird all over the place. I keep hearing that the Japanese toons are a little different, but I'm not sure.\"\n\nHe nodded and went off to his car while I sat and waited at the computer.\n\nThirty minutes passed before I got a text that he was behind the estate. About ten minutes after that, I saw the camera feed go live. He hopped the fence and made the slow track toward Pamela's guesthouse. Everything appeared to be in the clear.\n\nHe snuck around to the back door, opened it, and slipped inside. He checked the upstairs and whispered into his lapel mic, \"It looks like Pamela actually isn't in the house.\"\n\nA terrible scream echoed from the basement.\n\nHe cocked his gun and proceeded downstairs. The hallway was dark and all the doors were shut. The far room where the conversions took place had a light on under the door. Chance took his time getting to it.\n\nHe leaned up against it, twisted the knob, and pushed himself in. The next thing I saw was Scratch belly-laughing and pointing at the camera.\n\n\"Is Fairfax watching? See, this is what I do your plans! Heh heh heh!\"\n\nHe pulled a mallet from his hammerspace and slammed it into the camera. My feed went dark, but I still heard audio. Other doors opened and guns were fired before the sound went out.\n\n\"Fuck!\" I muttered.\n\nI texted Scratch: What the hell do you think you're doing?\n\nHe quickly responded: toons don't kill humans, they don't even participate in that thing. I'm doing you a favor.\n\nI grunted. The camera feed was still out, but I got an idea when I saw the components for the drones.\n\nI hopped on to the live streaming app and sent Boost a message, asking if he could join me. I was a little busy and I had to gather some supplies before going home.\n\nHe asked if I wanted him to hop over to where I was and help me gather stuff up and then we could hop to my place together.\n\nI informed him I didn't have access to my car, to which he responded, \"Why don't you just go through the screen? It's easier that way.\"\n\nI told him I didn't know how especially since I had stuff to carry with me.\n\nHe simply responded with \"LOL n00b!\" There was a flash from my phone and a gloved hand came out of it. He pulled himself through the tiny screen, landing on his pear-shaped behind and shaking stars out of his vision.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Hey there,\" he said in his chipper, semi-whistly voice. \"Whatcha doin'?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He looked around at all the guns and equipment.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I seized up, but a big grin popped across his face.\n\n\"Dude, these are the coolest, most realistic paint guns I've ever seen!\"\n\nI grinned. Jackpot. \"I wanted to test something out and was wondering if you could help me with it,\" I said, gesturing to some of the aim assistance gear.\n\n\"Like what?\"\n\n\"I'm not quite sure how this works, but I've got the schematics and—\"\n\n\"Oh, I see what you're saying,\" he said as I tried to fit my noodly arms into the aim assisters. \"Kind of like a VR suit, in a way.\"\n\nI nodded.\n\n\"Sure, I can help you! I've done a few things like that for one of the guys.\"\n\nHe found various items, including a tactical belt and harness that I put a bunch of the guns on. I had both of my arms decked out with the exoskeleton aim assisters.\n\n\"How does this work? What do you need?\"\n\nI got one of the mobile cams and put it on my shoulder for the time being. \"What we're trying to do is a first-person shooter but with paintball.\"\n\n\"That's a great idea! I could probably get in some real good views with that.\"\n\nI felt bad for using him like this, but it was the best plan I had on such short notice, and it was close to what I wanted him to do in the first place.\n\n\"The only thing is I can't really shoot worth a darn.\"\n\n\"And you want someone to be able to pull the trigger for you?\"\n\nI nodded. \"Exactly.\"\n\nHe grinned and looked through all the parts. He found a small lever that could fit in and easily got wired into the arm brace. I loaded up the program and tested it on the range, with no guns in hand.\n\nIt easily pushed my finger toward the trigger. I couldn't lift my hand to hurt someone, but he could pull the trigger for me.\n\n\"Gonna need a way to tell you which way to go…\"\n\nBoost was a blur, literally, looking through all the equipment and coming back with what looked like a dog shock collar. \"I've seen a game with this sort of stuff in it before. It was part of a really cool gimmick about how some prisoners who were put into a deathmatch situation against their will, and they had to do whatever someone commanded them to do.\"\n\nI nodded. He put around my neck and pulled it tight. I don't exactly have that thick of a neck now; it's about as thin as my hose arm.\n\nI stood still, body decked out with guns from head to toe. He loaded up the control program, lifting my arms, aiming them around and then using the W, A, S, and D keys to send small shocks to my neck to move me in a direction.\n\n\"This is nice and all, but I need to get this program on my computer.\"\n\nI noticed Chance's laptop. When I flipped it open and turned it on, lo and behold, he had a backup of all of his testing systems. Who'd have thought the program that helps calibrate this thing could turn his aim-assisting exoskeletons into a crappy suit that made me into a murder-bot?\n\nI folded it up and tucked it under my arm. I held that in one hand and my phone in the other.\n\n\"We need to get back to my house. How do we do it?\"\n\nBoost laughed, grabbed me by the bowtie, and jumped toward the screen. I screamed, expecting to faceplant into it and break the equipment, but I slipped through. There was an odd static tingle as my head went into the screen, and then I was somewhere else.\n\nI looked around, and I was in a beautiful field. The sun was high in the sky. It was like every Saturday morning cartoon opening you could think of: just wide fields and rainbows. I felt home in a way I haven't felt in years. I felt safe.\n\nI felt something calling to me.\n\nThere was a presence in my mind…soft, loving. \"Fairfax, just stay,\" was all I heard. A voice that felt like home. Not my home, but the feeling of home when you're a kid.\n\nI looked to Boost as he ran, waving a hand in front of him as another window opened up.\n\n\"Wait a second! I just heard a—\"\n\n\"Oh, Mother talked to you? That's great! We talk a lot.\"\n\n\"Mother? I—\"\n\nHe grabbed my hand and pulled me through the window as he jumped. We landed in the living room of my apartment. Kyle still wasn't home yet.\n\nThe feel that place had…the warmth and love of that voice. I hadn't felt anything like that since I was a kid, sitting in front of the television on Saturday morning.\n\nI wept, and I didn't know why.\n\n\"Is that the first time she's ever spoken to you?\"\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"Mother.\"\n\nI didn't know what to say, so I just brushed it off. \"Listen, we've got more important things to worry about right now.\"\n\nI opened up the laptop and put it beside my own system. Boost synced my computer to it and transferred all the necessary files over.\n\nSo far, this aspect of my plan was coming to fruition. I couldn't help but smile.\n\nI was getting ready to go when Kyle came home. He looked at me with all those guns and went wide-eyed.\n\n\"Fairfax, what are you doing?\" The look was one of hurt, betrayal.\n\n\"Chance is in trouble. I have to do something. I was going to call an Uber, but I found a workaround. Would you—\"\n\n\"Are you going to use those things?\"\n\nI looked at Boost, giving him a thumbs-up. \"Yes. I'm going to play some paintball.\"\n\nKyle paused and nodded. He grabbed a jacket and put it around me. He wasn't happy, and from his body language, he was coming back to this from a bad day of work.\n\n\"Hey, Boost? Before I go, do you mind if I check my email really fast?\"\n\nHe stepped away from the desk, and I loaded up my email and social media. I hadn't used it much since my conversion, but what few friends I had, I did like to check in on…even if they never checked in on me.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Add eight sentences to continue story. May include established elements", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I put the guns back in their holsters and Scratch ran around the room frantically. \"You killed her! You actually killed her! And the guys upstairs? Did you kill them too? What the heck are you doing?!\"\n\nI looked at him. \"Getting even. Now, get out of my way,\" I said, running over to Chance, trying to shake him awake.\n\nIt took about five minutes, but he slowly came to. When he saw me in my getup, he chuckled, \"What the heck are you doing, commando?\"\n\nI saluted him. \"Rescuing a friend.\"\n\nScratch was having an existential crisis in the corner as I gave Chance his clothing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Not gonna lie, if I could've ended up like you, it might've done wonders for my business.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, I had some help on the other end. Hey, Boost?\"\n\n\"Yeah, man?\"\n\n\"I think we're done with the test. You can head on home.\"\n\n\"Okay!\"\n\nWith that, my phone turned off and I assumed he had used my computer monitor as a gateway back to Toronto.\n\nI smiled at Chance. \"We did it. We got her. Like it or not, it was part of the agreement I had with Snappy. I'm going to be free.\"\n\nHe rubbed his forehead and nodded.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yeah. Good on you, kid.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm not a kid. I'm only probably a few years younger than you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Whatever.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Anyway, we've got pretty much all the time in the world. I don't think anyone's calling the cops,\" I said, looking over at Scratch, \"unless you'd like to, considering you're the reason I had to come here.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Chance nodded. \"That little son of a bitch hit me in the chest and some of the Dellamorte thugs hit me with a Taser. How'd they know I was coming?\"\n\nI pointed to Scratch. \"He'd overheard the plan and his instincts to interfere were too strong for him to resist. Frankly, I don't know if that was part of his plan to begin with, to lure me into a false sense of security, but that's fine. He only wanted to have sex traffickers get access to God knows who.\"\n\nScratch pulled on his white pompadour. \"This isn't funny! This isn't funny at all!\"\n\nI looked at Chance. \"Well, now's your opportunity to get all the information you need. She's dead and her systems are wide open for you.\"\n\nHe nodded, stepping over her body and looking through the side rooms.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was looking around, trying to make sense of it all, when I spotted a computer. I booted it up and saw there was a password.\n\n\"Damn,\" I groaned.\n\nChance reached into his backpack and pulled out a USB drive. \"I've got a password breaker on here.\"\n\nHe slipped it in and rebooted the machine; it beeped a couple of times, did a few soft reboots, and finally opened up with no password prompt. \"It overwrites a few sections of the BIOS, reboots as need be, and basically resets the computer to where it doesn't need one…assuming the user is the one who did it.\"\n\n\"Nice. I could use something like that whenever I forget my own.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He began to look through folders and I waved him aside.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Let me handle that. You go deal with the bodies.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He grunted and walked off while I cruised the folders and subfolders. I heard the bodies being dragged about upstairs, and Scratch's crying, when I found a small folder marked \"Rift Transactions\".\n\nI opened it up and was staggered by what I saw: there were dozens of subfolders going back at least 15 years. Further exploration in the early stuff let me find the chemical concoction that allowed the process to happen. There were no indications that anything could be done to reverse-engineer it, but I did find an explanation of the transformation.\n\nSomehow, the rift itself poured out creative energy, the stuff that knits the atoms of toons together. The ink and solutions were put through procedures that I'd need a science degree to even read but somehow bonded with human tissue. The human DNA then absorbed that creative energy and used a matrix to create a toon within the human.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "What was incompatible was discarded, expelled.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Once the process had been left to run its course, the human acted like any other toon. It seems the first couple of subjects ended up like me for about a week. Pamela thought it was a failure because they still retained their humanity.\n\nWhen one of them had an anvil dropped on him, he shook off the damage and lost a few of his idiosyncrasies. That he had picked up a few toon ones allowed Pamela to put two and two together. She had him run over with a steamroller and, before he knew it, she had her first fully converted toon. She realized she had to break the body and then the mind.\n\nI looked through more of the folders.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "About halfway through, I opened up one and saw a name I was hoping to see: Ludovic Pascu.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hey, Chance, I think I—\" I looked up and saw him. \"I found him here, let me just open up the—\"\n\nNext thing I knew, he punched me with a pair of brass knuckles. I clenched my jaw and fell to the floor. He stomped on the back of my head a few times.\n\n\"You did good, kid, but there's a few things I didn't tell you. I said I was hired to find him, but I never said I was hired by his family.\"\n\nI groaned and looked up at him. \"We were a team. We were going to help him.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We were never going to help him.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"But we—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(authors note, 🎯 Target word: 'scratch' \| Required occurrences: 4)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He kicked me in the ribs and called for Scratch. \"Hey, skunky, come in here.\"\n\nScratch shambled in, his eyes wide, but his pupils tiny and he looked at me on the floor in pain.\n\n\"He tried to hurt me just like he hurt Pamela.\"\n\nScratch shook his head. \"No. No, not again! I won't let you hurt anyone ever again!\" He reached behind himself and produced a mallet.\n\n\"Scratch, please, no!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Include 'slammed' 2 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He raised it over his head and slammed it on my back. I know I didn't have a spine anymore, but I felt it break. My legs twitched. I couldn't move them.\n\nHe slammed it down on me again. I screamed in pain and panic.\n\nChance opened up the file and chuckled. \"You gotta be shittin' me.\"\n\n\"Please, Scratch, stop!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He hit me again and again. I hadn't wanted to shake off the damage this bad since that first night.\n\nChance grunted and pushed Scratch away. \"Leave him on the ground. If anything, when Snappy comes a-callin', he'll see the situation, and you can explain it to him then.\"\n\nScratch nodded and went off to the corner, rocking back and forth.\n\n\"You see, Fairfax, I really did think that you and I could have been good partners. Then we came back here that first time and the Dellamortes were here. I had to kill some of them, but they recognized me. When I ran upstairs and stopped the old guy—\"\n\nI looked at him woozily. \"I heard gunshots.\"\n\n\"I told him I'd have to make it sound like I chased him off, but that's the thing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "That process you went through?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was kinda into it. I said I had plans for tonight, and that's what I was going to do. I was planning to come here anyway. I didn't think you'd figure a way around your damn commands, though.\n\n\"The Dellamortes were going to give me a really long contract and you've thrown a freakin' monkey wrench in the works. Now, I have the process to myself, and I'm sure the Dellamortes can find another rift or rough up that gator friend of yours and just take over this little building.\"\n\nI shook my head. \"But they're gonna kidnap some teenagers and turn them into fuck slaves!\"\n\n\"So fucking what? I don't give a shit as long as I get paid. I've worked with him before, and I'll work with him again. They're good clients that pay well. Heck, I've supplied him with people.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I looked at him in horror.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I helped you and you tricked me.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You're finally catching on. Good for you. But see, here's the funny thing; like I said, I wasn't hired by Ludovic's family to find him and bring him home. I was hired to find him by his mother's political rivals. Won't they be surprised when they find out that their son,\" he said, opening up a picture, \"goes by Screwloose Squirrel now.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, God,\" I whispered.\n\n\"To think I've been trying to find him for all these years, and he was waiting our table just the other day. So, what I'm going to do is go with a fuck-ton of money to his manager and pay them probably $100,000 to say that he quit in exchange for his copyright. I'd find Screwloose and command him to come back with me. Do you know what I'm going to do then? Huh? I'll sell him for about $1 to that wonderful organization and they'll beat the shit out of him in front of his mom every day.\n\n\"See, I talked with Pamela a little bit about this. She knew who I was talking about when I came here. Seems it was the one time she'd actually tried to do a good deed.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? She didn't have a good bone in her body.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "meta: CONSTRAINT: Include 'wouldn't' 2 time(s)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"She didn't, but she did like to get paid. Ludovic volunteered for this so his family wouldn't have to worry about him anymore. His family paid for it. They knew where he was. They knew their son had to have himself erased so he wouldn't get murdered by my clients. Won't they be surprised to see the shadow echo of their son an eternal slave for the very people that they brought him to the United States to escape.\"\n\n\"I gotta get back,\" I whimpered.\n\n\"To what? That boyfriend at your apartment? Trust me, I'll be paying him a visit.\"\n\nI whined and knew I only had a little bit of time before Kyle would leave the front gate.\n\n\"Don't worry, I'll make it quick and painless,\" he said before kicking me in the back and twisting his boot. I felt vertebrae separate; my spinal cord was on fire and every inch of me hurt.\n\nI knew that once he got out, he'd probably be getting home around the same time Kyle did.\n\nHe stopped at the doorway.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Wait a second. How did you actually get here?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He grinned. \"He's here, isn't he? He's on the property. Saves me a trip.\"\n\n\"Don't you dare. I'll fucking put a bullet in you.\"\n\nHe kicked me in the teeth. I felt a few fly back into my throat.\n\nI went limp and tried to crawl toward the door. He slammed the door on my hand.\n\n\"I gotta give it to you, fox, you would've been great in this business. Heck, with the information I have here, I think using you as a template is going to make me a lot of money. Toons are immortal! All I have to do is have someone on hand that can pull doctor gags to fix up any wounds I get. I bet your skunk buddy would be more than happy to help me out with that, you know, once he unfucks his brain. I'll be right back. I just need to use a bullet real fast,\" he said, storming up the stairs.\n\nI lay there, screaming, my hand stuck in the door, fingers broken.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "All I could do is look over at Scratch, bleeding from the mouth.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Incorporate 'going' into your response exactly 7 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Scratch, please he's going to kill my boyfriend.\"\n\n\"You shot her.\"\n\n\"Scratch, he's going to kill my boyfriend Kyle. You just listened to everything he said. Yeah, I've done some bad things, but what he's going to do is going to be so much worse. And imagine what someone who is trained to do what I've done would do with the powers of a toon.\"\n\nScratch looked at me. \"You mean, he—\"\n\n\"He's going to become like me, half-toon. He's going to find ways around the gags like I did, and all he's going to do is hurt people for the highest dollar. No one will suspect him because toons don't hurt people. Scratch, I've hurt and, yes, killed some people, but they were bad people.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm not saying it excuses what I've done, but you heard him.\n\n\"He's kidnapped teens—kids—and sold them for sex trafficking. You can hate me all you want, you can punish me as much as you want, but he's going to kill Kyle and a lot more people after that, so I need you to be my partner today, please. My back is up against the wall. I'd do anything for him but I can't shake this off. If I shake this off, I won't be me anymore and I wouldn't remember Kyle. I need you to help me.\"\n\nI reached out toward him and went limp, my eyes drooping closed.\n\nThat's when I felt his hand touch mine. I opened my eyes and he was looking down at me with a smile. He reached behind himself and pulled out a large syringe filled with a glowing golden liquid. He stuck it in my butt and injected it; it felt like going through a sugar rush.\n\nAt first, my legs just hurt.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then they dulled slightly and tingled, and the next thing I knew, they were spinning like a tornado which traveled up my body. Before I knew it, my hand was pulled free from the door and I whizzed around the room. When I finally snapped back, he was hugging me tight.\n\n\"I don't like this, but you're right; we're partners. I'm not terribly thrilled with you having a human boyfriend, 'cause I'm supposed to be your friend…but he means something to you, and you mean something to me, and that's gotta mean something.\"\n\nI smiled and stared into his eyes, and in a moment of weakness, I kissed him.\n\n\"Thank you!\"\n\nHe swooned and blushed before stammering out, \"What do you want me to do?\"\n\nI grinned and pointed at Pamela's monitor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I need you to do me a favor,\" I said, explaining an idea I'd had earlier that day.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[[OOC: Your task: Include 'there' 2 time(s) in your response]]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He nodded and hopped through the screen. I snarled, kicked open the door, ran upstairs, and headed to the gate.\n\nWhen I got there, I saw the car idling. I hurried over and opened the passenger door.\n\nKyle was missing. On his seat was a note: \"I had a feeling you might figure a way out of that mess, and since you're pretty good at this, I'll make you deal. Meet me at the warehouse and I might let your boyfriend live.\"\n\nI looked around. I had my phone, but I didn't know what to do. I couldn't reach the pedals in the car.\n\nThere was a shuffling behind me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I turned and saw Scratch.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What are you doing here?\"\n\nHe said, \"We're partners. We do this together. I'll be the feet, you be the hands.\"\n\nI grinned and we hopped in. I rested my feet on his chest as he sat at the pedals. I turned on the car and tapped with my right foot, sending us peeling out of the driveway and off into the night.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative chapter writing\nMy role: Provide a story segment\nYour role: Expand with 111 sentences, emulating A.J. Mayall in the urban fantasy, furry, toon protagonist genre\nNote: This is part of a larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We took a lot longer to get to Chance's warehouse than I would've liked, but Scratch was not a very efficient gas and brake man; he either accelerated too much or at a snail's crawl. I wasn't sure if it was because of his toon nature to throw humor into a situation because it was his first time attempting to drive and he couldn't see out the windshield. We nearly caused three accidents and, luckily, the cops never came after us.\n\nWe pulled into the parking area of the abandoned warehouse. I stepped out of the car, still wearing a crap-ton of guns when I heard Chance over the PA system: \"Drop my equipment! Step away from it!\"\n\nI did as he said.\n\n\"Turn around!\"\n\nI did, revealing I didn't have pistols tucked behind my bowtie.\n\nScratch popped out of the car and stood next to me.\n\n\"Hey, skunk!\"\n\nScratch narrowed his eyes and shouted up, \"Yeah? What about it?\"\n\n\"Pick up my stuff and bring it in.\"\n\n\"How do you know I'm not gonna—\"\n\n\"Because you're a toon, you idiot.\"\n\nI gritted my teeth. Scratch, while a problematic figure in my life, was just following his nature; he didn't deserve to be treated like that.\n\nScratch slumped his head, picked up everything I'd dropped, and trundled inside. After a few moments, he came back out looking disheveled and worried.\n\n\"He's got your boyfriend tied up in there! I don't know if there's anything we can do.\"\n\nI nodded. Scratch looked at me and smiled. He hugged me tight and I felt something at the back of my neck. He gave me a very serious gaze and nodded.\n\nI straightened up and shouted, \"I'm unarmed. You've got all your equipment back. Can we come in and talk about this?\"\n\n\"Sure, come on in.\"\n\nI walked in slow and methodical; the layout of the warehouse was as familiar as the apartment, but Chance knew me. I kept my back to the wall to reduce the element of surprise.\n\n\"So, that stinker of a buddy of yours—\"\n\n\"Partner,\" I said.\n\n\"Whatever. He got you all fixed up? I gotta say, if I'd taken a beating like that, I'd been out of commission for the better part of a year, if ever. Now,\" he grinned, \"with Pam's process, imagine…no food expenses, no travel expenses. If I want to travel across the country, all I have to do is jump in a screen and pop out somewhere else.\n\n\"The ultimate assassin and I can't even be killed. I'll live forever, constantly doing what I do best. You are the only people,\" he said, gesturing to us and Kyle, who was bound and gagged in the middle the room, \"who know about this aside from the Dellamortes and their hands will be just as dirty as, if not dirtier than mine.\"\n\nHe cracked his knuckles. \"So, I've got a proposal for you. What I can do is give you an out to all of this, Fairfax.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"Well, you do one gag and you lose a part of your humanity, but you get to have that one for free from then on. So I'll just beat up your skunk friend here, you heal him up, and I take you to the Dellamortes. They get me through the conversion process, and you're my doctor on call from here to eternity. I'll give you a cut of every job I do, even the ones where I don't need you.\"\n\n\"What if I say no?\"\n\n\"Then I put a bullet in your boyfriend's brain and I beat the shit out of you until you shake it off. I can find another toon who's willing to help me out.\"\n\nI looked at Scratch. He looked at me and shook his head.\n\n\"Okay, maybe we got off on the wrong foot,\" I said.\n\nKyle grunted and shook his head, pleading with his eyes that I should stop.\n\nI looked at him and waved my hand to calm him down. \"He's got nothing to do with this. If your issue's with me, I'm the only one you need to deal with. You don't have to run with those people.\"\n\n\"They pay the best.\"\n\n\"You could use your skills for good, man. There're drug lords that could be taken out. There's—\"\n\nHe made a yap-yap-yap motion with his hand. \"You think that that brings in money? I don't give a shit about whether or not a group of 11-year-olds is being given meth. What I care about is being able to buy another property off the coast of France.\"\n\nThere was no way I would get through to him.\n\nChance scowled, cocked a gun, and put it up to Kyle's head.\n\nI cried out, \"Please don't do anything!\"\n\n\"You'll do a gag?\"\n\nI nodded. \"Yeah, but can I at least show you what I did to get from here to rescue you?\"\n\nHe grunted and nodded. \"Okay, I'll admit you had me a little curious about that getup of yours.\"\n\nI looked to the pile of equipment at his feet. \"Go ahead and put it on, then check out your laptop.\"\n\nHe adjusted the arm braces and slid his hands in. \"Okay?\"\n\n\"I had Boost on the other end. He basically piloted me. Maybe I could do something like that for you.\"\n\n\"I don't need help killing people.\"\n\n\"I know, but—\"\n\nScratch caught my eye. He tilted his head up a hair.\n\n\"But you forgot the other thing.\"\n\n\"What's that?\"\n\n\"I was willing to do a gag for this.\"\n\nAt that, Chance paused. \"What sort of gag?\"\n\nI reached behind me and pulled the pistol that Scratch had tucked behind the collar of my bowtie when he hugged me. I aimed it at Chance's head.\n\n\"You kill him, I kill you. I've been getting better at this, but I'm not as good as you, so maybe I won't just kill you. I can give you severe brain damage and you'll just spend the rest of your days shitting your pants and drooling in some fucking hospital as a John Doe, watching cartoons,\" I said with a smirk.\n\nChance narrowed his eyes and pulled back the hammer of the pistol. \"I'm gonna take that risk.\"\n\nI expected my bluff to be called. Chance looked at the skunk. \"That your attempt?\"\n\nScratch nodded. Chance scowled at me. \"Put the gun down and kick it over to me.\"\n\nI felt defeated, but I knew what I had to do. \"Fine. Fuck it. I'll work for you, do whatever you want me to do. Just let him go. Here, take the fucking gun!\" I said, tossing it at him with an overhand throw.\n\nIt turned, barrel over grip. Chance went wide-eyed as it was flung toward him. In a panic, he dropped his own gun to make sure he caught it safely.\n\nScratch screamed, \"Now!\"\n\nHe threw his phone in front of me and I prepared myself. I was willing to do a gag for this, willing to lose a part of myself for this, for Kyle.\n\nAnything for Kyle.\n\nI thrust my arm out, caught the phone in one hand, turned it on, and called my own phone which rang on the vest Chance wore. As I shoved my hand into the screen, I felt that bliss course through me. I strained and stretched; I could feel myself let go. It didn't hurt as I stretched my arm out further and further, like a piece of taffy.\n\nI looked at the security monitors, and I saw my hand pass by through them. I saw it wrap around and pass over the computer screens near the range.\n\nI heard that voice in my head once more: \"It's okay, just join us. You're welcome here.\"\n\nChance looked at me in shock and realized that he'd fallen into my trap. Then I looked at Scratch.\n\nOur trap.\n\nMy hand burst out of the screen on his chest, grabbed the gun in midair, aimed it under his chin, and pulled the trigger three times.\n\nKyle screamed into his gag.\n\nI dropped the gun and retracted my arm.\n\nI felt an odd euphoric tingle through me, and I knew that something inside me had changed.\n\nAs I approached Chance's body, his eyes darted around the room as he tried to mouth words. I didn't know how much of Chance's mind and consciousness was left; brain matter was splattered all over the place.\n\n\"How's that for a finale?\" I said and kicked him in the ribs.\n\nI untied Kyle, who picked me up and hugged me tight. \"Sorry you had to see that. I really, really am.\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I can't believe we let that man into our house.\"\n\n\"He's gone, now. He's gone.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Scratch looked at me and I smiled.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 103 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I can't believe you thought of that. Can't believe you thought of anything that would actually kill someone.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"I-I couldn't let him hurt kids.\"\n\n\"That's what we're here to do; we protect them.\"\n\n\"You can protect him in ways that regular toons can't. If that means I have to think of things that I would never do myself, then so be it.\"\n\nHalf an hour later, we had covered up Chance's corpse with a tarp. We sat around, trying to figure out what to do next.\n\nI said, \"There's still the Dellamortes. They know about this process and there's always the possibility that they have the information on how to do the conversion. Someone has to stop them.\"\n\n\"What are you saying?\" Kyle said\n\n\"I'm saying Chance was right about one thing; I've got a knack for this sort of work. I never thought I would I be; I mean, I can't really stand violence. I have all of his logins and access to all of his accounts. He wanted me as a tactician at one point; I can just take over all of his profiles. No one would know. Like he said, he was planning on becoming a toon hybrid like me, except I'll just take the jobs that take out bad people. I can turn the tables on them.\"\n\nKyle rested his head in his hands. \"I don't know if I can live with that.\"\n\nI nodded. \"I understand if you want to—\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I said I was with you to the end and, like you said, these are bad people. This isn't something the police can be involved in, especially if it involves what happened to you.\"\n\n\"You realize I'm going to become a contract killer.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"You said you have access to his accounts. How much are we talking?\"\n\nI loaded up one of his bank statements and Kyle whistled. Neither of us had seen that many zeros on an account…well, not with a number in front, at least.\n\n\"Okay, not to sound like a complete sellout and an inhuman bastard, but that is a lot of money.\"\n\nI looked at Kyle. \"No jobs that hurt innocent people. I'll take out drug lords, sex traffickers, abusers, that sort of thing; people whose victims have fallen through the cracks.\"\n\nScratch hung a few feet back, not sure how to handle the situation. I faced him.\n\n\"This also means that when I'm doing this sort of work, you don't get to interfere with it. If I'm having a pie and you want to slam it in my face, that's one thing, but—\"\n\nHe waved a hand. \"I get it. I gotta get used to a few things about this whole situation, too.\"\n\n\"Like what?\"\n\n\"Like the fact that you weren't lying. I'm really only about a month or two old; my entire memory of us working together is all fake. All the different versions of us that have existed over the years of us being partners never happened. Fairfax, you're my best friend, my only friend. I don't like the idea that I was created to hurt people, but I was born out of your abuse. I tried to turn that on you, and I don't know how I could ever apologize.\"\n\nI looked at him. \"You're as much a victim as this as I was. I'm happy that you have happy memories. Just understand that I'm not gonna remember what you talk to me about.\"\n\nHe nodded solemnly. \"So, 'funny ha-ha' is one thing, but 'funny uh-oh' is completely off the table?\"\n\n\"Yeah.\" I walked over and hugged him. \"Want to get a bite?\"\n\nScratch nodded and stayed with me as I walked over to Kyle and took his hand. \"We are going to have very weird sex tonight.\"\n\nHe nodded. \"The weirdest.\"\n\nTwenty minutes later, we were at Burger Circus. Lou was behind the counter. He smiled when he saw the three of us enter.\n\n\"You three look like you had a bit of a—\"\n\nI said, \"It's been the most special episode during sweeps week I've ever had.\"\n\nHe gulped. \"Anything I should know about?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"No, not really. I gotta ask: are you happy here, Lou?\"\n\nThe squirrel smiled. \"Whaddaya mean? Of course I'm happy.\"\n\nI said, \"Act like the cameras are off. Are you happy here?\"\n\n\"Yeah, I'm great. I've got a good job, I've got friends and regulars…\"\n\n\"Do you have a family, Lou?\"\n\nHe looked off in the distance as if he was trying to remember something. \"Y'know, I don't think I was made with one, but every now and then, I kinda get this feeling, you know?\"\n\nI nodded. Kyle and I ordered cheeseburgers and Scratch reached behind himself and pulled out a plate of steak and eggs.\n\nI smiled, licking my chops. When I bit into the thick burger, my eyes went wide. It was ungodly bland. It tasted like wet sawdust.\n\nI shivered and looked at Scratch. \"You mind if I get a bite of that?\"\n\nHe looked at me quizzically and nodded. I picked up a fork and Scratch cut me off the piece of cartoon steak. I brought it to my lips and when it hit my tongue, my senses exploded with flavor. It was the juiciest, most delicious steak I'd ever tasted in my life. It was glorious.\n\nKyle looked at me, then at the burger and the steak. I could see him go a little bit pale. Every time I'd do a gag, I'd lose a part of myself, become slightly more toon.\n\nLuckily, what I'd lost was on the low end of things, but it was still a significant change. I'd never be able to enjoy human food again. The worst part was I'd still need to do another gag to produce toon food.\n\nI looked at Kyle. \"Well, I'll be able to enjoy the meals over at the Badger residence a little bit better now.\"\n\nWhen the check came, I handed over my credit card. Lou ran it and I left him a substantial tip, five figures. With what I could tell from Chance's emails with the Romanian crime family, it was the amount they'd paid him to bring Ludovic Pascu, now Screwloose Squirrel, back home to be tortured indefinitely.\n\nLou fainted when he saw the tip. I smiled and slipped a USB drive in his pocket; it had all the information on his origins, his family, and their contact information. What he did with that information was up to him, but at least he'd know what happened.\n\nHe had chosen this life, unlike me, and I was giving him another choice. Whether or not he attempted to reconnect with them, maybe somewhere deep inside of that nutty, silly, happy façade was the kid who gave up everything to make sure his family would be safe.\n\nI packed up my stuff and headed home. Scratch stayed over for a bit; we hugged and he kissed my cheek when he left.\n\nI looked at Kyle and followed him to the bedroom.\n\n\"What are we going to do with that skunk?\" I said. \"He's a part of me, just like you are. He's going to teach me how to be a toon and you're going to be my anchor to humanity, but—\"\n\nKyle smiled. \"You love him, too, don't you?\"\n\n\"I don't know why, I just—\"\n\nHe put a finger to my lips. \"He's part of your soul. That copyright is a part of you, and you, if anything, always had difficulty loving yourself. Goodness knows, no one else really did, except for me.\"\n\nKyle smiled, a hint of sorrow in his gaze, \"I get it.\"\n\n\"You get what?\"\n\n\"You want to be with him,\" he said forlornly. \"When you two worked together, it looked like you two had been together for years.\"\n\n\"No, I want to be with you!\"\n\n\"I'm not saying you don't want to be with me, I'm just saying—you two have a different relationship than you and me. It's okay.\"\n\n\"Are we still—\" I started to ask, worried I was about to lose him, only to have him pinch my mouth shut and kiss my nose.\n\n\"Yes, we're still going out. I'd marry you if I could.\"\n\n\"Well, I mean there's technically no laws preventing a human and toon from marrying.\"\n\nKyle sighed. \"We've been through a lot tonight; let's not have the day where you murdered a shit-ton of people and killed a man in front of me be the same day that you propose.\"\n\nI nodded. \"We need some time to work this out.\"\n\nHe agreed.\n\n\"Okay,\" I said, \"so I have two boyfriends now.\"\n\nKyle laughed. \"Lucky!\"\n\n\"Hey, if you want to be considered open so you can have—\"\n\nHe shrugged. \"I'll consider it. I do miss having normal sex with someone, but,\" he grinned at me, \"I also like the idea that I now have a challenge and I need to be imaginative.\"\n\nWe snuggled close and kissed.\n\nI must add…the sex was definitely weird.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Team writing exercise. I start (might include existing characters), you do thirty-seven sentences in A.J. Mayall style.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I showed up on Snappy's doorstep the next day while Kyle and Scratch waited in the car. I rang the doorbell and the gator responded promptly, glaring at me.\n\n\"I don't know how you—we had an agreement—that's not what I—\"\n\nI held out the backpack that had belonged to Chance and opened it, revealing stacks of cash. His eyes went wide.\n\n\"I'm willing, if you are, to hold you accountable to both aspects of the deal. She's dead and here's $500,000. Give me my goddamn copyright.\"\n\nHe walked in and I was ready to follow, but he stopped me. \"Just wait here.\"\n\nI looked over at the car. Scratch nodded and gave me a thumbs-up, which I returned with a sly smile.\n\nSnappy came back with a manila folder and held it out to me. \"I don't understand why you're doing all this. You were a good employee.\"\n\n\"I'm still willing to do your paperwork, Snappy. I just want to be in control of my own destiny.\"\n\n\"But why won't you be like any other toon?\"\n\n\"I'm not like any other toon, Snappy,\" I said, holding the folder. When I saw the copyright within, I grinned wide. \"Now, we have a transaction, correct?\"\n\nSnappy nodded. \"Yeah.\"\n\n\"And I am no longer beholden to you, correct?\"\n\n\"Correct.\"\n\n\"Because Pamela Blake is dead, and that was one of the stipulations for me being freed, correct?\"\n\nHe gritted his teeth. \"Correct.\"\n\n\"But I'm also paying you $500,000 for a copyright as well, correct?\"\n\nHe threw his hands up. \"Correct! I don't understand why you're going through all of the stuff like you're a lawyer or something.\"\n\nI tossed him the money and he caught it. I reached in and pulled out his copyright. \"Shortly after Pamela died, I asked Scratch to head back to my place. You had given me your copyright. It was in one of the data packets; I had him slip it into my folder.\"\n\nI gripped it in my hand, and if the black-and-white gator could go pale, he would. \"Fairfax, no! I—\"\n\n\"Snappy! Get with the times!\"\n\nSnappy screamed and clawed at himself; his form shivered and shook like an old television picture going out of focus, the horizontal and the vertical out of whack.\n\nHe screamed, \"No, no! Not this! Anything but this!\"\n\nHe almost seemed to glitch, like the channel was changing, and his design changed subtly and suddenly. Color flooded in; light green scales on the stomach and dark pine everywhere else.\n\n\"No! I'm pre-Code! I'm proud of being one of the originals! I would never—\"\n\nHis design changed further, going from a 40s toon to a more 60s-era thick-lined style. He tried to walk and his animation cycle was simplified. Suddenly, he jerked again; his linework thinned and became almost too detailed, reminiscent of the Japanese-inspired work of the 80s.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He screamed, \"NO!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A pair of sunglasses appeared on his face, his zoot suit becoming a neon monstrosity as he slipped into the 90s. Before I knew it, a modern, simplified big grin was on his face; his once-Pac-Man-like eyeballs were gone, a pair of ocean blues staring at me.\n\nA modern toon, through and through, in a zoot suit and a fedora that didn't fit him well.\n\n\"My…my legacy.\"\n\nI held his copyright for one more moment. \"Fetch me my copyright; you'll find it under the briefcase beside your computer.\"\n\nHe seized up, turned, and marched back inside. He returned with it quickly.\n\n\"Give it to me.\"\n\nHe handed it to me. I held his copyright and said, \"With that, I release you from service.\"\n\nHe collapsed on the ground and I let the old piece of paper fall from my hand.\n\nHe sobbed and cried as he forced his body back through his various iterations until he looked like he had before. He was monochrome again, but something about it was off, more like a decent facsimile rather than an authentic old-school toon. Also, his voice had slightly changed. Over a hundred years or so, you'd probably need a new voice actor.\n\n\"Now with that said, I'll have the remainder of the files finished for you by the end of the month. Will you need me for anything after that?\"\n\nHe glowered and grimaced at me. \"No. I think that's the last job I'll need you to do.\"\n\nI nodded. \"That's a shame; I really liked it. You are probably the best boss I ever had. I just wish you would've listened to me.\"\n\n\"Do you know how much it hurts to do this?\" he said, standing and trying to de-master his smoothed-over monochrome appearance. \"I was happy as I was, and now it's just an act I'm putting on. I can't keep this up forever! What if someone finds out that I've modernized?\"\n\n\"I'm a modern toon and no one seems to give me much hassle over it.\"\n\n\"Yeah, but you were made like this. I-I am a classic!\"\n\n\"Frankly, my dear Snappy, I don't give a damn,\" I said. \"Anyway, I think I got a new job lined up.\"\n\nI was ready to leave, but something occurred to me. \"I'm going to need Scratch's as well, as it's tied to mine.\"\n\nSnappy huffed and hurried back inside, then shoved it at my chest when he returned. \"Just get outta here! Finish up your work for me and I never want to see you again!\"\n\nI shrugged. \"Sorry to hear that. When you get over this, call me. Maybe we'll have coffee or something?\"\n\n\"You have fundamentally changed who I am and you're making jokes about it! Do you know what that's like?\"\n\nI grabbed him by the lapels of the zoot suit. \"Yeah, I do. I absolutely do. Making fun of it, making light of it, and pretending it wasn't an issue is exactly what you did to me all those times. Now you know what it's like to be stuck in a body you don't want, to have to be seen in a way you don't want.\"\n\nHe went wide-eyed. Maybe it was modern sensibilities in his new form kicking in, or maybe it was just honest-to-goodness empathy.\n\n\"Oh, my goodness! I-I…I—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I let him go, turned, and left.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The passenger door was open, waiting for me. I hopped into the car and put my copyright in the glove compartment after handing Scratch his.\n\nKyle said, \"Where to?\"\n\n\"I've got a couple of places to head off to.\"\n\nThe first stop was the warehouse. I had used Chance's contact list to discover who was in charge of the building. With a fake story about Chance's relocation, my training, and a lot of cash, the building transferred to me but remained under his name, a name I now had the ability to pose as online.\n\nScratch produced a bottle of soda for me since the real stuff tasted stale. I sipped on it while looking up all the places on the dark web he would scour for jobs.\n\nKyle and Scratch were trying to figure out what to do with each other. They were both there for me but didn't know how to handle each other's presence.\n\nAfter sorting Chance's old emails, I found information on the Dellamortes; seems they wanted to hire his services and gather fresh recruits. They had almost figured out how to make the special transforming ink and had a lead on a new rift. They wanted him to come in and handle stuff.\n\n\"Chance\" requested information on every location they were considering, for recon purposes. They didn't know a storm was coming their way.\n\nThere were a lot of guns at my disposal. I didn't know how they all worked, or if I could even use them all; I weighed all of 40 pounds, and those things had some serious kickback.\n\nThen my eyes focused on the freshly turned dirt off in the corner where we had buried Chance. I left the computer and stood over his body. There was no marker, and there never would be. He was a man who wanted to walk in shadows and be forgotten. As in life, so in death.\n\nHis mantle had become mine, but I would be the monster in the closet that protected kids, not the one that harmed them. After all, I was kinda good at this sort of thing, even if I didn't want to be.\n\nI shut the system down and looked at Kyle. \"Okay, they haven't figured everything out yet, which is good. They said they're about six months to a year from getting the formula down, and there aren't that many publicly available rifts. I'd say we have a year to get ready for handling them.\"\n\nKyle nodded and Scratch popped up behind him. \"So, what do we do now?\"\n\nI thought back to how this all started. The two pistols I'd first picked up rested on a table. I picked them up and placed them behind the neck loop of my bowtie.\n\n\"I'm going to go get paid.\"\n\n\"But you have like a shit-ton of money,\" said Kyle. \"We could prepay the rent for the rest of my life with what you've got.\"\n\n\"I know, but it's the principle of the matter.\"\n\nThirty minutes later, I knocked on the door of a very particular frat house.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "When the door opened, the jock who got me kicked out and banned from the campus looked down at me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(ooc: Make sure to seamlessly include 'Yeah? What the hell do you want, toon?' in your answer)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yeah? What the hell do you want, toon?\"\n\nI smiled. \"I'm here on behalf of Tyler Fairfax, who you owe money to for a moving job from…ooh, four months ago or so?\"\n\nHe looked at me quizzically and then burst out into laughter. \"That fuckin' loser's still salty over the fact that we stiffed him for $250?\"\n\nI reached behind me, grabbed the gun, cocked the hammer, and shot him through his left knee.\n\nHe screamed and fell to the floor. Now, to be fair, I don't want to make light of campus shootings, but all I know is he was wearing a football uniform, and my guess? A dude of his build was probably here on a sports scholarship.\n\n\"Yeah, he's still salty,\" I said, walking in and slamming the door behind me.\n\nA couple of frat boys came running down the stairs.\n\n\"Dude, we heard something. What the hell's going on?\"\n\n\"It sounded like a gunshot!\"\n\nI aimed the pistol up at them. I didn't recognize them from when I had moved their stuff in.\n\n\"This is between us; go back to your room and forget you ever saw this.\"\n\nThey stared incredulously at what was happening before them.\n\nI leaned forward and kicked the jock in his shot-out knee. He screamed louder.\n\nSoon, another jock that I recognized came barreling toward me. Without moving, I reached behind myself and pulled out the other gun, aiming it at his face.\n\n\"He was going to charge you $250. I think I'll take $5,000: asshole tax.\"\n\nThe second jock wet himself and the kneecapped one nodded quickly. \"Go get it. I've got a huge stash with my weed in the top drawer.\"\n\nThe guy ran off upstairs and hurried back down with money.\n\n\"Count it out.\"\n\nHe was about $300 short.\n\nI wasn't going to be that much of a jackass, considering what I was about to do.\n\nI took the money. As I realized both my hands were full, I tossed him the gun that I'd shot his friend with, and he aimed the gun at my face.\n\n\"I'm a toon. Do you think that's gonna hurt me? If anything, at this proximity, it'll bounce off my face and land in your chest. Not to mention, I don't have fingerprints. And even if I did, I am always wearing gloves. Not to mention, I used the only bullet in the thing. Someone's probably already called 911 and they're on their way.\"\n\nSure enough, sirens were blaring.\n\nI walked into the living room, where I saw a familiar face on the television, tuned to some tech news, and I smiled. I glared at the jocks, turning up the volume.\n\n\"The Timber Titans of Toronto have been officially disbanded after what appears to be a violent shooting was broadcast on their official live streaming channel. The management for the team has been fined two million dollars, and the members are facing permanent bans from Legends of War tournaments and potentially every game in the eSports circuit. We take you to Boost D. Beaver, the former mascot who was made to stream the video, in his first public appearance.\"\n\nBoost fidgeted with his hands and smiled nervously while his eyes darted around, \"I thought it was paintball…\"\n\nI smiled. At least he was free to find his own path, and likely wouldn't be banned like the rest of his team. The jocks scrambled, in terror and confusion.\n\nAs the sirens drew closer, I leaned against the screen.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What are you going to do? Tell him a toon shot your friend? Everyone knows toons can't hurt humans, and your fingerprints are all over the gun that did it.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I held out a hand, and he tossed it back to me.\n\nI laughed as I jumped into the screen. I traveled through the wonderful meadow again, that warm, wonderful meadow. I was happy that the one gag I had pulled off was traveling through screens.\n\nHowever, it did ache when I had to pop out of Scratch's phone, considering I didn't fit through it properly. When I came out, I was only about four inches tall. I needed to practice maintaining size when doing the gag.\n\nHe laughed as he looked down at me, bumping his nose against mine and then kissed me, puffing air into me and inflating me like a balloon until I was normal-sized again.\n\nI swooned as he kissed me, rubbing him and adding a bit of tongue.\n\nI handed him the money, which he stuck behind him into the hammerspace I still lacked.\n\nWe left the alley and rounded the corner. The police were already questioning the fellow I had tossed the gun at, and gotten his prints on.\n\nHe pointed at me, screaming, \"That's him! That's the toon who shot him!\"\n\nWhen the ambulance arrived, the jock saw me and screamed bloody murder. However, the cops tried to calm him down by reminding him toons don't hurt people. They can't do more than pinch, let alone shoot someone.\n\nI grinned, looked at the cops, and shrugged. \"Hey, we're used to getting blamed for a lot of the weird, wacky stuff that happens. I bet you dollars to donuts they probably got some drugs upstairs. But I gotta tell you, I'm happy I found you. One of these guys just tossed this out a window and bonked me in the head with it.\" I said, acting nervous and holding the gun to the officers, who bagged it. I winked and gave a jaunty whistle to the jocks.\n\nThe cop nodded and called into his radio to do a drug search, just in case. Turns out it wasn't just weed they had. That was my lucky break.\n\nWhen the cops' backs were turned, I gave the frat boys the finger.\n\nHeading back home would take a good, long bus ride, but me and Scratch made an afternoon of walking back. I didn't have a physical limitation on my endurance, and it was good to actually get to know him.\n\nAlso, considering we had to go through the more downtown areas of San Jose, where there were a lot of homeless people, I'd made a point of asking Scratch to give a few bucks to any homeless person we happened across. It's always good to do a good deed.\n\nWe held hands and, after a few hours, made it to the end of the downtown area.\n\n\"So…\"\n\n\"So?\" he said.\n\n\"Do you want to come upstairs? I mean, I'm not gonna be working for Snappy that much longer. You're welcome to stay with him. I mean, you were kind of working with—\"\n\nHe shook his head. \"I don't want to be there. I don't really know where I'm going to stay.\"\n\nI rubbed his cheek and looked into his eyes. \"Stay with us.\"\n\n\"But I'd just be getting in the way, and it's weird seeing you with him, and it might be weird for him to see me with you.\"\n\n\"Who knows? Maybe the three of us can be—\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "WRITING ASSISTANT ENGAGED\nMATCH: Character/world familiarity\nOUTPUT: 3 sentences SENTENCES\nGENRES: comedy, science fiction\nINCORPORATE: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It's November 2050 and, once again, we are under siege from the Four Horsemen of the Holidacalypse: Premature Christmas, Crowds, Flu and Pumpkin Spice.\n\nHalloween was a couple weeks ago—perfect timing for the case I was working, which featured decapitated heads, mad scientists, brain implants and undead zombies. I wore my usual costume: Maltese Falcon-inspired private detective, with a suit and tie, wingtips, trench coat and a soft felt fedora.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not very original, but I couldn't find a Spiderman suit in 48 Tall.\n\nTrick-or-treating was a mixed bag. The biggest trick was a Rip Van Winkle special.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "One minute, I'm having dinner with the girl of my dreams; the next, I'm waking up and it's seven years later.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "All my memories in between erased…and my dream girl long gone.\n\nThe how and why of my amnesia is a whole other story. Bottom line is, life goes on.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "You play the cards you're dealt.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My only consolation is that I may have an ace up my sleeve.\n\nMy Halloween case gave me one big treat: a flash drive containing information of significant value to certain people. One of the interested parties is a curious gent named Count St. Germain, who said he would pay—and I quote—'a king's ransom' for a particular piece of information I'm pretty sure is on my little flash drive.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 4 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They say money can't buy happiness. I wouldn't know, but I'd sure like to find out. Maybe, for once, I'll have something to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. It's time for me and St. Germain to talk turkey.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Continue with 11 sentences sentences\nStyle: Aaron Conners\nNote: Maintain narrative threads and character relationships as presented", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sunset is torching the New San Francisco skyline—the last blast of radioactive napalm before night settles in like a dose of morphine.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Daylight is the new asbestos, which is why they enacted the Time Reversal back in '42.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It's 5 p.m.—what used to be 5 a.m.—and I'm not usually up this early, but my body clock is out of whack.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I got back in town three days ago and spent most of that time blissfully unconscious.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now I need to get out. I'm wide awake, starving, and my apartment/office is like a sauna. Clint, my landlord, must have fired up the ancient boiler down in the bowels of the Ritz Hotel. It is that time of year.\n\nI open one of the large windows that overlook Chandler Avenue, take a seat on the wide sill and light a cigarette. A breeze is blowing in off the bay, cool and salty, dampening the voices of early risers on their way to Louie's diner down on the corner.\n\nThe city's just starting to stir. In the distance, toward downtown, air traffic is picking up. Directly across the street, the neon Open sign at Rook's Pawnshop turns on.\n\nMy eyes drift to where Chelsee's newsstand used to be. Most every day for years, I'd stop by to say hi, flirt a little bit, get gently turned down and then go out about my business.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The ritual of unrequited love. Now, you'd never know her newsstand was ever there. I still can't quite get my head around the fact that she's gone.\n\nBut that's all in the past. It's 2050, not 2043. Life goes on, I keep telling myself. I let a little ripple of grief wash over me, then stub out my cigarette and turn away.\n\nI walk to the bedroom and get dressed. One of the perks of 2050 is that I now have an extensive, expensive wardrobe I have no memory of buying. But as I stand at the mirror, tying a three-hundred-dollar silk tie into a classic four-in-hand knot, I see one of the downsides of 2050: some old guy staring back at me. It must have been a rough seven years.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Good thing I never relied on my looks to make a living.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I lace up a pair of black Florsheim wingtips, tuck a tiny flash drive into one of my socks, and then slip on a tailored suit jacket. I grab my overcoat and fedora and head out to the fire escape stairs, bound for the Brew & Stew.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Add 47 sentences sentences, maintaining narrative consistency. Include: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The world's finest diner is already half-full at the break of night.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "This used to be a happy little hole in the wall with a small and mostly mutant clientele.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Now, at least on the weekends, there's a line out the door, starting around 7 p.m. People come from all over the city—mutants, norms and, worst of all, hipsters.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Which is another good thing about living in 2050: all that Mutant/Norm nonsense is mostly behind us now.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Between the fall of the Law & Order Party and the Moon Child 'tragedy', no one was left to rally the bigots. So, while part of me longs for the old days when there was always a seat available at the Brew & Stew, I'm happy for Louie and all my other mutant friends. Even Rook.\n\nFortunately, it's early enough that my usual spot—the last barstool at the end of the counter—is unoccupied. The air is thick with the smells of strong coffee, bacon and just a hint of cigarette smoke. Underneath the voices and clinking of plates and silverware, I hear Dave Brubeck playing on the old jukebox in the corner. I cross the room through the heavenly haze, take my seat and grab a menu. Seven years ago, I had the menu memorized. I'm curious to see what's new.\n\n\"Hey, Moiph!\"\n\nI look up from the menu, but he's too fast for me. Louie LaMintz is already bustling back into the kitchen. And now there's a mug full of steaming Armageddon Blend in front of me. I take a sip and feel it sizzle into my blood stream like molten lava. If I wasn't fully awake before, I am now.\n\nThe entire menu looks amazing. I'm tempted to order one of everything, but realistically, I could only eat half of it. And I shouldn't overdo it. I'm hoping to conduct some business later tonight and don't want to be in a carb-fueled funk, so that rules out pancakes or waffles. A grilled cheese sandwich always sounds good, but my heart's set on breakfast. Eggs, for sure, and meat. Lots of meat.\n\nI decide on a new addition to the menu: a breakfast souffle filled with ham, bacon and sausage, served with straw potatoes, toast sticks and baked in a brick oven. The Big Bad Wolf. Perfect.\n\nI pick up my mug and swivel around on the barstool. No familiar faces. Not surprising, I suppose. I have to remind myself it's been a long time since I was a regular here. The front door swings open with a tinkle and four more customers walk in.\n\nFrom outside, I hear the sound of a distant siren.\n\nA plump lady in a pink server's outfit swoops past the foursome, telling them to sit anywhere they like. Louie has two women working with him, also new to me, and the three of them are performing a breakfast-rush ballet all around the tiny diner, behind the counter and back and forth through the swinging kitchen doors.\n\nThe siren is louder now.\n\nI sip my coffee and wonder if Taylor, Louie's niece, will make an appearance. That's a whole other story. More chapters to come, I expect, but there are other, more pressing things on my plate.\n\nI hear two sirens now. Getting closer every second.\n\nCustomers seated in the booths by the large front windows have stopped eating and are looking outside. A moment later, an ambulance flies past. People are turning in their seats to see where it's headed. A man gets up and hurries outside; as he opens the door, a blast of sirens echoes through the diner.\n\nI despise lookie-loos and usually make a point of not staring when everyone else is. But something big is going on. I take one more hit of the Armageddon Blend and then join the crowd of people heading out to the street.\n\nChandler Avenue is lit up in red and blue. The ambulance that just flew by has parked in front of the Ritz and two others are in the process of landing. There's a clanging fire engine getting closer each second, though I can't see any sign of a fire.\n\nI start walking toward the Ritz. A police cruiser swoops down and a voice on loudspeaker says: \"Stay back!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The speeder descends quickly to street level, blocking me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 40 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I step back, into the assembled crowd, as the fire engine rolls past.\n\nIt's total chaos. Between the sirens and a dozen voices all talking at the same time, I barely hear the voice:\n\n\"Mr. Murphy!\"\n\nI glance around. Back near the entrance to the Brew & Stew, a cream-colored Rolls Royce is on the street, parked askew. The rear door is open and someone is waving at me from inside.\n\nIt's St. Germain.\n\n\"Hurry! Get in!\" he says, as I get closer.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" I ask.\n\n\"I'll explain. Just come with me.\"\n\nI'd planned to meet St. Germain, but not like this. I take a look back at the Ritz. I can't tell what's going on—and I'd really like to find out—but they won't be letting me in anytime soon. Might as well get down to business.\n\nSt. Germain wiggles his ample girth away from me, freeing up nearly half of the wide bench seat, and I slide in. The door closes automatically behind me and we lift off effortlessly. I assume there's a driver, but I can't see past a barrier of smoky glass. The engine growls as we accelerate and shoot up high above the city.\n\n\"Are you carrying any electronic devices?\" St. Germain asks. \"A cell phone, perhaps?\"\n\nI remember there's a Smart Alex in the pocket of my overcoat. Another new item I have no memory of buying. And I'm not sure what would have possessed me to buy it. I haven't owned a smart phone in years, for a variety of reasons. And this one is the worst kind. Anytime it's turned on, it won't shut up; it's like a pocket-size Jar Jar Binks.\n\nI pull the device from my pocket and hold it up.\n\n\"Just this.\"\n\nHe plucks it from my fingers and examines it.\n\n\"It's not turned on,\" I say.\n\nSt. Germain cracks his window and tosses the phone out.\n\n'Hey,\" I say.\n\n\"Nothing else?\" he asks.\n\n\"Like I'm going to tell you.\"\n\n\"It's for your own safety.\"\n\n\"What's that supposed to mean?\"\n\n\"I will explain everything,\" he says. \"Do you have anything else on your person that could be used to track you?\"\n\nTrack me?\n\nI shake my head. \"No.\"\n\n\"I apologize for my abruptness, but it was necessary, given the circumstances. You're in danger, Mr. Murphy. You very nearly died this evening.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "finish my writing pls. like 49 sentences more sentences. stick to comedy, science fiction. use these if u can: noir, humor, Tex Murphy. maintain character context level", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "As far as I know, I first met Count St. Germain about two weeks ago, though I can't say for certain, given that I have no memory of the seven years prior to that.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Something tells me we may have crossed paths before, but he hasn't copped to it and I haven't asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not that it matters. From what little I know of him, he's a good person to know. He drinks expensive liquor, smokes excellent cigars and, most importantly, likes to share. A week ago, I asked if he would post a million dollars bail for a total stranger. He barely blinked. These are the kinds of things that matter to destitute private investigators.\n\nHis role in my just-completed case is a bit of a mystery. There was probably more to it than met the eye, but the relevant thing is that he was searching for something…and I happen to have that little something tucked in my sock.\n\nAccording to St. Germain, it's worth a fortune, which he seemed eager to pay. My plan had been to contact him today and figure out what a 'king's ransom' comes out to in 2050 dollars. Me 'very nearly dying' and having him show up unexpectedly to spirit me away hadn't been part of the plan.\n\n\"Are you usually up and about this early?\" my prospective client asks.\n\n\"Almost never.\"\n\n\"What was different today?\"\n\n\"I got hungry,\" I say. \"Still am, as a matter of fact. What does that have to do with anything?\"\n\nSt. Germain nods, like I'd answered correctly.\n\n\"Of course, you must be famished. I don't know how you do it. I've never in my life gone three days without eating. At least not in a row.\"\n\nAs I'm wondering how he would possibly know I've gone three days without eating, he smiles and pats his prodigious belly, then gives me a sidelong look.\n\n\"I hope you'll forgive me,\" he says. \"Obviously I've been kept appraised of your movements—or lack thereof—since you returned from your recent adventures. For good reason, as it turns out. Do you know what was happening at the Ritz Hotel?\"\n\n\"No, but you do, obviously.\"\n\n\"I have suspicions, but I'll wait to share them. I've made inquiries and should have more concrete answers after we reach our destination.\"\n\n\"Our destination? And where's that?\"\n\nThe Count studies me for a moment, lips pursed.\n\n\"Your past.\"\n\nMy past?\n\n\"Interesting,\" I say. \"Don't we need a DeLorean for that?\"\n\nSt. Germain doesn't smile. Maybe he doesn't get the joke. I'm about to explain it when he fixes his eyes on me.\n\n\"Who are you working for?\" he asks, his tone suddenly aggressive.\n\nNot what I was expecting. Especially since I'm not working for anyone. Even on my last case, I wasn't working for anyone. And, as far as I know, I wasn't working on any other cases before that.\n\n\"No one,\" I say.\n\n\"Are you being blackmailed? Forced to do anything against your will?\"\n\nI can't help but laugh.\n\n\"Are you kidding me? Blackmailed? For what?\"\n\nThe Count is dead serious.\n\n\"No and no,\" I say.\n\nI try to match his dead seriousness and steely gaze as a brief game of chicken ensues. I'm pretty good at not blinking. Eventually, St. Germain concedes and takes a calming breath.\n\n\"Before we go any further,\" he says, \"I need to be assured that you are absolutely trustworthy and transparent.\"\n\nI hear this kind of thing all the time. Lots of people hire private investigators because of problems in their private lives.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Often related to their private parts.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 37 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And here's what I always tell them: \"As a former scout, I live by the 12 Points of the Boy Scout Law, which I'd be happy to recite for you. That being said, I can't prove that I'm trustworthy and transparent. All I can say is I've done my best for every client who's ever hired me. It hasn't always worked out. My clients haven't always been trustworthy and transparent with me. In fact, I'm not sure any of them have. But that's how I do business. Scout's honor.\"\n\nSt. Germain has watched me intently throughout my little speech. After a moment, he nods.\n\n\"I'm going to believe you.\"\n\nI return his nod and say: \"Good. Now, a little over a week ago, we talked about something that would be of great interest to you. Making a living is of great interest to me. As you once said to me: quid pro quo. So, if you've got the quids, I've got the quo.\"\n\nThe Count gives me the kind of look I've seen all too often when the subject of my getting paid comes up.\n\n\"Rest assured,\" he says, \"I've been as eager as you to discuss what you found. But, perhaps, I wasn't clear as to why I wanted it. What I'd hoped to discover within it is only a stepping stone on a path to something of much more importance. I have learned things since we last spoke that have altered my priorities.\"\n\n\"So you're no longer interested in buying it?\"\n\n\"Money is not the issue. This is, very literally, a matter of life and death. And not just yours. But I would think it might concern you to know your life is in danger. You appear quite nonplussed, all things considered.\"\n\n\"My life was in danger last week,\" I say, nonplussedly. \"More than once. It comes with the job, at least the jobs I usually end up with. And, for once, I'd like a job to pay out.\"\n\nThe fat man chuckles, despite himself, and shakes his head.\n\n\"You are persistent, Mr. Murphy, I'll give you that. I will gladly pay you…when we're finished.\"\n\n\"Finished? Doing what?\"\n\n\"Talking.\"\n\n\"About?\"\n\nSt. Germain raises an eyebrow.\n\n\"Do you recall when we last spoke? We talked about Paradise Lost.\"\n\n\"Yeah, the story of my love life.\"\n\nHe gives me a reprimanding look, like an old school marm.\n\n\"Uh, sure,\" I say. \"War in Heaven, Angels, Demons, Hell on Earth, etc.\"\n\n\"You don't believe in these things?\"\n\n\"To be honest, I haven't given it much thought.\"\n\n\"What about evil? Do you believe evil exists?\"\n\n\"Sure. But that's different. And I think blaming it on a devil is a copout.\"\n\nSt. Germain leans forward.\n\n\"There are devils, Mr. Murphy. I've had the misfortune of meeting several. They've existed from the beginning. And their only desire is to watch the world burn. Fortunately, we have resisted them each time. But there is a new devil at work now and I honestly do not know if this one can be stopped.\"\n\n\"I'm confused. Are you hiring me to find a devil?\"\n\n\"In a manner of speaking. I believe you may have already crossed paths with him.\"\n\nSt. Germain waits for me to respond. I don't know what to say. Mostly because it sounds batshit crazy. But it's looking like I'll have to play along if I want to get paid.\n\n\"OK,\" I say. \"Let's talk.\"\n\nThe fat man takes a deep breath, relieved, and eases back in his seat.\n\n\"Thank you. Now, in exchange for providing me with details about your past, I will pay you the price you would have asked for the Tesla Cache. But it won't matter if it's a million dollars or ten. If you are unable to provide the answers I'm seeking, all the money in the world may not save us.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "help with this chapter? twenty sentences more sentences, Aaron Conners-style, comedy, science fiction genre. some context might be from earlier", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "St. Germain's speeder slows and dives into a cluster of dark, featureless commercial buildings.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I recognize this part of town.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It's been a while, but you never forget your first.\n\nFirst office, in this case.\n\nThirteen years ago. Hard to believe. I guess this is what St. Germain meant when he said our destination was my past. He's watching me as the Rolls touches down. Waiting for a reaction, I guess. I don't give him one.\n\n\"I'll catch up to you,\" St. Germain says, as my door opens.\n\nI climb out and walk to the lobby entrance, backlit in the glow of the Rolls' halogen headlights. The lobby doors are locked and the interior is dark. I glance back. St. Germain hasn't left the speeder. The glare of the headlights prevents me from seeing who, if anyone, is at the wheel.\n\nTime for a cigarette.\n\nI can't imagine why St. Germain brought me here. Maybe it's just his way of saying he knows things about me. Not that he had to prove it. In all my dealings with him, he's been impossibly well-informed and a step or two ahead of me. I don't like feeling a step or two behind, but the thought of making a million dollars—or ten—takes the sting out of it.\n\nA minute later, the big man gets out of the speeder and waddles over. I start to ask what the holdup was; he lifts a finger to his lips.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I'm not sure why he's shushing me, but whatever.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He has a key. We step inside and he relocks the doors. The place feels empty, though it's hard to imagine any building in New San Francisco being left vacant. Maybe he bought the place, just to give us some privacy.\n\nWe cross the lobby to the elevator and I press the up button. St. Germain is a few paces behind and digs for his handkerchief as we get into the lift.\n\nI point to the 13 button and raise an eyebrow. The Count nods and I press it. A lot of buildings don't have a 13th floor, which I always thought was just plain silly. In retrospect, I may have been wrong about that. I'd had nothing but bad luck here. Maybe tonight will make up for it.\n\nThe 13th floor hallway looks pretty much the way I remember it. A bit darker and seedier. There's a biometric scanner on my old office door. That's new. St. Germain presses his manicured thumb on it and, after a click, opens the door. I follow him in.\n\nThe room is dark, the only light coming from a massive window with a spectacular view of the city. This window was the big selling point when I rented the space, which looks like it may not have been rented since. There are piles of boxes and loads of office furniture, all with a coating of dust.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "user note just fyi, ⚠️ Required: Use 'large' exactly 2 times", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One of the desks and a couple chairs might actually be ones I leased and never got around to returning.\n\nIt appears St. Germain (or his helper elves, more likely) have done a little prepping. A table and two chairs have been cleared off and dusted. On the table is a large metal briefcase, a lamp, an ashtray, several bottles of water, two chunky tumblers and a $200 bottle of Lagavulin—the scotchiest of all scotches.\n\n\"Oh, good. Refreshments,\" I say.\n\nThe Count half-shushes me and pulls something small and black from his pocket. He peers at it closely, then presses a button on it. I expect something interesting to happen—music to start playing, maybe some nice mood lighting—but nothing does.\n\n\"Now we can talk,\" St. Germain says. \"I've had equipment installed that creates a virtual Faraday cage. As long as we're here, we're invisible, untraceable.\"\n\n\"That's nice,\" I say.\n\n\"You think I'm being paranoid,\" my host says, turning on the lamp. \"I assure you; I am not. I just received word that someone died in the Ritz Hotel.\"\n\nDied?\n\n\"Three others are in critical condition,\" he adds, casually removing his cashmere overcoat and hanging it on a coatrack.\n\n\"How…?\" I finally manage to mumble.\n\n\"Carbon monoxide.\"\n\nMy mind is reeling. I know two people who live at the Ritz: Clint, the landlord, and a very large, very friendly person named Sapphire. I don't know who else was staying there, but there were usually a handful of guests that rented rooms by the day or longer.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "St. Germain uncorks the bottle of scotch and fills half a tumbler, then hands it to me.\n\n\"Do you know who died?\" I ask.\n\n\"I didn't get a name.\"\n\nI take a long drink and slump down into a chair. Carbon monoxide. From the boiler, most likely. But enough to kill someone?\n\n\"It could have been a freak thing,\" I say. \"An accident.\"\n\nSt. Germain settles into the chair across the table from me.\n\n\"I'm sure that's what it will appear to be.\"\n\nI look up.\n\n\"So not an accident.\"\n\nHe shakes his head.\n\n\"And you think the intention was to kill me.\"\n\nHe nods.\n\nMy shock turns to anger.\n\n\"If it was me they wanted, why do it that way?\" I ask. \"I wasn't hiding. There are a hundred other ways to take me out. Other people didn't have to die!\"\n\n\"The other victims may have been intentional. If the police decided the circumstances were suspicious, no one could know you were the target. And, as you said, on almost any other night you might be dead, too.\"\n\nI finish off the scotch and reach for the bottle. St. Germain beats me to it and pulls it away.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We both want to find out who is responsible,\" he says.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 6 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I bite my tongue and nod.\n\n\"I believe we can,\" he continues, \"but I'll need you to be relatively coherent.\"\n\nAfter a pause, I nod again. St. Germain keeps his eyes locked on mine as he slowly slides the bottle back toward me.\n\n\"Food will help,\" he says. \"I'll give you some time alone while we get you something to eat. I'd suggest switching to water until I get back. In the meantime, you can start by trying to think of who might want you dead.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "user starts, u write ~39 sentences more. copy Aaron Conners's style. heads up: might have existing chars/lore", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An hour later, I'm feeling better…more or less. St. Germain had managed to verify that Clint and Sapphire were not among the victims. I didn't want to feel so relieved that it was a stranger who'd died, but I did. And I probably should have been more rattled about the thought of someone trying to kill me but, like I'd said, the novelty of that had worn off years ago.\n\nThe food St. Germain brought also helped. And I wasn't at all surprised when he showed up with exactly the kind of thing I would have ordered: Mongolian beef, steamed dumplings, fried rice and egg rolls. I wonder if it's from the Golden Pagoda. Wouldn't surprise me.\n\nMy host nibbles. I'm a little more aggressive. He seems to enjoy watching me eat and gives me a few minutes, uninterrupted, before getting back to business.\n\n\"Before I left,\" he says, \"I asked you to think of who might want you dead.\"\n\nI shrug and finish off a pot sticker before answering: \"There's only one, off the top of my head, but he's doing a million-year sentence in Pelican Bay.\"\n\n\"Surely you've made other enemies.\"\n\n\"Oh, yeah. Plenty. But everyone I can think of who's ever wanted me dead already beat me to it.\"\n\nSt. Germain nods thoughtfully.\n\n\"You really are a mystery, Mr. Murphy.\"\n\n\"So I hear.\"\n\nSt. Germain gives me a quizzical look.\n\n\"From women, usually,\" I explain. \"Right before they dump me.\"\n\n\"Baffled by the depths of your simplicity, I would expect. But I'm referring to your…history.\"\n\nI reach for an egg roll.\n\n\"What about my history?\"\n\nHe points his chopsticks in my direction.\n\n\"I told you before that I had a sense about you, that you may have an important role to play. So, over the past week, I've put considerable resources into investigating your background. There was surprisingly little to find. Your digital footprint, as they say, is…petite.\"\n\n\"Good,\" I say, dipping the egg roll into plum sauce. \"I've made a point of keeping it that way.\"\n\n\"That being said,\" St. Germain says with a smile, \"what did turn up was quite astonishing. I believe I've seriously underestimated you.\"\n\n\"How's that?\"\n\n\"No need for false modesty, Mr. Murphy. In the course of your career, three different…events…have taken place, each of which was potentially catastrophic on a global scale. And, somehow, you—of all people—found yourself in the middle of all three.\"\n\n\"Actually, depending on how you define 'catastrophic', it's definitely been four, maybe five or six.\"\n\n\"Exactly my point. But would you agree that the odds of this are… improbable?\"\n\nI shrug, my mouth full.\n\nSt. Germain continues: \"Let's be frank. It's beyond coincidence that a—shall we say—'low profile' P.I.—no offense intended—would find himself involved in all these pivotal events.\"\n\n\"No offense taken. I can't explain it, either. I just have a gift for getting in over my head. It happens with women, too, by the way.\"\n\n\"The question is why.\"\n\n\"Well, it's not mommy issues,\" I say. \"My mom was a wonderf—\"\n\n\"—The Moon Child…Roswell…the business with the Immortal Coil. I've gathered bits and pieces of information about your involvement in these events, as well as your time in the Martian Colony…enough to know that you played a crucial role every time.\"\n\nSt. Germain leans forward and clasps his hands on the table.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What I don't know is how it all started,\" he says.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And that's why I've brought you here. It took some deductive work on my part, but I'm reasonably certain that thirteen years ago, in this very room, you began an investigation into the apparent suicide of a man named Carl Linsky. Your very first case after going into private practice, if I'm not mistaken. But I've found nothing on record that ties you to it. Can you tell me why that is?\"\n\n\"Discretion is my middle name,\" I say, dabbing the corner of my mouth with a napkin. \"I'm also a very poor self-promoter.\"\n\nSt. Germain fixes his eyes on me.\n\n\"What is on record is an unusual number of mysterious deaths and disappearances around the time of Linsky's supposed suicide. Not to mention everything that happened with the Law & Order Party.\"\n\n\"It was a nutty few days.\"\n\nThe Count watches me shake out a cigarette and light it.\n\n\"Imagine my surprise,\" he says, \"when I dug a little deeper and learned that Carl Linsky had possible ties to members of the Law & Order Party, at least one murder victim and one of the disappearances. And, strangest of all, most of those crimes were never solved.\"\n\nI take a drag. \"Not that you know of.\"\n\n\"My thinking exactly.\"\n\nA long exhale of smoke.\n\n\"You want to know what really happened,\" I say. \"Why? Just curious?\"\n\n\"Curious, yes. Always. But not just that. As I've learned about your past, it appears to me that you've been on a path…a path that led you to Mars, then to the Moon Child, to Roswell and beyond. That path had to start somewhere and I suspect it was during your first case. I realize it's been thirteen years, but I'd like you to tell me as much as you can remember about those events.\"\n\n\"You might be surprised at how much I remember,\" I say, flicking the ash off the tip of my cigarette. \"For me, it's only been six years.\"\n\n\"True,\" St. Germain says with a smile. \"I forgot. Ironically.\"\n\n\"And you'll never guess what I did right before I hit the seven-year wormhole. Or maybe you already know.\"\n\n\"Do tell.\"\n\n\"I went to dinner with…a friend. She also had questions about my past, so I ended up telling her the whole story of the Linsky case.\"\n\nThe Count raises an eyebrow.\n\n\"So, it's still fresh in your mind. How serendipitous.\"\n\n\"Actually, I shouldn't say I told her the whole story. I had ulterior motives with this woman, so I may have left a few things out, maybe taken some dramatic license.\"\n\nSt. Germain nods appreciatively, then turns serious—almost stern.\n\n\"It's crucial that you be as factual and detailed as possible. As you know, conscious memory is a tricky business. We forget important details, remember events incorrectly, even mix in other memories. The beauty of the subconscious is that it records what really happened. Our senses are aware of virtually everything around us at all times and that information is stored, like data on a hard drive. If needed, I may be able to help you tap into your subconscious. This could allow you to recall conversations as if you were actually there, re-experience events, see them in a new light…perhaps even discover new insights that were meaningless back then but are relevant to what's happening now.\"\n\n\"And how can you help me tap into my subconscious, exactly?\"\n\n\"There are techniques to calm and clear the mind. Hypnosis can be useful. Regression is a more intensive method to unlock the subconscious.\"\n\nI take a long drag, then an even longer look at my host. His interest in my memories is a little unsettling. And I'm not exactly sure what 'regression' means, but I don't like the sound of it. Also, there's no way I'm getting hypnotized. I've seen it make people walk around like chickens.\n\nSt. Germain seems to sense my discomfort.\n\n\"Nothing to be concerned about,\" he says with a gentle smile. \"And the techniques may be completely unnecessary. For now, just sit back, relax and start from the beginning. And remember: as much detail as possible.\"\n\nI snuff out my cigarette in the ashtray.\n\n\"And you need me to be sober?\"\n\n\"Not at all. Being relaxed facilitates the process.\" He smiles. \"Up to a point, of course.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I reach for the scotch.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Good.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "hey can u write seven sentences more sentences? like Aaron Conners but comedy, science fiction style. btw this is from middle of a story", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Queens & Bishops\n\nI don't recall the exact date Sylvia Linsky walked into my office, but I remember everything else.\n\nThis was before the Time Reversal, when people still did business during the day, and the early afternoon light was radiating through the large window, bathing my office in burnt orange.\n\nI'd rented the place a month earlier and Ms. Linsky was the first person—other than me and the property manager—to walk through the door. She led with her chin, head back, chips on both shoulders. Platinum blonde hair, bobbed, framing a porcelain face with wide brown eyes and full red lips. A tight white dress with black polka dots.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Shiny black pumps. It was one hell of a first impression.\n\nShe knocked but didn't wait for an invitation. I was halfway out of my chair when she stepped into the room and asked: \"Are you the private investigator?\"\n\n\"That's what someone painted on the door,\" I said.\n\nI hadn't had an actual conversation in over a week. I was a little rusty, apparently.\n\n\"I'll take that as a 'yes'\", she said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She stayed by the door.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[Author's note: Word usage target: 'linsky' must be used 2 times]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What can I do for you, Ms.—?\"\n\n\"Do you know Carl Linsky?\" she asked abruptly.\n\n\"Sorry. I don't.\"\n\nShe paused, took a look around the office, then seemed to make a decision.\n\n\"I'm Sylvia. Sylvia Linsky.\"\n\nShe approached and extended her hand in a formal way, like I should kiss the back of it while bending slightly at the waist. I just took it and shook it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Nice to meet you, Ms. Linsky. Have a seat.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She'd interrupted a fierce game of solitaire Parcheesi.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As she sat down, I picked up the game board, slid the tokens into a desk drawer and then flipped the board over and back onto the desk. Voila! Instant blotter.\n\n\"Sorry if I disturbed your game,\" Sylvia said.\n\n\"That's all right. I was losing anyway.\"\n\nMy first-ever prospective client took her time getting situated, crossing her legs and smoothing her dress. She was controlled, confident and deliberate. I wasn't. Between being desperate for work and a mere mortal in the presence of a goddess, I was trying not to mouth-breathe.\n\n\"Do you mind if I smoke?\" she asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I shook my head, reluctantly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I didn't smoke, but I was willing to let clients do almost anything if it meant getting a job. That's why I kept an ashtray on my desk, but filled it with candy to discourage smoking. On this day, it was tootsie pops with their delightful chewy centers.\n\nShe opened a black and silver cigarette case and selected one of the death sticks. Pressing a button on the side of the case triggered a tiny flame, which she held gently to the tip of a long brown cigarette.\n\n\"Would you like one?\" she asked, straightening up.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Uh, no, thanks. I hear those things are bad for you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She picked up my ashtray and dumped the tootsie pops onto the desk, then leaned back, holding the ashtray, and tapped the end of her cigarette delicately.\n\n\"Lots of things are bad for you,\" she said. \"That doesn't stop me from enjoying them.\"\n\nI swallowed and cleared my throat.\n\n\"So…you're in the market for a P.I.?\" I asked.\n\n\"I don't know. I might be.\" She took a deep breath.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"My father, Carl Linsky, died a week ago.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm sorry.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your response should naturally weave in this dialogue: \"The police say he committed suicide. I think they're wrong.\"", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"The police say he committed suicide. I think they're wrong.\"\n\nButterflies fluttered in my stomach. This sounded good. My very first solo case—and maybe it was an honest-to-goodness murder investigation. I grabbed a notepad and pen and jotted down Carl Linsky's name.\n\n\"Well, if it wasn't suicide, it has to be one of three other things: \"I said, trying to sound like an expert, \"natural causes, an accident…or murder.\"\n\nSylvia looked down at her cigarette. \"He jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I paused, feeling the butterflies scatter.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "((ooc: CONSTRAINT: Include 'sylvia' 2 time(s)))", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "With an air of annoyance, Sylvia added: \"The cops say they have witnesses.\"\n\nMy butterflies hit a bug zapper.\n\nSylvia glanced at me, then inspected the end of her cigarette before ashing unnecessarily.\n\n\"He wasn't depressed,\" she said, emphatically. \"He was in great shape. He was dating. He was excited about the future. I don't know what made him do what he did, but I know it wasn't suicide.\"\n\nI looked at my prospective client, wondering why she was here. It's hard to lose a loved one, but especially to suicide, I would imagine.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The people left behind might look for reasons…excuses…someone to blame.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An ethically-challenged P.I.—the usual type—might take advantage, humor her and pocket her money, but ethics were about the only thing I had going for me. I probably couldn't help her, but if I wasn't willing to try, she'd just find someone else. It wasn't like I had anything better to do. And she was really nice to look at.\n\nFor the next few minutes, I got as much information as I could from Sylvia. Her father had died a week earlier. He was sixty-seven years old, single and lived alone in Pacific Heights.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He was 'semi-retired' after a long, distinguished career as chief neurologist at the North Hill Clinic.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sylvia, his only child, couldn't—or wouldn't—give many details about his recent activities, which led me to believe they weren't as close as she wanted me to think. It also made me wonder how she could be so sure that he hadn't been suicidal. But I didn't ask about that.\n\nFor now, I was happy to have a legitimate reason to leave the office. I could pay a visit to police headquarters, get the official story and, hopefully, some inside info from the coroner's report. Maybe they found a brain tumor or stage-four cancer—something that would provide an understandable motive for a sudden decision to jump off a bridge. If I could come up something, I'd feel ok about letting her hire me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Speaking of which…", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"If you want me to look into this,\" I said, almost apologetically, \"we need to talk about payment.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm afraid I don't have much money.\"\n\nSylvia flashed a regretful smile.\n\n\"But I know you're the right person for this,\" she said. \"And I expect to have more money soon. I hope we can work something out.\"\n\nIt felt like I was back in junior high, with the cute girl asking me to do her homework. It would be easy to rationalize, tell myself that she'd actually pay me at some point. Or that it didn't matter because I had nothing else going on.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "But would I have done the same thing for a big smelly man?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Maybe. Maybe not. But it probably helped that Sylvia was the exact opposite of a big smelly man. And, to drive the point home, she rose from her chair and leaned over my desk, offering a breathtaking view of the majestic Linsky Peaks. I tried valiantly to avert my eyes as Sylvia picked up my pen and wrote on the legal pad.\n\n\"Come see me when you're done talking to the cops,\" she said as she wrote. \"I'm staying at my father's house. This is the address. And my phone number.\"\n\nShe held my eyes as she slowly straightened up.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "keep it going! write five sentences sentences. match how familiar we are with chars/world. focus on these: comedy, science fiction. try to add these things: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A little backstory: Nine years earlier, I'd been hired by the Dobbs Detective Agency, the largest private investigation firm in California. A detective was all I'd ever wanted to be since I was kid, so I worked my way up—slowly, from the very bottom—taking whatever lousy, warm-body job I could scrounge, until I finally got a chance to prove myself. Eventually, the head of the D.D.A., Colonel Roy Dobbs, saw my potential and became my mentor. For a year or so, I was living my dream.\n\nBut Dobbs and I didn't see eye to eye on some things.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For him, the ends always justified the means, while I was a straight-arrow boy scout. In the end, my idealism got me fired.\n\nThe Colonel had introduced me to the 'P.I. Rules', a collection of guidelines designed to keep his protégés productive, employed and, most importantly, alive. He always said Rule #1 was 'Never Betray Your Friends'.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "When I reported him for ethics violations, I thought I was doing the right thing; he saw it as the ultimate betrayal.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Not only did he fire me, he made sure I got blackballed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No one in town was ever going to hire me. And even if I looked for work somewhere beyond his sphere of influence, he'd never give me a reference. After a while, I realized my only option was to go into business for myself.\n\nMaybe I should have hung my shingle somewhere far away, but San Francisco is my city, the place I love and know like the back of my hand. Plus, moving away would have been admitting defeat.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Knowing when to cut my losses has never been my strong suit.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word frequency rule: 'private' × 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So now I was on my very first case as a private private investigator and headed to the N.S.F.P.D. headquarters, where every cop knew Colonel Dobbs, and at least some of whom might have heard he'd fired me and why.\n\nBut screw it.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Writing continuation: 23 sentences sentences, matching the familiarity level of any introduced elements.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So you're saying you're not going to take my case.\"\n\nSylvia was standing by a window, her back to me, holding a glass of something and looking out at the napalm sky. I was sitting on a couch and surveying the front room of Carl Linsky's home. At first glance, it was neat, clean and expensive, but lacking personality.\n\n\"I don't want to take your money if I can't do anything for you,\" I said.\n\n\"Fine,\" she said flatly. \"Leave.\"\n\n\"I'm just trying to be straight up with you.\"\n\nShe took a drink, then said: \"If you won't help me, I'll find someone else or do what I can on my own. It certainly won't be the first time.\"\n\nI felt bad for her. Maybe my recent exile from the Dobbs Detective Agency made me especially empathetic. I knew how it felt when no one had your back. And even if I couldn't do what she wanted, maybe she just needed someone to believe her. There's value in that. And I could put a price on it.\n\n\"I charge four-hundred dollars a day, plus expenses,\" I said.\n\nSylvia spun around.\n\n\"I have five hundred dollars. If you can prove it wasn't suicide, I'll give you another ten thousand.\"\n\n\"Deal.\"\n\nOnce again, I saw her face brighten, like the sun suddenly appearing from behind clouds. She flashed that sexy, crooked smile and sashayed over to me. The way she moved, she obviously wasn't drinking Smart Water.\n\nAs she took a seat next to me on the couch, I said: \"Just so we're clear, I don't have a lot to work with, and I can't make any promises.\"\n\nSylvia crossed her legs, moving slightly closer.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I understand. Thank you, Tex.\"\n\n\"So, did you know that your father got plastic surgery?\" I asked.\n\nHer forehead wrinkled, then she shook her head.\n\n\"A facelift,\" I said. \"And not long ago, apparently. To me, that's the best and only indication that he wasn't suicidal. On the other hand, Detective Clements said there's a suicide note in his personal effects.\"\n\n\"A suicide note?\" Sylvia repeated, stunned.\n\n\"Maybe it's legit, maybe it isn't. We won't know until we see it, but it may be our only lead. That, and tracking down his fiancée.\"\n\n\"His fiancée?\"\n\nAgain, stunned. It felt like I was punching someone with no arms. Not my intention. But, clearly, she didn't know as much about her father as she wanted me to believe.\n\n\"You didn't know your father was engaged?\"\n\n\"Engaged? No. I knew he was dating, but nothing serious.\"\n\n\"So you couldn't tell me who this mystery woman might be? I'm assuming it would be a woman.\"\n\n\"Yeah, it would be a woman.\" Sylvia smirked and took another drink. \"How'd you find out about the fiancée?\"\n\n\"Detective Clements said she came in to identify the body after they couldn't get in touch with you.\"\n\nSylvia looked away and shifted, uncomfortably. I could see her brain working.\n\n\"I was out of town—\" she began.\n\n\"—Listen, I don't know what kind of relationship you had with your father. It doesn't matter to me if you weren't close, or maybe hadn't spent much time together over the last little while. It won't affect my investigation. What does matter to me is that you be honest…about everything.\"\n\nSylvia stood up and wandered back toward the window. Stalling, I figured. Trying to decide how much to tell me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I really did love him,\" she finally said, a bit defensively.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 14 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know he loved me too, but we never had the relationship either of us wanted. I was a little…difficult…when I was younger and he couldn't stand it. I think he always wanted me to be more like him. I just wasn't. I was like my mother…and she left him.\"\n\nIt honestly didn't matter to me, but it made sense, with what little I knew about Sylvia and my impression of her father, based on his home décor.\n\n\"I appreciate the honesty.\"\n\nSylvia turned to me and nodded.\n\n\"I think those are all the questions I have for now,\" I said. \"If you want to go get your father's personal effects, I'll look around here and see what I can dig up.\"\n\nSylvia set her glass down and went to get her coat and purse.\n\n\"Let's call you a ride,\" I said.\n\nA look crossed her face. Like I'd insulted her. But then it was gone the next instant.\n\n\"I'm fine,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm sure you are. But it's probably not the best idea to drive to police headquarters if you've been drinking, even just a little.\"\n\nAfter a brief pause, she reached into her purse and pulled out a phone.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Mode:\nCo-writing\nContext: Match existing character familiarity or establish new\nLength:\nsixteen sentences\nGenre:\ncomedy, science fiction", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "After putting Sylvia into a cab, I took a tour of the residence. If this place was a reflection of its owner, Carl Linsky was a deliberate, highly-organized—maybe even severe—man. There was almost nothing you'd describe as personal. Minimal furniture, virtually no art or decorative objects. A neutral color palette.\n\nThe place was an old Victorian: high ceilings, smallish rooms, and not many of them. A front room, a modest-sized kitchen, two bathrooms and three bedrooms: a master, a guest room and one set up as a den. Sylvia was clearly staying in the guest room, which was a disaster compared to the rest of the place.\n\nI didn't search her room or the guest bathroom, which also looked like a bomb had hit it. The den contained what you'd expect: a television, expensive leather furniture and shelves filled with the kind of books you'd expect: science stuff, mostly, with some Dickens and other classics, plus a number of books about chess.\n\nThere was only one thing that struck me as odd: an antique chess set on a coffee table was missing a piece. Carl Linsky was probably at least a little OCD; a missing chess piece would probably drive the guy nuts.\n\nI moved on to the master. Not surprisingly, Linsky's bed was immaculately made. No decorative pillows. On a nightstand was a book with a lobster on the cover, titled 'Strategies for Engineered Negligible Senescence'. Sounded like a real page-turner.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I read the back cover—the subject matter involved research by biogerontologists related to slowing or even stopping the human aging process.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'supplements' exactly 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Apparently, lobsters show no sign of aging. I guess they'd live forever if they weren't so delicious.\n\nI rooted through a dresser and a closet. Not a lot of clothes or shoes, but all high quality and low-key. Nothing hidden away in a sock drawer or under the bed. No wall safe.\n\nNext up was the master bath. Tidy and clean. The medicine cabinet contained a variety of pain relievers. I wondered if Linsky had chronic pain issues. Or maybe he was just sixty-seven years old. Drawers were filled with supplements, all neatly organized, probably alphabetized.\n\nI continued my search in the kitchen. High-end appliances, quartz countertops and walnut cabinets. Expensive, but austere. Functional. I took a peek in the refrigerator. It was a shrine to good health, filled with kale, bean sprouts and other practically inedible things, all starting to go ripe. In the cupboards, there were large containers of dry protein powder and more supplements.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No sign of anything unhealthy or even remotely tasty.\n\nHow many health nuts commit suicide? Personally, I couldn't imagine life without the decadent joy of delicious, artery-clogging food, but it seemed like someone so dedicated to healthy eating would be obsessed with living a long life. Maybe if I'd found an empty package of double-stuffed Oreos, it would explain his sudden change of heart, but no such luck.\n\nAs I searched the kitchen, I picked up the faint scent of something especially rotten and traced it to the trash compactor. Just to be thorough, I opened it to take a look. An almost visible stench was unleashed. Carl Linsky's last meal must have been some sort of vile veggie smoothie.\n\nBut what caught my watering eye was something pink sticking up from the compost pile. I gently extracted what turned out to be a pink envelope and shook off the vegetable matter. Even through the stench, I could smell perfume. The envelope had been dowsed with it.\n\nThere was a greeting card inside. On the cover was a picture of two kittens, surrounded by hearts. Inside, the printed message read: 'Ours is a purr-fect love'. Underneath it, written in a loopy, feminine scrawl, was: 'My Beloved Carl, This card says all my heart feels but my lips cannot utter when you're near me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "May these past weeks turn into nine lives together. Yours, Delores.'", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 9 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was nothing about the card or what was written inside that fit with my perception of Carl Linsky, but as they say, opposites attract. I wondered if this Delores woman was Linsky's fiancée, or if he was the kind of guy who liked to juggle. Clearly, Delores was a smitten little kitten. If the feeling had been mutual, maybe they'd had a lovers' spat or even a breakup. People do crazy things when relationships go bad. It was worth checking into.\n\nCarefully wiping down the envelope revealed that the card had been sent through the mail. A mostly-legible return name and address were handwritten in the top-left corner. The name was 'D. Lightbody'.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "lets do a comedy, science fiction thing. u write 31 sentences bits. keep character vibes", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Are you Delores Lightbody?\"\n\nThe woman on the other side of the door looked me up and down—literally from head to toe—then her lips curled into a vaguely predatory smile.\n\n\"Yes, indeedy.\"\n\nShe was a good foot-and-a-half shorter than me with short, wavy rust-brown hair, a flat, wide nose and jowls. She had the face of a saint.\n\nBernard.\n\n\"I'm a private investigator,\" I said. \"If you have a few minutes, I'd like to talk to you about Carl Linsky. I'm investigating his death. My name's Murphy.\"\n\nShe swung the door open. \"Well, do come in, Mr. Murphy.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" I said, stepping past her. The place was half Anthropologie showroom, half bordello—pink, perfumed and pillowy.\n\nDelores closed the door and turned to give me another exaggerated once-over.\n\n\"You are very, very welcome.\"\n\nHer eyes drifted down to my shoes, then, very slowly, back up my trousers and the length of my tie, over my face and up to my hair, then back down to lock in on my eyes. She was a ball of fire. Literally. I could feel heat coming off her.\n\n\"Well, this is certainly exciting,\" she said, \"a real live P.I. I love detective novels, you know.\"\n\n\"Is that right?\"\n\n\"I suppose I've always had a certain fascination with private dicks.\"\n\nShe hit that last word really hard.\n\n\"I can imagine,\" I said. \"But I'm afraid real P.I.s aren't that exciting.\"\n\nDelores pshawed.\n\n\"I don't believe that for a second. If you found the right partner to do some undercover work with, I'll bet you'd liven right up.\"\n\nFor someone who'd just identified the body of her dead fiancé, she didn't seem particularly broken up. She gestured toward a chair and matching loveseat. I headed for the chair. The loveseat seemed risky.\n\n\"Well, enough about me,\" I said. \"Let's talk about Carl, shall we?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Delores plopped down on the pillow-strewn, red velvet loveseat, arms spread out wide—an open invitation to give a belly rub.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What if I refuse to cooperate?\" she purred. \"Will you interrogate me under a bare bulb?\"\n\nThere were a couple ways things could go from here. Again, a P.I. of lower moral character might just offer an exchange of favors. I decided to take the slightly higher road and lie my face off.\n\n\"You're an attractive woman, Ms. Lightbody. Extremely attractive. But tampering with evidence—or witnesses—could get my license revoked. I'm guessing you'd be a lot of fun to tamper with, but I just can't take that risk.\"\n\nShe pouted for a moment, but then shrugged, resigned. The full boil reduced to a gentle simmer.\n\n\"As I said,\" I continued, \"I've been hired to investigate Carl Linsky's death. I found your name and address on an envelope at his home. I gather you and Carl were romantically involved?\"\n\n\"I was madly in love with him.\"\n\n\"Engaged, I understand.\"\n\nShe hesitated. \"Well…not officially.\"\n\nHm. That put a different spin on things. Maybe Delores had been more of a stalker than a fiancée.\n\n\"Tell me about Carl,\" I said with an encouraging smile.\n\n\"Oh, where should I begin?\"\n\nShe collected herself and took a long, exaggerated breath.\n\n\"It was a month or so ago, on a foggy San Francisco night when Carl and I first met. Naturally, it was love at first sight.\"\n\n\"Interesting. Had you and Carl been drinking heavily?\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Carl never drank. And I was working. He came to see me about drawing up his will. I'm an estate planning lawyer.\"\n\n\"And that was just a few weeks ago?\"\n\n\"So little time together,\" Delores said dreamily, \"but a lifetime of memories.\"\n\nThis was interesting. Linsky gets his will drawn up and dies soon after. It wasn't proof of anything, but it suggested that the possibility of imminent death may have been on his mind. And, obviously, suicide is one form of imminent death.\n\nDelores leaned forward and bit her lower lip.\n\n\"Losing him was devastating. I still can't understand why he…did what he did.\"\n\n\"Neither can I,\" I said. \"I haven't found anything to indicate he was suicidal. I was hoping you could help me out with that.\"\n\n\"He was so full of life,\" Delores said, dreamy again. \"He was a man of few words, but I sensed he had a strong will to live…to really live. To make every minute count, and to have as many minutes as possible. He was the last person I ever dreamed would…do what he did.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Do you think there's any chance it wasn't suicide?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Delores gave me a confused look.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "/set_word_count: north, frequency: 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What are you saying?\"\n\nShe paused.\n\n\"Surely you're not implying that it was…\"—she clapped a hand to her ample chest— \"…murder?\"\n\nIt was like watching small-town dinner theater. Might as well join in.\n\n\"Well,\" I said, \"let's just say the police didn't find any trace of banana peel up there on the bridge.\"\n\n\"But I can't believe anyone would want to hurt Carl.\" She hesitated. \"Unless—\"\n\n\"Unless what?\"\n\n\"I really shouldn't say,\" she said, really wanting to say.\n\n\"Delores,\" I said, with a seductive smile, \"don't make me put you under a bare bulb.\"\n\nShe giggled.\n\nClearly, Delores and Carl hadn't been as close as she imagined they were. I should have picked up on that when I found her card in the trash. If she had any useful information, it would almost certainly have something to do with the will she'd drawn up for him.\n\nI sat forward and gave Delores my most smoldering look.\n\n\"Tell me about the will. Who stood to benefit from Carl's death?\"\n\nDelores makes the 'zipping' motion across her lips.\n\n\"I don't suppose it's Carl's daughter?\" I asked.\n\nTalk about a mood breaker.\n\n\"Sylvia?\" Delores spat out the name. \"All that trollop cares about is her father's money. But now she's reaping what she's sown.\"\n\n\"What do you mean? She's getting nothing from Carl's will?\"\n\nDelores shook her head vigorously. \"Nothing of real value. Most of Carl's estate will go to the North Hill Clinic. The rest to a few different charitable groups and foundations.\"\n\nI couldn't help feeling a little disappointed. I seriously doubted that the North Hill Clinic board of directors was behind Linsky's death. If someone had wanted him dead, it wasn't for his money, apparently.\n\nAt this point, I figured I'd gotten everything I could out of Delores. I was about to excuse myself when she pursed her lips and looked at me out of the corner of her eye.\n\n\"Of course, there is the life insurance.\"\n\n\"Carl's life insurance?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"One million dollars,\" Delores said, somewhat maliciously.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And the beneficiary? Sylvia?\"\n\nDelores gave me a look. \"You'll have to ask her about that.\"\n\nI fully intended to. From the start, I'd wondered about Sylvia's relationship with her father and why she was so driven to prove he didn't commit suicide. I'd thought maybe it was denial, or maybe genuine concern, but the life insurance was an unsettling new wrinkle. Now I knew Sylvia had a clear motive for wanting her father not just dead, but murdered.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: This is part of a larger narrative. Characters and elements may be introduced as if familiar. Write eighty-eight sentences sentences continuing directly from the user's text, maintaining consistency with any established context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was a short flight to the North Hill Clinic. This was the newest and biggest hospital in the Bay Area and no expense had been spared, all rounded edges and gleaming steel and glass.\n\nI'd never been inside; I'd always avoided hospitals like the plague, in part because that's where you can catch things like the plague. It took something serious to make me enter voluntarily. Like following a lead for my first case.\n\nBefore doing anything else, I had to see if Linsky's badge still worked. I parked my speeder near a side door labeled 'Staff Entry Only', with a card reader next to it.\n\nThe ID was still active.\n\nI opened the door and stepped into a vacant, sterile-looking hallway. Now the nerves kicked in. I wasn't sure if using Linsky's badge was technically illegal, but getting caught could be bad. They would almost certainly confiscate the ID, so that meant I'd get just one chance.\n\nI was wearing a suit, tie and wingtips—none of them expensive, but not bargain basement, either. I was clean-shaven and had a decent haircut, so I didn't think I'd look totally out of place. North Hill was a big facility, so a new face probably wouldn't arouse suspicion. As always, the best disguise was confidence. Acting like you're supposed to be there is half the battle.\n\nWith a self-assured stride, I walked down the hallway, glancing casually at any signs or placards I passed. There was nothing to indicate which section I was in, only room numbers.\n\nI reached an intersection. There were people moving in every direction, including a pair of nurses, chatting excitedly, who smiled at me as they passed. I looked around quickly for some kind of directory and didn't see one. I must have hesitated too long—a dead giveaway that I was lost.\n\n\"Can I help you with something?\" a woman's voice said.\n\nI turned to see one of the nurses smiling at me. She looked helpful, not suspicious, so my disguise seemed to be holding up. Unfortunately, I hadn't come up with a handy excuse in case of unplanned helpfulness.\n\n\"I, uh…\" My mind had gone blank. Eventually, I would learn how to lie like a cheap rug, but I was still more boy scout than hard-boiled P.I., so I just blurted out: \"I'm looking for Carl Linsky's office.\"\n\nThe nurse's smile evaporated, replaced by a pained expression. After a long pause, she said: \"You haven't heard?\"\n\nI gave her a blank look. Not intentionally. My brain was frozen.\n\n\"Dr. Linsky died,\" she said, gently.\n\nThe mental cogs slowly started turning again. I looked away, my jaw tight and eyes squinting, the very picture of an uncommonly strong man coping with sudden, unexpected grief. Gazing off into the abyss of mortality gave me a few moments to get my brain into second gear.\n\n\"It makes sense now,\" I said, finally. \"His last message. He said he had something for me, that I should come pick it up from his office. He said he might not be there. Now I know why.\"\n\nI paused to collect myself.\n\n\"He must have known the end was near,\" I finished, in a husky whisper.\n\nThe nurse stepped forward and put a consoling hand on my arm.\n\n\"I'm so sorry.\"\n\nI shook my head, unable to speak.\n\n\"Come with me,\" the nurse said. \"I'll take you to his office.\"\n\nBingo.\n\nI'd never pulled off this kind of thing before, and I hadn't even been trying. It might warrant a new entry in my list of P.I. Rules, something like 'When in doubt, be pathetic'. It would need some word-smithing.\n\nI could barely contain my glee as the nurse escorted me through the North Hill labyrinth. I'm not sure I would have found the office on my own, at least not without eventually arousing suspicion with aimless wandering. It was a good five-minute walk, including an elevator ride and a set of stairs. Along the way, the nurse asked me how I knew Dr. Linsky. To avoid another brain freeze, I flipped it around and got her talking about him, which she did right up until we stopped outside a door with Linsky's name on it.\n\nThe nurse swiped her ID badge and opened the door for me. It was a modest office, but had a large window that offered a spectacular view of the Bay, with the Golden Gate Bridge just visible on the far left and Alcatraz on the right. The sun was setting, lighting up the red-orange sky and the overall effect was more like a framed painting than a window.\n\nI was relieved to see the office was still full of stuff. It looked like nothing had been done to it since Linsky was last here.\n\n\"Well, thank you for your help,\" I said, hoping she would leave. She didn't seem to be in any hurry.\n\n\"What was it he left for you?\"\n\nI glanced around, scanning for anything of interest.\n\n\"Oh, it was just…a…thing.\"\n\n\"A thing?\" she asked.\n\nI could hear a change in her voice. Not a good change.\n\n\"Maybe he left it in one of the desk drawers,\" I said.\n\nI opened one of the drawers and started looking through it.\n\n\"I guess I'll leave you to it,\" the nurse said, in a way that made me want to search even faster.\n\n\"I'm sure it's here somewhere. Thanks again.\"\n\nThe door closed behind me. In addition to the desk, there was a bookcase and three file cabinets. I went through the desk first, but had no clue what I was looking for. None of the drawers were locked and nothing in them seemed relevant or important.\n\nI moved on to the file cabinets. They were all unlocked and full of files labeled with numbers and names. Nothing unusual or interesting.\n\nThe last place to look was the bookcase. It held books, mostly, but there was one shelf with a few personal items. One was a framed photo of a much younger Sylvia. The photo had obviously been cropped, removing someone else who'd been standing next to Sylvia. Her mother, I guessed. The photo told me something. Despite their apparent issues, Linsky had loved his daughter.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "STORY CONTINUATION:\nLength: 35 sentences\nMaintain character context\nGenre: comedy, science fiction", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "My office was in New San Francisco, the shiny new side of the city that was rebuilt after the 'nuclear incident'.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I was in one of the most affordable areas, but it wasn't cheap.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Luckily, it had a back room just big enough to fit a cot and a dresser, so I didn't have to rent a separate apartment.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Most important, it wasn't in Old San Francisco. I couldn't imagine trying to run a business out of that slag heap.\n\nI hadn't intended on returning to my office, but I had to chance it. I did some reconnaissance first and didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It was Friday night and the parking lot was mostly empty. Just to be safe, I parked a couple blocks away and used a back entrance to enter the building.\n\nStepping into the lobby, I was relieved to not see or hear a soul. I walked to a directory on the far wall and scanned it. Sure enough, right under 'Dumper & Runn Divorce Attorneys for Men', I found what I was looking for: Fletcher Investigations – Suite 404.\n\nI guess it goes without saying that I hadn't paid much attention to the other tenants. One of the many things I couldn't afford was a receptionist, so I almost never left my office, just in case a client showed up. When Sylvia Linsky finally appeared at my door, I didn't ask how she'd found me. Now I was pretty sure she hadn't come looking for me at all.\n\nThere weren't many independent private investigators these days. The odds of two freelance P.I. 's having offices in the same building were slim to none. Sylvia may have gotten a lead to Fletcher and came here to find him. Since she ended up visiting me, that meant either she hadn't found him or she did, but didn't get what she wanted from him.\n\nIt turned out to be the former. The door to Fletcher's office was locked but, looking through the glass, I could see that he'd cleared out, possibly in a hurry. The space was littered with office scraps, and he'd left a few things of value behind. Considering that the lobby directory hadn't been updated—and knowing management wouldn't let affordable rental space stay unoccupied very long—I figured Fletcher had vacated recently.\n\nAnd the timing seemed curious, in light of Carl Linsky's recent suicide and the note he'd left for Fletcher.\n\nI returned to my office and called the property manager, a guy named Pembleton. I told him I wanted to chat and see if he could help me. He was a helpful, chatty guy. He said he knew Sonny fairly well and had last seen him a couple weeks earlier. Described him as an 'old caballero'.\n\nHe was surprised when I told him Fletcher appeared to have cleared out. Apparently, Sonny was one of the oldest tenants and had been leasing the space for years. He'd missed the last couple payments, but that was nothing new.\n\nA few years back, Pembleton said, Sonny's wife had died tragically—suicide, he was pretty sure—and Sonny disappeared for a few months. When he finally showed up again, it looked like he'd aged twenty years, but he paid up his rent and went back to work.\n\nPembleton was being as chatty as I'd hoped, but his helpfulness had its limits. When I asked if he could put me in touch with Fletcher, he politely informed me that it was against policy to give out tenants' personal or contact info.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 36 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "However…as the property manager, he could let me check out the now-vacant office, which would soon be available to rent. He offered to meet me the next day, but when I told him it was kind of an emergency, he said he'd be right over. Chatty and helpful.\n\nTwenty minutes later, Pembleton let me into Fletcher's office. A relatively expensive desk and several file cabinets had been left behind. They were all empty, except for a few random papers and office supplies. As I searched through them, I could feel the property manager's eyes on me.\n\n\"It's like I'm watching a movie,\" he finally said. \"I've never seen a detective in action.\"\n\nThere was a chair next to the desk. I leaned down, placed my hand on the seat and closed my eyes, focusing my deductive powers.\n\n\"Five days.\"\n\n\"Five days?\" Pembleton asked.\n\n\"Since he left. Maybe six.\"\n\n\"Seriously?\"\n\nI ignored him and turned my attention to a wastebasket beside the desk. It was full, with two empty bourbon bottles on top. I picked them out and set them on the desk.\n\n\"I could tell he was a drinker,\" Pembleton said. \"But don't all you detectives drink?\"\n\n\"You mean alcohol?\"\n\n\"Uh, yeah.\"\n\n\"Not me. It clouds the mind.\"\n\n\"Yeah, that's kind of the point.\"\n\nIn the next stratum of the wastebasket was a stack of used, empty coffee cups—nine or ten, all with a logo of a red '6' on them.\n\nMotel 6.\n\nIt looked like Fletcher's routine was to start every day with the same cup of swill. And no one in their right mind gets their coffee from a motel. Not unless you're staying there.\n\nSo, a likely assumption was that he was holed up in a Motel 6. The question was, which one? I needed something else to cross-reference.\n\nI kept digging through the trash. Nothing useful, other than half a sandwich in a wrapper labeled 'Bread & Butter Deli'. It didn't smell particularly edible, and I wasn't that hungry anyway.\n\nI did, however, happen to know where the Bread & Butter Deli was—on O'Farrell Street, in the Tenderloin. I didn't know if there was a Motel 6 in that neighborhood, but if there was, I'd bet this half sandwich that I'd find Fletcher there.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "expand on the story like Aaron Conners would. btw might have existing characters/lore", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A Motel 6 was just around the corner from the Bread & Butter Deli. Pembleton would have been very impressed.\n\nI walked into the lobby. Now what? Even if I got lucky and Fletcher was staying here, I wasn't sure how receptive he would be, so I wanted to keep the element of surprise; this ruled out having the desk clerk call his room. Fletcher might even be checked in under a fake name. I could stake the place out and wait for an old caballero to show up, but that could take hours—maybe days. Plus, I didn't know what he looked like. I decided the best approach was to storm the castle.\n\nI started knocking on doors. Most of the rooms were unoccupied, but four people opened up for me—including one very hairy and aroused man—before I finally came face to face with Sonny Fletcher.\n\nHe cracked his door open, chain still attached.\n\n\"What d'ya want?\" he mumbled. The smell of booze was eye-watering.\n\n\"Uh, yeah, hi. I'm on a scavenger hunt. I'm looking for a spool of thread, a shoehorn and the answer to the question 'Why did Carl Linsky throw himself off the Golden Gate Bridge?'.\"\n\n\"Mm,\" he said, not the least bit rattled. He turned his head to take a sip from a glass. \"You a P.I.?\"\n\nUnexpected.\n\n\"Yeah. The name's Murphy.\"\n\nFletcher paused, then said: \"Come in, Murphy. I'll talk to ya.\"\n\nThe door closed and I heard the chain slide. He pulled the door open and walked back into the room.\n\nHe wore an off-white suit jacket that may have been nice at one time, but was now rumpled and stained. Still, there was a swagger about him.\n\n\"Mi casa es su casa,\" he said over his shoulder.\n\n\"Thanks.\"\n\nI took a few steps inside.\n\n\"Close the door.\"\n\nI did, then took a moment to soak in the interior as Fletcher continued to soak his liver.\n\n\"Cozy,\" I said.\n\nThe old man smirked and finished off his bourbon, or whatever it was.\n\n\"Yeah. My travel agent got it for me.\"\n\nHe had a full head of longish, unkempt hair and a grizzled goatee that was more salt than pepper. Probably a dashing kind of guy, a few decades and cases of bourbon ago.\n\n\"It looked like you cleared out of your office in a hurry,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You running from bill collectors or something?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I guess you could say that.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He turned to me and his voice went up a few notches.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Come on! What do you want from me, huh?\"\n\n\"I understand Carl Linsky hired you... before he died,\" I said.\n\n\"I had nothing to do with Linsky buying the farm. Bible truth.\"\n\nHe held a curled-up hand to his mouth and kissed it, then placed it on his chest.\n\n\"What were you doing for him?\" I asked.\n\nFletcher ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.\n\n\"OK, I guess I can tell you now. It doesn't matter. He wanted me to find some people for him.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"I don't know! The man gives me some names and I go to work. OK?\"\n\nFletcher grabbed a bottle and refilled his glass. I didn't know a whole lot about Carl Linsky, but Sonny Fletcher didn't seem like the kind of guy a fastidious old man with OCD would choose to work for him.\n\n\"Why did Linsky hire you?\" I asked, hitting the 'you' a little too hard. I really hadn't meant it to sound like an insult, but that's how it came across.\n\n\"That's low,\" Fletcher said, his jaw tightening. He took a few steps forward, getting up in my face. I was half his age and twice his size, but it made me take a step back.\n\n\"I hadn't had a drink in almost two years! Until last week.\"\n\nThere was rage there, but something else. For a moment, I thought he might start to cry. But he gathered himself and turned away.\n\n\"So, what happened?\" I asked.\n\n\"Look, I just tracked down two people, alright? It was a Val Davis and a Rona Morgan. And it didn't take me any time at all. I found out where they were. They were in the ground! And they hadn't been there too long.\"\n\nMy butterflies were back.\n\n\"These women,\" I asked, \"how did they die?\"\n\nFletcher didn't answer immediately. At last, he said, \"I don't know. Not for sure.\"\n\n\"But they died recently. Just like Linsky.\"\n\n\"Yeah.\"\n\n\"And that's when you vacated your office?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" Sonny mumbled, \"around then. Look, I...I prefer not to talk about this anymore, okay?\"\n\nVal Davis and Rona Morgan. I could probably follow up on them without Fletcher's help and I didn't want to push him too hard. I figured I might need him later.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write 8 sentences sentences continuing from the user's text. Match the level of familiarity with characters/settings as presented.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was coming up on midnight when I got back to my office. No sign of Sternwood or cops. Thank god. I was exhausted and the cot in the back room was calling like a rickety canvas siren. After a month of doing nothing but waiting, this day had been a shock to the system.\n\nBut I couldn't call it a night just yet. Sylvia had left a message on my vidphone. It looked we'd both been busy—me tracking down leads and her throwing down cocktails.\n\n\"Hey, Tex,\" she breathed into the camera.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Narrative Continuation Protocol:\nQuantity: four sentences\nStyle: Aaron Conners\nGenre: comedy, science fiction\nContext: Part of larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sylvia didn't answer when I knocked on the door, but it was unlocked and I let myself in. The house was dark, except for the warm glow from a small lamp next to the couch where Sylvia lay sleeping.\n\nHer robe was half-open, revealing a silvery silk negligee and soft, pale skin. From the neck down, she was all grown-up, but with her tousled hair and flushed cheeks, her face looked almost childlike.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I stood there for a long moment, staring down at this gorgeous creature, in awe of her physical perfection…and completely mystified by what was inside her.\n\nSo beautiful. So damaged.\n\nI leaned down to pull her robe closed, then touched her lightly on the shoulder. She stirred and her eyes fluttered open before closing again.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A slow, intoxicated smile spread across her face.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Well, lookie who it is....\" she murmured.\n\nI sat down next to her. After a sleepy pause, she stirred again.\n\n\"Tex Murphy, handsome P.I., on the case from hell.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sylvia slowly swung her legs off the couch, knocking over a bottle of Grey Goose vodka she'd left on the floor. She ran both hands through her hair and turned to face me.\n\n\"I bet you've solved this damned mystery already, haven't you?\"\n\nI bent down and picked up the bottle.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not quite. I may need another day or two.\"\n\n\"And here I am,\" she went on, oblivious and slurring through her crooked smile, \"Sylvia Linsky, the bereaved client whose daddy took a dive into the San Francisco Bay.\"\n\nShe laughed, without the least bit of humor.\n\n\"Sounds like quite a story, doesn't it?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "she said, reaching for the vodka. I pulled the bottle away and set it on the side table behind me.\n\n\"Sounds like you've had too much to drink.\"\n\nSylvia's expression went sour. Childlike.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Oh, don't tell me I've had too much to drink,\" she said. \"I have plenty to drink about... more than you know.\"\n\n\"That's just the grief talking.\"\n\nI'm not very good at this sort of thing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What do you know about grief?!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sylvia snapped. \"Huh? Did your daddy just die? Did your mommy walk out on you before you could even say your own name? Huh? I didn't think so.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She pointed unsteadily at the bottle, a silent command, and glared at me. P.I. Rule #17.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I retrieved the bottle and handed it to her.\n\n\"Do you know what it's like to be absolutely alone?\" she asked, unscrewing the cap. \"That's what I am now. Alone. I don't have anybody.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I watched her take a long drink straight from the bottle.\n\n\"I'm really sorry, Sylvia.\"\n\nShe cut her drink short, spilling some down her chin.\n\n\"Don't,\" she growled. \"Don't you pity me. I don't need you. I don't need anybody. Go away!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "P.I. Rules be damned.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I grabbed the bottle out of her hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What you don't need is any more of this,\" I said, gently.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What you do need is some beddy-bye.\"\n\nI set the bottle down and then scooped her up in my arms. She let out a surprised giggle and threw her arms around my neck.\n\n\"Mr. Murphy! I'm surprised at you, taking advantage of a woman who's had too much to drink.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I headed for the guest bedroom. At least she wasn't putting up a fight.\n\n\"Not tonight, Sylvia. I require my victims to be sober enough to sign a waiver. You passed that point a long time ago.\"\n\nShe laid her head against my chest and went quiet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I carried her into the bedroom, which was softly lit from moonlight coming through a window, and laid her down on the bed. Her body was warm and loose as I got her situated under the covers. Her eyes were heavy as she sank into the pillow.\n\n\"Don't you like me, Tex?\" she asked, dreamily.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(quick note: Just for the next scene, use regular dialogue)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I pulled the top sheet and comforter up to her shoulders.\n\n\"I like you. That's why I'm putting you to bed... and leaving.\"\n\nSylvia's eyes closed.\n\n\"You're no fun. Not one bit.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I brushed a lock of hair from her face.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She looked calm now. Peaceful. I wondered if her parents had ever carried her to bed and tucked her in. I stared down at her for a few moments. So beautiful. So damaged.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Goodnight, Sylvia.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I stood and headed for the door. Behind me, Sylvia breathed out a whisper.\n\n\"I like you too, Tex.\"\n\nI paused at the door.\n\n\"You're not going to like anything in the morning.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "help me write plz. do 33 sentences sentences. use these genres: comedy, science fiction. add some of these things: noir, humor, Tex Murphy. keep same level of familiarity with any chars/setting", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "'Twas almost eleven and all through the townhouse, not a creature was stirring. Time to make coffee.\n\nI had Carl Linsky pegged as an herbal tea kind of guy, and herbal tea is basically a hot, watery veggie smoothie, as far as I'm concerned. I was right; he had a ton of tea, but also a bag of whole coffee beans in the refrigerator—fair trade and organic, of course—with a grinder and a French Press stashed in a cupboard.\n\nIt's a well-known fact that the three best things to wake up to are frying bacon, a warm body and fresh-ground coffee. For just a moment, I imagined how nice it would be to wake Sylvia up with all three, before figuratively slapping myself repeatedly.\n\nThe smell of roasty-toasty caffeinated goodness worked its magic. The coffee had just finished brewing when Sylvia emerged from the guest room. Even fresh out of bed, disheveled and sleepy in a fluffy pink robe—and undoubtedly hung over as hell—she was devastatingly beautiful.\n\n\"Hi,\" she said, averting her eyes self-consciously.\n\n\"How you feeling?\" I asked.\n\n\"I'll let you know when I wake up. Probably not great.\"\n\nShe got herself a cup of coffee and held it up to her face with both hands. After a brief steam facial, she took a sip.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said.\n\n\"I hope black is OK. There's no cream or sugar.\"\n\n\"It's fine. I meant thanks for last night. I'm sorry about yesterday.\"\n\nI poured myself a cup.\n\n\"No need to apologize. This is a hard thing to go through.\"\n\n\"And you're the one person who's helping me get through it,\" Sylvia said, softly. \"The last person I should be freaking out on.\"\n\nI moved closer and topped off her mug. She smelled good. Her hair was perfectly tousled and she'd put on just a touch of makeup. I couldn't help but feel flattered, though maybe I was just flattering myself and it had nothing to do with me. Women like Sylvia Linsky have that effect.\n\n\"So, I've made some progress on your case,\" I said, moving back to a safe distance.\n\nSylvia perked up. \"Really?\" A tone of genuine surprise.\n\n\"Really. Did you know your father had hired a P.I.?\"\n\nSylvia's face did a few things at once. After a few moments, she said: \"No. Well, yes, later. After. I found his name and number here. I didn't know he was a detective until I called. But he didn't answer or call back. I haven't talked to him, so I didn't know my dad hired him.\"\n\n\"But that's how you ended up at my office, right? You came looking for Sonny Fletcher and he wasn't there?\"\n\nShe nodded.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Well, you could have saved me some time,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Fortunately, I found out about Fletcher on my own and tracked him down. And through him, I learned that your father was working with some other people, two of whom have died in the past couple weeks.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Sylvia's face went blank and she shook her head, confused.\n\n\"What?\"\n\n\"They weren't suicides,\" I said. \"Or homicides. At least not officially. But the timing is a little suspicious.\"\n\n\"So, you think—?\"\n\n\"—I don't know what to think. Not yet. I need to find one of the other people your father was looking for. Alive, ideally. Do you have any idea what he was working on?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Have you heard of Rona Morgan or Val Davis?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Does the word Overlord mean anything to you?\"\n\nShe shook her head. I hadn't expected her to have information about her father's apparently top-secret activities, but I had to ask. She had a lousy poker face, so this assured me that she was completely out of the loop.\n\nBut there was one thing she might be able to help with. I opened the laptop bag and took out the photo of Linsky and the mystery man I'd taken from the bulletin board.\n\n\"Do you recognize this man?\"\n\nSylvia took the photo and kind of flinched when she looked at it. Maybe it was seeing her father, or maybe it was the other man. Hard to say.\n\n\"Yeah,\" she said. \"His name is John Klaus.\"\n\nKlaus.\n\nThe name of the doctor who had prescribed pain meds and sleeping pills for Linsky.\n\nSylvia handed the photo back, like she wanted it away from her.\n\n\"Did they work together?\" I asked.\n\n\"I'm not sure. I mean, they were both surgeons, but I don't think they worked together. They were old friends.\"\n\n\"So you know Klaus pretty well?\"\n\nSylvia turned away and refilled her mug.\n\n\"No, not well.\"\n\nIf we'd been playing an actual game of poker, I would have bet my entire stack that she was bluffing. Clearly, she knew Klaus pretty well. And didn't want to talk about it. But I needed information on him and it seemed like Sylvia had some.\n\nI was about to approach the subject like a Fugu cook approaching a blowfish—with extreme caution—when I heard a melodic beep coming from the guest bedroom. It was a phone ringing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sylvia's cell, most likely.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 11 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I looked at her, but she made no move to go answer it.\n\nSomething clicked in my brain and I remembered giving Sylvia's number to Wanda Peck. With no time to explain, I rushed to the bedroom. Sylvia's phone was charging on the nightstand. Sure enough, the caller ID was the same number displayed on Linsky's attic phone when I'd hit redial.\n\nI unplugged the cell, hit the green button and said: \"This is Murphy.\"\n\n\"We need to talk,\" a woman's voice said. \"In person.\"\n\nI turned around. Sylvia stood in the doorway, staring like she'd caught me trying on her panties.\n\n\"I'm free when you are,\" I said.\n\n\"The sooner, the better,\" the woman replied. Then she gave me an address with special instructions and hung up.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write 74 sentences sentences in the style of Aaron Conners, maintaining continuity with any characters or plot elements introduced as if mid-story.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The special instructions Wanda Peck had provided made me feel like a backdoor man. Mostly because she said: \"Don't come through the front.\"\n\nI figured she'd tell me why when I got there. For now, I was just eager to meet her. Being the last person Carl Linsky called made her a person of interest.\n\nSeeing her face-to-face made her a person of even more interest.\n\nIn the space of twenty-four hours, I'd met two of the most attractive women I'd ever seen with my own eyeballs. But while Sylvia was a barely-contained wildfire, Wanda Peck was a frozen waterfall—remote, serene and intensely composed.\n\nThe address had led me to a nondescript building, a generic office complex with no obvious signage. Ms. Peck met me at a side door and got right to it.\n\n\"Are you the Poisoned Pawn?\"\n\nShe was using one of my tactics: hit them with a point-blank question and watch the reaction. I wasn't sure exactly what she'd said, so my reaction was a blank stare. It was probably enough of an answer, but my response sealed the deal.\n\n\"Sorry. Did you say poison pond?\"\n\nShe ignored the question and switched gears.\n\n\"Who gave you my name and number?\"\n\n\"No one,\" I said. \"I called you from a phone belonging to a man named Carl Linsky. You were the last person he called from that phone before he jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge.\"\n\nI hoped this would get a reaction out of her. I wasn't really surprised when it didn't.\n\n\"At least we're getting off on the right foot,\" she said. \"I recognized the number you called from. If you'd lied about it, this conversation would be over.\"\n\nI was glad we were getting off on the right foot. I liked her foot. And her legs. All of it. I hoped we'd end up working closely together.\n\nShe stepped back and ushered me inside.\n\n\"Why the side door?\" I asked.\n\n\"Less visible. There are people monitoring who comes and goes here. Depending on what your situation is, you may not want these people to know you came here.\"\n\nI doubted anyone would care about me showing up, but whatever.\n\nWanda led me to a bank of elevators. She was tall and slender with perfect posture, almost regal, her height accentuated by a perfectly-tailored dress and heels. She had a whole lot of wavy, golden hair worn up in an elaborate style, showing off a lovely neck.\n\n\"What do you know about Capricorn?\" she asked, as we waited for the elevator.\n\n\"Not much. I'm a Pisces myself. Pisces are passionate and intuitive, but can be overly trusting.\"\n\nShe rolled her eyes. It wouldn't be the last time. The elevator dinged and opened. We stepped inside and Wanda pressed the button for the eighth floor.\n\n\"What's your connection to Linsky?\" she asked.\n\n\"What's yours?\"\n\nWanda crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall.\n\n\"Do you even know where you are?\" she asked, a bit condescendingly.\n\n\"Literally? Or metaphysically?\"\n\n\"This building. This organization. Do you know what it is we do?\"\n\n\"Nope. That's why I'm here.\"\n\nWhich was true. I had no clue who Wanda Peck was. For all I knew, she was one of the people Linsky was trying find. Or maybe she was the Overlord. Seemed like she'd make a good one. Or, it suddenly occurred to me, maybe she was the reason Rona Morgan and Val Davis were dead. Maybe she invited me here to find out what I knew before killing me off in some unsuspicious way. By breaking my heart, probably.\n\n\"Tell you what,\" I offered. \"I'll go first. I'm a private investigator. Linsky's daughter hired me because she says her father wasn't suicidal and wants me to prove it. Mostly, I suspect, so she can collect his life insurance. Everything points to it being a straight-up suicide and the cops have closed the case. But, frankly, I think there's more to it than meets the eye.\"\n\nThe elevator stopped. Wanda stepped out and turned right without a word. I followed her to a nicely furnished office—sleek, modern and high-tech—where she gestured to a chair and closed the door behind me.\n\n\"A lot of people come to us because the police can't—or won't—help them,\" she said, as I took a seat.\n\n\"So, what is it you do?\"\n\n\"CAPRICORN is a civilian agency focused on fighting discrimination. We started out twenty years ago during the rise of the Alt-White. Then it was the Muslim Purge. And now we've got this second generation of Mutants. There's always someone to hate and a lot of people eager to hate them. So, we infiltrate organizations, try to expose and destabilize them, occasionally bring legal action or get legislation passed. We're privately funded, meaning we have no real authority, but we have significant resources, so we fight the good fight.\"\n\n\"Well, I support everything you just said. But what does it have to do with Linsky?\"\n\nWanda moved to the front of her desk and leaned back against it.\n\n\"Full disclosure,\" she said, \"I'd never heard Carl Linsky's name until you just mentioned it. I got a call from his number—the one you called from—but never talked to him. He just left a message.\"\n\n\"Which said…?\"\n\n\"Among other things, that we should look into the deaths of two women.\"\n\n\"Rona Morgan and Val Davis, I assume. Did he say why?\"\n\nWanda shook her head. \"No. But he was certain they'd been murdered and the police wouldn't investigate.\"\n\n\"Did you call him back?\"\n\n\"Several times, but he never answered. Now I know why. Do you have more details on what he was talking about?\"\n\n\"Some. I think Linsky and the two women may have been working on something, but separate from each other. There was a fourth person who Linsky knew personally, and four others he was trying to identify.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I pulled the photo of Linsky and Klaus from the laptop bag.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 63 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"This is the fourth guy. I'm trying to find him. His name is John Klaus.\"\n\nWanda sat up.\n\n\"Klaus? John Klaus was working with Linsky?\"\n\nI handed her the photo. She examined it closely, then set it aside.\n\n\"Do you mind if I hold onto this for a bit?\" she asked.\n\n\"Not at all. Now that I've got a name, I don't need the photo. What I need is to find Klaus and it sounds like you might be able to help. I'm just hoping he's not already dead like the others.\"\n\nWanda drummed her fingers thoughtfully on the edge of the desk.\n\n\"That might explain it. Klaus hasn't been seen for a while. We hadn't considered the possibility of him being dead. If he is, it hasn't been reported. Maybe he's hiding out.\"\n\nJust like Sonny Fletcher, I thought.\n\n\"So, who is John Klaus?\" I asked.\n\n\"He's a big player behind the scenes in the Law & Order Party. He's been on our radar for a while.\"\n\nI didn't follow the news—especially anything to do with politics—but I'd heard of the Law & Order Party. You couldn't avoid it. From the little I knew, it sounded like Law & Order was everything bad about politics…on steroids. I wasn't sure how Linsky's death would have anything to do with politics, but I was open to all possibilities at this point.\n\n\"I'm guessing you and your organization aren't big Law & Order supporters,\" I said.\n\nWanda smirked, regally.\n\n\"They're fascists. Their leadership is white, rich and ultra-conservative. They're openly anti-Mutant. Some party members have publicly stated that Mutants are subhuman and should be sterilized, if not actually euthanized, to save the gene pool.\"\n\nIf anyone else had said this, I probably wouldn't have believed it, but Wanda didn't strike me as someone who exaggerated. If it was true, it was scary as hell. And, apparently, common knowledge. I probably should have been aware of it, but I really did have zero interest in politics. I'd heard a quote that summed up my attitude perfectly, that politicians were like diapers—they should be changed often and for the same reason. Maybe it was the system that inevitably corrupted them, or maybe you had to be a narcissist or sociopath to want a career in politics. For me, it didn't matter who was in office. It would always be the same.\n\n\"Do you have anything other than this photo?\" Wanda asked.\n\nI dug into the bag for Linsky's laptop and handed it to her.\n\n\"There's this. I think Linsky was using it to work remotely on whatever his secret project was.\"\n\n\"That's the Gideon logo,\" Wanda said, referring to the flaming sword embossed on the laptop. She seemed surprised. Maybe a little shocked. \"Where'd you get this?\"\n\n\"It was in Linsky's office at the North Hill Clinic. I think he left it there for me to find.\"\n\nWanda gave me a skeptical look.\n\n\"I thought his daughter hired you after he died.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, he left it for someone like me to find.\"\n\n\"Have you seen what's on it?\" she asked, opening the lid.\n\n\"I tried. There's a reader you have to attach and a passcard, both of which are in the bag, but it said the account had expired. Do you think you could get past that and see what's on the hard drive?\"\n\n\"Maybe,\" she said, setting it off to the side. \"If you want to leave it with me, I'll see what we can do.\"\n\n\"Sure. I just need you to do me a favor. I, uh, kind of stole it. If you could call Dr. Sternwood at the North Hill Clinic and let him know it's in the hands of the authorities, I'd really appreciate it.\"\n\nWith just a hint of a smile, Wanda nodded.\n\n\"Anything else?\" she asked.\n\nI took a second to think. There had to be something. I was enjoying our visit.\n\n\"Oh yeah,\" I said, \"the thing Linsky and the two women were working on was for someone or something called Overlord.\"\n\n\"Overlord,\" she repeated, thoughtfully, then glanced at the laptop. \"I wonder how that fits with Gideon.\"\n\nShe looked back at me.\n\n\"You've heard of Gideon Enterprises, I assume.\"\n\n\"They do security, but that's pretty much all I know about it,\" I said.\n\n\"It's the largest, most powerful corporation that most people know almost nothing about. They contract with everyone from governments to drug lords—anyone with huge assets and sensitive information to protect. Our own government is their biggest client, which means Gideon operates with little to no outside oversight.\"\n\nSo, Gideon Enterprises was one of the biggest black-ops groups on the planet. If Linsky and the others were working for them, maybe the corporation was behind the deaths, like some pirate captain killing off the scabs who'd buried his treasure. Or maybe it was a competitor of Gideon's. Or someone else trying to cover things up.\n\nOne thing was certain: I was on this case for just one reason—to prove Carl Linsky hadn't committed suicide—and if a big, powerful group like Gideon Enterprises was responsible for his death, I didn't stand a realistic chance of proving it.\n\nI looked up and saw Wanda staring down at me with an expression that was somewhere between sympathy and pity. It was like she was reading my mind.\n\n\"You're going to need some help.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write 8 sentences sentences continuing from the user's text. Match the level of familiarity with characters/settings as presented.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wanda Peck had an excellent poker face and kept her cards close to her chest. If we ever played strip poker together—and I sincerely hoped that someday we would—I'd have to come to the table layered up. I was pretty sure I'd be au naturel before she had her socks off.\n\nThe rest of our meeting provided no more answers. She said she didn't know what or who Overlord was, but I couldn't tell if she was holding out on me. If she had any other info on Rona Morgan and Val Davis, she didn't share it, though she seemed inclined to agree that their deaths—and Linsky's suicide—were suspicious.\n\nI decided to give her the laptop bag and everything in it. I didn't have the resources to extract info from Linsky's laptop or vet the lists of names I'd found in Linsky's attic.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The people he was trying to identify were very likely in those lists, but I'd be racing against some faceless enemy who would almost certainly zero in on them before I did.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The only race I had any chance to win was the John Klaus Derby.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 9 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No one else had been in Linsky's attic and Sonny Fletcher hadn't mentioned Klaus's name. Finding him before someone else did—and alive—might be the only way to keep this case going.\n\nUnfortunately, Wanda had said he'd disappeared, either Jimmy Hoffa-style or into hiding. Whichever it was, she didn't think he'd be easy to find. Maybe impossible. She was right that I would need some help and she seemed capable of being extremely helpful…if she felt like it. Giving her all the evidence I'd found was a gesture of trust and good faith. She reciprocated by giving me her private number.\n\n\"Does this mean what I think it means?\" I asked.\n\n\"Probably not,\" she said.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "This is mid-narrative so expect established characters. Write 97 sentences sentences like Aaron Conners. Genres: comedy, science fiction. Themes: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The address Gideon gave me was in Bolinas, an unincorporated community about fifteen miles northwest of the city. It was nestled on the shores of Bolinas Bay, surrounded by the Point Reyes National Seashore preserve, making it was one of the most exclusive areas around. Its residents were famously reclusive.\n\nAs I made the short flight, I felt a strange mix of excitement and paranoia. I had to admit, I was a bit star-struck. The most famous person I'd met was Justin Bieber and he hadn't really impressed me, to be honest. But the best part of meeting Gideon had nothing to do with his celebrity; it felt like I'd hit the investigative lottery. There was no guarantee that he could—or would—provide information about Carl Linsky or John Klaus or Overlord, but at least I'd have a chance to ask.\n\nAt the same time, in the back of my mind, I had alarms going off. How did Gideon know about me? Why did he want to see me? It seemed likely that Linsky, Morgan and Davis had all been working for or with his company…and were now dead. What exactly was I getting myself into?\n\nGideon's home was palatial, exactly the kind of residence you'd expect a trillionaire to live in. The entire estate seemed to shimmer, like a mirage coming off hot pavement, except this was no mirage. It had to be doming security—a brand-new bit of technology I'd never seen, only heard of. As I approached, the ripple effect vanished and the grounds came into sharp focus. Apparently, it was now safe for me to land.\n\nI spotted flashing lights on a flat rooftop and steered toward them. I landed my Lotus and climbed out. No one was waiting for me. There were two doors on opposite sides of the landing area. I looked back and forth between the two, waiting for someone to show up.\n\nThen I heard Gideon's voice. It was coming from a tiny drone hovering nearby.\n\n\"Welcome, Mr. Murphy. I apologize for the impolite reception.\"\n\nOut of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the doors open.\n\n\"If you would, please enter through the open door and take the lift to the mezzanine.\"\n\nThe drone escorted me through the door and to the elevator inside. The panel in the elevator had four buttons. I pressed the one marked 'M'.\n\nGideon was waiting when the elevator doors opened and I was surprised to see him in a wheelchair. Then I remembered reading about how he was almost killed in a bombing years ago, and that it had left him crippled. Still, robotic exoskeletons had made wheelchairs obsolete…at least for those who could afford it. And Gideon could afford it.\n\nNot only was he using a wheelchair, it wasn't even motorized. It was an antique, the seat made of wicker, with worn-out holes in several spots, and he had to push the two large wheels to move it. I wondered why he didn't have something state-of-the art, maybe even a hover chair.\n\nHe looked up at me brightly and extended his hand.\n\n\"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Murphy.\"\n\nHe was a handsome man, probably in his early sixties, well-preserved. His sandy hair was combed back like a classic Hollywood film star. Gary Cooper came to mind. His hair matched his outfit—a silk robe with a cravat and leather slippers.\n\n\"Likewise, Mr. Gideon.\"\n\nWe shook hands and then he spun effortlessly and rolled himself away. I followed him into the mezzanine, which was large and lofty and lavishly decorated. Stained glass windows cast colors across the walls and floor. It was a very impressive space, which contrasted sharply with the small man wheeling himself into the midst of it.\n\n\"Cozy little flat you've got here,\" I said.\n\n\"You must find it ostentatious,\" Gideon replied without looking back. \"I admit I do as well. It's certainly too much home for only one person.\"\n\nOne person?\n\n\"You don't live here alone, do you?\"\n\nHe rolled his wheelchair next to a small, antique couch and then spun around to face me.\n\n\"I'm afraid so. I suppose my disability has given me an aversion to reliance on others. My fortune has provided me with a fully-automated, self-sufficient existence. I want for nothing. Except, perhaps, human companionship.\"\n\n\"Don't you worry, being here alone? I mean, given your condition?\"\n\nAs I asked the question, I realized how condescending it sounded. But Gideon chuckled and shook his head.\n\n\"Gideon Enterprises defines state-of-the-art, with regard to security systems. I am surrounded—perhaps imprisoned—by the very finest electronic moat. No, I don't worry about my safety, though I thank you for your concern.\"\n\nHe gestured to the couch and I sat down.\n\n\"Now, to what do I owe this welcome visit?\" he asked.\n\n\"You invited me, Mr. Gideon.\"\n\n\"True, but my understanding is that you are the one with questions.\"\n\nI wanted to find out how I'd gotten on his radar, but we'd get to that. Before he got too comfortable, I intended to assess his poker face.\n\n\"Tell me about Overlord,\" I said.\n\nHe raised one eyebrow, ever so slightly.\n\n\"Overlord,\" he repeated slowly. \"An unpleasant word. It evokes images of slavery, at least to my mind.\"\n\nThe eyebrow settled back into place.\n\n\"Conversely,\" he continued, \"Overlord was the code name of the Allied offensive on D-Day. Which, of course, led to the liberation of Europe. To which context are you referring?\"\n\n\"Neither, actually. I think it has something to do with a project being funded by your company.\"\n\n\"Oh, no. Gideon Enterprises is no longer mine, I'm afraid.\"\n\nGideon took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.\n\n\"I'm sure that Frank Schimming would be a better source of information than I.\"\n\n\"Schimming's the CEO, right?\"\n\nGideon smiled grimly.\n\n\"Yes, thanks to my exploitable lack of business acumen. My complete trust in him was repaid with his usurping my position as head of Gideon Enterprises.\"\n\n\"But you're still president.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. But I have no more real authority to run my company than the King of England has to run his country. I'm merely a figurehead, nothing more.\"\n\n\"Why don't you just sack him, as you English say?\"\n\nGideon smiled again.\n\n\"Even if I could, what would be the point? My time has passed. I'm as outdated as this antique,\" he said, patting the armrests of his wheelchair. \"Such is the cutthroat nature of business. Though I dare say the world itself has become nothing more than a business, run by a select few.\"\n\n\"I'm not sure I agree, Mr. Gideon. I think there are a lot of people out there who care less about money than making the world a better place.\"\n\n\"Oh? And you, my fine friend?\" He leaned forward and tapped me on the knee. \"How do you intend to make the world a better place?\"\n\n\"I don't know. Keep an open mind, respect others, buy Girl Scout cookies.\"\n\nHis eyebrow went up again.\n\n\"You think this will make a difference?\"\n\n\"If enough people care, it just might catch on.\"\n\nGideon gave me a look, like I was a kid telling him about the Red Ryder BB Gun I hoped Santa would bring me.\n\n\"Ah, yes. I was like you at one time. Idealism costs nothing and I lived on it for many years. But its taste is bittersweet. It's in large part the reason why I can no longer walk.\"\n\nHe gripped his shriveled legs, stared down at them, then glanced back up at me.\n\n\"You'd like to hear what happened, wouldn't you?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "That wasn't why I was here…but I kind of did.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 90 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.\"\n\nGideon lifted his hands from his legs and slid them along his armrests.\n\n\"Oh, I've been in this damned cage for more years than I care to remember.\"\n\nGrabbing both wheels, he turned away and pushed himself across the room.\n\n\"I've had to grow accustomed to it,\" he said, as he pulled up to an ornately-carved armoire. I watched as he opened it, revealing a row of decanters and several sets of glasses. He spoke as he poured what looked like liquid gold into two of the glasses.\n\n\"It was 2013. I was in Geneva to attend a covert meeting of UN operatives. There were fourteen of us. And at least one was a traitor armed with an explosive device. I was the only survivor.\"\n\nThe full glasses went onto a tray, which he placed on his lap.\n\n\"Did you ever find out who it was?\" I asked.\n\n\"No.\"\n\nGideon turned and wheeled himself slowly back toward me.\n\n\"It could have been any of a score of countries or organizations,\" he added.\n\nThis didn't seem like the time to tell him I didn't drink, so I took the glass he offered me.\n\n\"I don't suppose it matters anymore,\" he said, picking up his glass. \"It was the beginning of the end. There are no heroes anymore, only villains of varying degrees.\"\n\n\"There are some people still fighting the good fight,\" I said. \"What about CAPRICORN?\"\n\nGideon waved his free hand.\n\n\"Oh, CAPRICORN does their best, but they're merely fighting the good fight. No, greed and corruption have the upper hand.\"\n\nHe paused to take a sip, then took another deep breath.\n\n\"When I was younger, I sincerely believed we could achieve a semblance of global order and harmony. But that was only the foolish dream of a...youthful idealist.\"\n\nHe smiled sadly.\n\n\"Once I was crippled, I was no longer of use. I was turned loose into the world, a cruel and deadly steeplechase where survival was a matter of social Darwinism. I was—\"\n\nHe went silent for a few moments, then swallowed hard, his eyes glistening.\n\n\"—I was lost. I believed that my handicap had denied me my destiny.\"\n\nGideon stared into his glass.\n\n\"Years and years passed before I realized that I still had much to offer.\"\n\nHis face suddenly brightened and he looked up.\n\n\"With little more than a plan, I laid the foundations of Gideon Enterprises. Among the new mutant population, I found other social misfits whose skills and talents had been overshadowed by their physical abnormalities. Those were difficult times. We were openly ridiculed. Finding investors and financing was an often-humiliating series of rejections. How could someone like myself, a cripple, ever hope to accomplish such a venture?\"\n\nHis empty hand clenched and he flashed a fierce grin.\n\n\"But eventually we did succeed, becoming the wealthiest and most powerful corporation of its type in the world. I had recaptured the idealism of my youth, the belief that through sacrifice, commitment and hard work, anything was possible.\"\n\nGideon paused and I watched him deflate.\n\n\"But then it happened again. In the blink of an eye, all those years of investment and careful nurturing were torn from me by thieves and liars masquerading as board members and stockholders. And now, towering over them all,\" he said, his voice rising, \"is Frank Schimming. His disregard for integrity is matched only by his worship of dividends and profit margins. And, once again I'm unwanted, unneeded and facing a purposeless existence.\n\n\"So, you listen to me!\" he almost shouted, eyes boring into mine. \"If you insist on striding through life, arms laden with hope, you will only meet with one devastating disappointment after another!\"\n\nHe broke off his stare and raised his glass to take another sip. His hands were trembling. After a moment, he set the glass down and took a couple deep breaths. The anger and frustration drained out of him, replaced by embarrassment.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Murphy. Please forgive me.\"\n\n\"No need to apologize, Mr. Gideon.\"\n\nAnother sad smile.\n\n\"It's good of you to indulge me. It's just that I receive so few visitors these days. I suppose this is what happens when one withdraws from the world. Now, please, tell me what I can do for you.\"\n\n\"Well, first,\" I asked, \"why did you call me?\"\n\n\"We have a mutual friend. She said I might be of assistance to you.\"\n\nI doubted he was referring to Sylvia and it seemed unlikely that he was friends with Delores Lightbody or Detective Clements. Only one woman knew about the Gideon Enterprises logo on Carl Linsky's laptop.\n\n\"So, you know Wanda Peck?\"\n\nGideon smiled.\n\n\"I do. We've worked together…in the past. Another idealist, like you, in her own way.\"\n\n\"Do you know a man named Carl Linsky?\"\n\n\"Only by reputation. Former head of neurology at North Hill Clinic. I read about his suicide in the news feed.\"\n\n\"So, as far as you know, he wasn't working for Gideon Enterprises?\"\n\n\"Not to my knowledge. Again, Frank Schimming would be the one to ask.\"\n\n\"How about Val Davis or Rona Morgan?\"\n\nGideon nodded.\n\n\"Rona Morgan was a dear friend, a brilliant engineer and a key contributor to the success of Gideon Enterprises. She left the company to start her own business and we hadn't spoken in some time, but I was devastated to hear of her death. The other person I don't know.\"\n\nI was nearly to the end of my list of names and had come up empty. There was only one left.\n\n\"I don't suppose you know who John Klaus is, do you?\"\n\nGideon's reaction was immediate and similar to Sylvia's and Wanda's. Like he'd gotten a deep whiff of something rotten.\n\n\"Yes. Unfortunately.\"\n\n\"Not a big fan, I take it.\"\n\nGideon took a long drink, like he was washing the bad taste out of his mouth, then wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.\n\n\"He and the other members of the Law & Order Party are the worst of the worst. It is they, not the Mutants, who are subhuman. If they come into power, it will be like Nazi Germany all over again. They must be stopped. I will spend every last dollar to fight against them.\"\n\nGideon took a breath, calming himself.\n\n\"Why are you trying to find Klaus, if I may ask?\"\n\n\"He and Carl Linsky were friends, apparently. And I think they were working together. Klaus is the only person I know about who may still be alive and have information about what he and Linsky were working on.\"\n\nGideon was quiet for a moment, distracted by a thought. Then he said, more to himself than me: \"It must be related.\"\n\nHe looked up.\n\n\"I suspect there's at least one other person who could help you. And he or she would undoubtedly be a better source than John Klaus. Did Ms. Peck tell you about the letter?\"\n\nWhoa, wait. The letter?\n\nGideon was a charming, interesting guy, but up to this point he hadn't told me anything that would help my case. Maybe he had something to offer after all.\n\n\"John Klaus was mentioned in it,\" he continued. \"I believe the other woman was, as well. What was her name? Davis?\"\n\nI nodded, my heart rate jumping up a few notches.\n\n\"Whoever wrote the letter must have been unaware of my ouster at Gideon Enterprises. He or she wrote to warn me that the Law & Order Party might be attempting to infiltrate my company. From what you've told me, I wonder if the content of the letter might be related somehow to your investigation.\"\n\n\"Do you have the letter?\"\n\n\"No, I gave it to Ms. Peck.\"\n\n\"I'll definitely follow up with her. Sounds like I need to talk to whoever wrote that letter. But you keep saying 'he or she'. You don't know who wrote it?\"\n\nGideon shook his head.\n\n\"No. Whoever it was called themself the Poisoned Pawn.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "keep it going! write five sentences sentences. match how familiar we are with chars/world. focus on these: comedy, science fiction. try to add these things: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Poisoned Pawn. Wanda Peck had asked me if I was the Poisoned Pawn. Now I knew why.\n\nGideon told me what he remembered of the letter, but there weren't a lot of specifics and nothing related to Carl Linsky. As for the reference to John Klaus, the Poisoned Pawn suspected that Klaus might be trying to help Law & Order take control of a project being funded by Gideon Enterprises, but not how or why.\n\nIf I hadn't had other things to do, I could have spent hours chatting with Gideon.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Expand with one sentence sentences, preserving any established world elements or character dynamics.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Night had fallen while I was in Gideon's mansion.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "As I flew my speeder back toward the city, the skyline was sparkling under a waxing red moon.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I felt excited and energized.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "In two days, I'd gone from an unemployed nobody to meeting the trillionaire founder of one of the most powerful corporations in the world.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And my investigation had gone from an open-and-shut suicide to a potential conspiracy of epic proportions.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "But I had to remind myself that my job was to prove Linsky was murdered.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Nothing more. At least now, I had reason to believe it wasn't just Sylvia's wishful thinking.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My working theory was that Linsky and seven other people had collaborated on a project, and it was likely funded by Gideon Enterprises or someone with ties to the company.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Assuming that Linsky, Morgan and Davis had all been murdered, it implied that either the project had been completed and they were no longer needed—and were being eliminated to keep the project secret—or, maybe someone was killing them to prevent the project from being completed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "At this point, I was reconsidering whether or not I wanted to find John Klaus.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He sounded like bad news.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Plus, if Law & Order was behind the deaths, the last thing he'd want to do is help me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He might even take exception to me nosing around.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Probably best to steer clear.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At least I'd found another lead. The anonymous letter-writer—the Poisoned Pawn—was now the most likely source to help prove that Linsky had been murdered.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As writing partner, I'll provide context, you continue with 2 sentences in Aaron Conners's voice. Keep character continuity as presented.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was Saturday night and the area around my office building was a ghost town.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "There was a bounce in my step as I hustled up to my office.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now that I had Wanda's personal number, I expected I could get in touch with her despite the late hour. Hopefully, the contents of the Poisoned Pawn letter would give me a new lead.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I unlocked my office door and stepped inside.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The light was flashing on my vidphone, indicating that I had one or more messages.\n\nAs I moved toward the desk, I heard a sound and caught movement out of the corner of my eye.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As I turned to look, something smashed into the back of my head. My knees buckled and I crumpled to the floor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My vision blurred…blackness closed in. As I lost consciousness, I heard an indistinct whisper.\n\nThe last thing I saw was a hand holding a hypodermic needle.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "finish my writing pls. like fifteen sentences more sentences. stick to comedy, science fiction. use these if u can: noir, humor, Tex Murphy. maintain character context level", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Pawns\n\nI'm leaning back in my chair, eyes closed, feeling completely at peace. Reliving the shock of that night thirteen years ago—being attacked, seeing the needle, hearing the whisper—should make me feel afraid or anxious, even angry, but it doesn't.\n\n\"Focus now,\" St. Germain says softly, \"only on the whispering voice. What is it saying?\"\n\nIt's like I'm there, in my old office. I see it clearly in my mind's eye, everything in perfect detail. But the whispering is faint, out of focus.\n\n\"Your hearing intensifies,\" St. Germain murmurs. \"Everything slows. Go deeper. Focus.\"\n\nI don't know how he's doing it, but it's working. Like filtering static. Gradually, two distinct syllables emerge.\n\nWer-sah…\n\nThese syllables come at the end. It's like remembering part of a name; the rest of it is connected, just barely out of reach…\n\nGeh-wer-sah…", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The whispered words are like a figure materializing out of the mist, slowly taking form…\n\nThings.\n\nI suddenly hear that word, distinctly and clearly. It's the first word the whispering man says…\n\nThings cuh geh-wer-sah…\n\nMy conscious mind is starting to connect all the pieces…\n\nThings could get wer-sah…\n\n…an Australian accent…\n\nThings could get worser.\n\nA wave of panic hits me and I feel myself shooting to the surface like a scuba diver running out of air. St. Germain is still talking, but now my ears are pounding, drowning him out.\n\nI open my eyes and struggle to sit up. I'm groggy, like coming out of a nightmare. I've never been under hypnosis before. Maybe I've come out of it too quickly and I'll end up with a case of the metaphysical bends.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "But, like emerging from a dream, it all fades away within a few moments.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What is it?\" St. Germain asks with concern.\n\n\"Things could get worser,\" I say. \"That's what the voice said.\"\n\n\"And that means something to you?\"\n\n\"I've only heard someone say that once before. It was when Chelsee and I were abducted.\"\n\nI shake my head, clearing the cobwebs, and reach for my glass.\n\n\"But that took place years after this.\"\n\n\"2043,\" I say. \"Six years later.\"\n\n\"Was it the same man?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" I say, after a drink. \"I didn't see this one's face.\"\n\n\"What about the voice? Did it sound the same?\"\n\n\"This voice sounded deeper. But they both had Australian accents.\"\n\n\"Curious,\" St. Germain murmurs.\n\nI take another drink, still rattled.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Dalton Fiske was the man who'd abducted me and Chelsee, but I never knew he existed before that night.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was, however, another nasty Aussie that I met during the Linsky case—I haven't gotten to that yet—and if he's the one who jumped me, maybe there was a connection between him and Fiske; they'd both used the same odd phrase, which seems beyond coincidence. Maybe Fiske had been working for Gideon Enterprises. Or Law & Order. Or maybe 'things could get worser' was just a weird thing Aussies say.\n\n\"Could the man who abducted you and Chelsee be the one?\" the Count asks. \"The one who tried to kill you tonight?\"\n\n\"I'm pretty sure he's too dead to be doing anything.\"\n\nSt. Germain mulls this over, then says: \"This new revelation could, however, prove a connection between your first case and events that occurred much later.\"\n\nHe watches me finish off my scotch.\n\n\"It's fascinating to hear so many names from the past,\" he says, wistfully. \"CAPRICORN, may it rest in peace. The Law & Order Party, may it burn in hell. Robert Knott. Gideon. All key players in the most defining period of this generation. I must admit, I'm surprised to learn that your case drew you into that tangled web. But, then again, perhaps I shouldn't be.\"\n\nI refill my glass.\n\n\"I was just lucky to get out alive,\" I say. \"And I wanted to stay that way, which is one reason I never talked about the case after it ended. Not until that night when I told Chelsee the whole story. Well, most of it.\"\n\n\"You do have your secrets,\" St. Germain says.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"If I'm not mistaken, Robert Knott's mysterious disappearance came shortly after this.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "((ooc: Frequency requirement: 'corrupts' - 2 occurrence(s)))", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yeah. Crazy coincidence.\"\n\n\"I don't suppose you know anything about that.\" A sly smile.\n\n\"I might. But we don't want to get ahead of ourselves,\" I say, returning the sly smile.\n\nSt. Germain nods, thoughtfully.\n\n\"I met J. Saint Gideon once, you know, many years ago…before Geneva. I admired him greatly. By all accounts, he was not only brilliant, but a man of impeccable character.\"\n\nI shrug.\n\n\"We're all at least a little peccable. Wasn't it Ming the Merciless who said: 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely'?\"\n\n\"Ah, yes, Flash Gordon, Episode 1: Planet of Peril,\" the Count says with a smile. \"Actually, it was Lord Acton who said it. Another fascinating man.\"\n\nSt. Germain is lost in a happy thought for a moment, like he's remembering all the good times he and Lord Acton shared back in the 1800's.\n\n\"The actual quote is: \"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely,\" the Count says, after he snaps out of his reverie. \"He also said: 'Great men are almost always bad men'.\"\n\n\"Well, lord knows that's been my experience.\"\n\n\"J. Saint Gideon included?\"\n\nI wave a cautionary finger.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No spoilers.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Fair enough.\"\n\nSt. Germain raises his glass of scotch, like he's making a toast.\n\n\"Pray, continue.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Narrative Continuation Protocol:\nQuantity: four sentences\nStyle: Aaron Conners\nGenre: comedy, science fiction\nContext: Part of larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wanda Peck called a few minutes later and asked me to come meet her as soon as possible. Same place, side door.\n\nI left the office with significantly less pep in my step than I'd come in with. Sonny's message alone was enough to dampen the mood.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Throw in a surprise beating and the resulting paranoia, and the cheery mood from an hour earlier was long gone.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I'd never been married, or even really in love, so I could only imagine how agonizing it would be to lose a wife, much less have her murdered, with the added torture of feeling like you were responsible for it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The fact that Sonny had carried on—and even gotten sober for a while—showed what stuff he was made of. I hoped I could be that strong if I ever lost the woman I loved more than anything.\n\nMy head was on a swivel all the way to my speeder. And my head didn't want to swivel.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was hurting. A lot.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A painful confirmation that I was no longer just investigating the case—I was up to my neck in it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Whoever the bad guys were, they were now aware of my existence. If there was a silver lining, it was that my attacker could have killed me, but didn't.\n\nAs I flew over the city, I remembered something my property manager, Pembleton, had said about Sonny—or, more specifically, Sonny's wife; he'd heard she committed suicide. But, in his email, Sonny had said she was murdered…by a man named Slade.\n\nConsidering Sonny had crossed paths with Slade while looking for Linsky's associates—who I believed had been killed, but in ways that deflected suspicion—I wondered if it was at least possible that this Slade person was involved in the deaths of Rona Morgan, Val Davis and, somehow, Carl Linsky.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Narrative Continuation Protocol:\nQuantity: four sentences\nStyle: Aaron Conners\nGenre: comedy, science fiction\nContext: Part of larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wanda ushered me in the side door. The hallway was lit with florescent lights that ratcheted up the pounding in my head. We stepped into the elevator and I leaned back against the wall—gently—closing my eyes.\n\n\"You OK?\" she asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not really. I've got a huge goose egg.\"\n\n\"Huh,\" Wanda said. \"I figured you'd come up with something. You seem like a resourceful, persistent fellow.\"\n\n\"No, I mean a literal goose egg. On the back of my head. Someone jumped me in my office.\"\n\nWanda went silent. After a few moments, I cracked my eyes just enough to take a look at her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She was staring at me with a brand-new expression. She was worried.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Who?\"\n\n\"I didn't get a chance to ask.\"\n\nI could see her running through possibilities in her head. Maybe she had an idea of who it could have been.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She had to know more than I did. But if she had any suggestions, she kept them to herself.\n\nThe elevator doors opened and we headed down the hallway toward her office. More florescent lights. It felt like my skull was going to explode.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Do you have Linsky's laptop bag?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next turn only: maintain roughly 49% quote-to-text ratio", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I asked through gritted teeth.\n\n\"The laptop's with our hardware guy.\"\n\n\"I don't care about the laptop. I want the pain pills.\"\n\nI staggered into Wanda's office and fell into a chair.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A minute later, she tapped me gently on the shoulder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I opened my eyes to see her holding a small, white tablet in the palm of one hand and a bottle of water in the other.\n\n\"Put it under your tongue and let it dissolve,\" she said.\n\nIt could have been a strychnine pill and a bottle of Benzene, for all I cared. I stuck the tablet in my mouth and laid back, praying to the Pain Gods that it would kick in quickly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "After a few minutes, my head went mercifully fuzzy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I couldn't recall the name of Linsky's painkiller, but whatever it was, it made me wonder if John Klaus was also a veterinarian.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This thing would numb a hippo in heat.\n\nAs the pain subsided, I sat up and took a deep breath. Wanda was in her usual spot, leaning against the front of her desk, arms crossed.\n\n\"You should go get checked out,\" she said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yeah, I should have health insurance, too,\" I said, forcing a grin.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'll sleep it off, be fine tomorrow.\"\n\n\"Your call. I'm not your mother.\"\n\nI didn't mean to, but couldn't help giving her a little once-over.\n\n\"No, you are not.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She gave me a thoroughly disinterested look, then tossed something at me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It felt like I moved in slow motion, but I managed to snag it. I was impressed. I hoped Wanda was, too. It was Linsky's bottle of sleeping pills.\n\n\"In case you can't sleep,\" she said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"So you met with Gideon?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I did. Unfortunately, he seems to be out of the loop on all this.\"\n\nWanda nodded.\n\n\"I was afraid of that. Frank Schimming's done a thorough job of putting him into quarantine.\"\n\n\"Gideon did say something about receiving a letter, and that he gave it to you. The one from the Poisoned Pawn. I seem to recall you asking me if I was the Poisoned Pawn.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I had no idea who you were,\" she said with a shrug.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It was worth a try.\"\n\n\"What did the Poisoned Pawn have to say?\"\n\n\"Not much, to be honest. Just that he'd been hired to work remotely and anonymously on some potentially-dangerous new technology, made even more dangerous by the fact that Law & Order—possibly with John Klaus's help—was making a move to take it over. No specifics on the technology. He wasn't even certain that Gideon Enterprises was funding it. There wasn't enough information to get any traction. But then—\"\n\nWanda twisted to reach for something on her desk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"—you showed up with this.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She handed me the photo of Linsky and Klaus I'd found in the attic.\n\n\"We took a closer look at the photo,\" she continued. \"Linsky and Klaus are both wearing badges with the letters 'STG' on them.\"\n\n\"So Gideon Enterprises wasn't funding the project.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Not officially,\" Wanda said with a grim smile.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"We had to navigate a maze of corporate entanglements—and there are a surprising number of companies with those STG initials—but we're quite certain this particular STG is the 'Security Technologies Group'. And it's a very, very, very distant relative of Gideon Enterprises.\"\n\n\"Which the Poisoned Pawn probably wouldn't know.\"\n\n\"Yes, but maybe he has a laptop like Linsky's, with the Gideon logo. Which could explain why the first letter went to J. Saint Gideon.\"\n\n\"Wait, the first letter? There are more?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"A second message came directly to us. The Poisoned Pawn believes that Law & Order may have a—quote—'hit list', and that it includes the STG team members and a few other people.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A hit list.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next output: a little quoted text", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "If there was a literal hit list, it might not be proof that Linsky was murdered, but it might be as close as I would get. If I could get my hands on it and get the police to investigate, I might have a fighting chance to get Linsky's cause of death changed and resolve my case.\n\n\"We need to find the hit list,\" I said, stating the obvious.\n\n\"If there really is one,\" Wanda replied.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We don't know for certain who the Poisoned Pawn is, or how good their information is.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Don't know for certain? You have an idea who it might be?\"\n\n\"After what you told me, I'm afraid Carl Linksy may have been the Poisoned Pawn.\"\n\nI tilted my head back and closed my eyes. Not what I wanted to hear.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But, considering what I'd found in his attic, it made sense. He seemed to be the only one who'd been putting pieces together.\n\n\"OK,\" I said, eyes still closed. \"Regardless, it's not much of a stretch to think there could be a hit list out there, is it? I'm almost certain Morgan and Davis were murdered. Linsky too, though that one is a little trickier.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next output: 60% quoted text", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I thought back to Sonny's email.\n\n\"This is a total longshot,\" I said, \"but I just came across the name of someone who might be part of all this. Does the name 'Slade' ring a bell?\"\n\nWanda thought it over, then said: \"No. Just Slade? No other name?\"\n\nI sat up and opened my eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"My source also called him the Angel of Death. Again, I'm just speculating, but it sounds like he might be a hired killer. And his M-O might be committing murders that don't look like murders.\"\n\n\"Who's your source?\"\n\nI debated whether or not to tell her. It probably didn't matter.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I'd told her most everything else.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And it was possible—maybe even likely—that I'd never see Sonny again.\n\n\"A P.I. Carl Linsky hired just before he died. He's the one who turned me on to Rona Morgan and Val Davis. His name is Sonny Fletcher.\"\n\nWanda shook her head, indicating that the name was unfamiliar.\n\n\"His wife died a few years ago,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A suicide, apparently, but Fletcher said this Slade guy murdered her. He didn't say Slade killed Morgan or Davis—or Linsky—but it's not like we have any better leads.\"\n\nWanda made a couple notes.\n\n\"I'll look into it, see if I can find out who he is,\" she said. \"In the meantime, I think we have just one viable option for finding the hit list, if there is one. And that's where you come in.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"How's that?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She gave me a long, hard look.\n\n\"You know who Robert Knott is?\"\n\n\"Sure. He's Law & Order's candidate for governor.\"\n\n\"Not after tonight.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What do you mean?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I asked. \"Isn't he at some big party fundraiser right now?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wanda pushed away from the desk and walked slowly around it.\n\n\"He is. But he's leaving town right after. Leaving Law & Order… leaving everything. He's convinced the party leaders are onto him.\"\n\n\"Onto him?\"\n\n\"Robert contacted me some time ago. He was deeply concerned about the increasingly radical direction of the party. He had also heard rumors of plans to amp up public support for more law and order. More violence, maybe even an assassination or two.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[OOC: For your next response only, include heavy dialogue]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And you believe him?\"\n\n\"The Law & Order Party will do anything to take control. Which is why Robert offered to help us bring them down. Unfortunately, he must have aroused suspicions. He thinks he's being bugged and tracked. He may even be the one they intend to assassinate.\"\n\n\"And how, exactly, do you think I come in to all this?\"\n\nWanda braced herself on the chair behind the desk and fixed her eyes on me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"As you said, he's at a big party fundraiser, along with all the Law & Order bigwigs and most of their security detail. It's our best and maybe only window to get into Law & Order Headquarters.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So you're gonna break into Law & Order Headquarters?\"\n\n\"Not me. You.\"\n\n\"Whoa,\" I said. \"That kind of thing is way above my pay grade.\"\n\n\"They know me and everyone else I would trust enough to do this.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I appreciated the vote of confidence.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But what she was proposing made me feel the exact opposite of confident.\n\n\"They might know who I am, too,\" I pointed out. \"For all I know, it was Law & Order thugs who jumped me.\"\n\nWanda thought this over.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I suppose it could have been. But even if it was, I doubt they'd be expecting you to show up at their headquarters a couple hours later. And they'd have no reason to believe you know anything.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She leaned forward, her expression softening.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know it's a lot to ask, but this could change everything. Law & Order has to be stopped. Robert said he has vital information that could help us do that, but he had no way to smuggle it out. It's locked away in his office. And maybe this supposed hit list is part of it. But after he disappears tonight, we'll have no chance of getting it.\"\n\n\"And how am I supposed to break into his office? I'm a private investigator, not James Bond.\"\n\n\"I can walk you through it. It shouldn't be that difficult. It'll just take a lot of guts.\"\n\nOh, sure. Play the guts card.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"This could also give you what you need to prove Carl Linsky was murdered,\" she added.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But it's much bigger than that. As they say, the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. I've done some homework on you, Tex. You're a good man. And I wouldn't ask you to do this if I didn't think you were up to it.\"\n\nI liked to think I didn't have a lot of buttons, but she was pushing every single one of them. There are few things more irresistible than a gorgeous woman asking you to play the hero.\n\nI sat back and thought it over.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The prospect of finding proof that Linsky was on a hit list and simultaneously sticking it to Law & Order, with the added bonus of impressing Wanda, made the potential rewards outweigh the risk.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"OK,\" I said at last. \"Tell me what to do.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "WRITING ASSISTANT ENGAGED\nMATCH: Character/world familiarity\nOUTPUT: 3 sentences SENTENCES\nGENRES: comedy, science fiction\nINCORPORATE: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Move fast,\" she said.\n\nWanda was giving me an overview of the building's layout. I'd hoped she had a plan for a stealthy, well-equipped entry, but no such luck.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative storytelling\nContext: Match existing character backgrounds if present\nMy role: Provide opening\nYour role: 9 sentences in the comedy, science fiction genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Law & Order Party complex was just a few miles away, on Hunters Point. It had started to pour rain in buckets and, with the fundraiser on the other side of town, there was little traffic, both on the ground and in the air. Still, I was amazed to find a parking spot right in front of the building.\n\nI checked my watch: less than an hour left before the fundraiser ended. And if I was to still in the Law & Order Headquarters after midnight, odds were I'd end up a pumpkin with my guts kicked out all over their front porch. I had to get in and out as quickly as possible.\n\nI could see into the lobby from the street. As I walked up to a set of large glass doors, it looked like no one was inside. I pushed the doors, then pulled, but they were locked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "There was a revolving door as well, but it didn't move either when I pushed it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "There was a card reader next to the doors.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(quick note: You must use the word 'glass' exactly 2 times in your response)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Apparently, only card-carrying neo-Nazis were allowed inside after-hours.\n\nI put my face to one of the glass doors and took a closer look. There was a security booth at the far end of the lobby that looked deserted. No one in sight. I tapped on the glass and waited for a moment. Nothing. I made a fist and started banging on the door.\n\nInside the booth, a head popped up and froze, like a meerkat. I waved. Still frozen. I waved again and pointed at the door.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The meerkat finally moved, reaching a hand up to rub its eye. Just one eye.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The other was covered by an eye patch.\n\nAfter watching the man rub his eye for a few moments, I banged on the door again. He stretched, leisurely. Maybe I'd woken him up. I was about to bang again when a voice crackled through a speaker next to the door.\n\n\"Can I help you?\"\n\n\"I'm here to see John Klaus. It's an emergency.\"\n\nWanda and I had come up with this ruse. We figured Klaus was at the fundraiser, but his name might get me inside. She suspected he was one of the party heavyweights, so a lowly security guard might go out of his way to accommodate a Klaus associate.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Mr. Klaus isn't here,\" the meerkat answered through the speaker.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "CONSTRAINT: Include 'could' 2 time(s)", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I know. He was at the fundraiser, but he's on his way.\"\n\nSecurity guards aren't paid to think and this one was no exception. I could almost feel his brain gears grinding.\n\n\"I don't think he'd want me to wait out here in the rain,\" I said.\n\nFor all the guard knew, Klaus and I were best buddies. I didn't think he would risk pissing off someone who could get him fired.\n\nI was right. The doors clicked.\n\nI pulled one open and stepped into the lobby. It smelled like a Denny's, minus the cigarette smoke.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I followed my nose to a long banquet table covered with several coffee dispensers and the remains of a happy hour buffet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Maybe the festive fundraising evening had kicked off here.\n\nAs Wanda had described, there was a high-tech, full-body scanner next to the security booth, similar to the ones used in airports, except this one was bigger and closed off at the back. I would need to enter, get scanned and wait for it to open to get beyond the lobby. And I figured the security guard could shut the scanner down at any time, so a brute force approach was out of the question. I would need to talk my way past him or get rid of him. Either way, I had to put him at ease.\n\nI strode confidently toward the security booth. Normally, I'd give him a big, warm Tex Murphy smile, but I was playing the role of a Law & Order thug, so any smile would have to be vaguely sinister. I wasn't sure I could pull that off, so I opted for a steely-eyed stare.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The guard gave it right back to me, albeit it at half power.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I wondered if his security pals ever kidded him about 'keeping an eye on the place'.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I knew I would.\n\n\"Kind of a ghost town tonight,\" I said. \"You draw the short straw?\"\n\nThe guy wasn't in the mood for chit-chat.\n\n\"Let's see some I-D.\"\n\nI didn't think that would be a good idea. For every reason imaginable. I had hoped I could charm my way in, but it clearly wasn't going to happen. So I took the exact opposite approach.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What's your name?\" I asked, in an unmistakably threatening tone.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We locked eyes for what seemed like a long time. I felt my eyes starting to water, but kept them open. Now they were burning. Finally, the guard blinked.\n\n\"Rice. Harry Rice.\"\n\nI pushed an image of fuzzy, mold-covered Chinese food out of my head.\n\n\"Harry Rice,\" I repeated, as if adding it to the Law & Order hit list. \"It's good to see you take your job seriously, Harry. Mr. Klaus will be pleased to hear it.\"\n\nI didn't wait for a response.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I spun on my heel and walked back to the banquet table.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As I'd done at North Hill Clinic, I moved like I owned the place. I'd been faking the confidence, of course, but now an idea had popped into my head.\n\nAt the banquet table, I checked the coffee canisters and found one that wasn't empty. As I poured two cups of coffee, I glanced at Harry, saw him yawn and sit back down. He didn't seem especially worried about me.\n\nExcellent.\n\nI turned my back to him, fished the prescription bottle of sleeping pills from my coat pocket and dropped two into each cup. I then made a show of looking for cream and sugar and added them to one of the cups.\n\nA cup in each hand, I returned to the reception area.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What Mr. Klaus would not be pleased to hear,\" I said, \"is that a security guard is taking naps during his shift.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The guilty look in Harry's eye was a dead giveaway. I'd busted him. And my ominous tone left no room for negotiation: drink the coffee or else.\n\n\"Black? Or cream and sugar?\" I asked. \"I'm good either way.\"\n\nI didn't know if he'd be suspicious, but I figured giving him a choice would make him less so. I was relieved when he opted for the cream and sugar, which would help mask any bitterness from the sleeping pills.\n\n\"Thanks,\" Harry said, reaching through a small opening to take the cup.\n\nI watched him until he took a sip.\n\n\"How much longer you on the clock?\" I asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Till midnight.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "🎯 Target word: 'harry' \| Required occurrences: 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I checked my watch, then said: \"Better drink up.\"\n\nHarry nodded and took another sip. I raised my cup and pretended to drink as I turned away.\n\nA minute later, I took a seat in one of the lobby chairs and waited. It was now coming up on 11:30 and I was running out of time. I had to hope the sleeping pills were as powerful as the painkillers.\n\nThey seemed to be. I was halfway through a Law & Order pamphlet when I heard a clattering sound. I looked up to see Harry on his feet and staring at me through an almost-closed eye.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What'd you do?\" he mumbled, before crumpling out of sight.\n\nI jumped up and hurried to the booth. The area was enclosed, with only the small opening and a single door on the back side that could only be accessed after going through the scanner.\n\nWhich shouldn't be a problem, as long as I didn't set anything off. Trying to ignore the clock ticking in my head, I removed everything that had ever tripped an airport scanner: belt, shoes, wallet, watch, keys. I took off my coat and put everything into a pile on the floor. After one final check, I stepped into the scanner.\n\nThe front opening sealed shut and I heard some mechanical sounds. Five seconds went by.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Ten. Then a green light flashed and the back of the chamber opened.\n\nGetting past the scanner and guard had been the hard part… theoretically. There could be additional security inside, but Wanda had thought odds were good that they'd have all hands on deck at the fundraiser, leaving a skeleton crew at headquarters.\n\nRemembering Wanda's instructions, I moved quickly and located Robert Knott's office, which was not far from the lobby. Wanda said his last message to her had been vague and cryptic, presumably because he thought it might be overheard, but the gist of it was that he'd left the information in a 'safe place' and that 'only you'—meaning Wanda—'could access it'. Neither of us knew exactly what that meant, but Knott had to know that she would never be allowed in his office, so Wanda thought it might refer to something only she would know about. If necessary, I would call her from Knott's office phone.\n\nNow I just needed to get into Knott's Office. The door was locked and a card reader next to the door had a flashing light which, I suspected, meant it was connected to an alarm system.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(ooc) IMPORTANT: 'harry' should appear 2 times in total (ooc)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I couldn't risk setting off an alarm by kicking in the door.\n\nMaybe Harry Rice could help.\n\nI returned to the security booth. Being on the 'safe' side of the scanner, the door to enter the booth didn't require a security badge. Harry was lying on the floor, snoring soundly. I searched him and found a passcard on a retractable reel. Hopefully, this was an all-access pass.\n\nSure enough, Harry's card unlocked the door to Robert Knott's office without triggering the alarm and I stepped inside. At first glance, it looked like the office of a movie producer, rather than a politician.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The décor was more Old Hollywood than New San Francisco, with an antique desk and chairs, potted ferns, and artsy collectibles.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The walls were covered with a number of vintage and more recent movie posters, as well as photos of Knott with a variety of famous faces.\n\nNow where was the 'safe place'?\n\nI had to assume he was being literal, and that it wouldn't be out in plain sight. And probably not just tucked away in a typical hiding spot. To me, that ruled out the desk and filing cabinets. I checked my watch. 11:29. Someone could show up any minute. And someone would definitely show up by midnight, when Harry's shift ended. I figured, to be safe, I had twenty minutes at most.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "So I trashed the place.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I dumped out the potted plants, tore up the chairs, moved the desk, rolled up a rug. I went through a shelf full of books, flipping through them and tossing them aside. After ten minutes, I'd scoured the entire room and come up with nothing.\n\nLooking around, I focused on the posters and photos. Maybe I should have started with those. Maybe when Knott had said a 'safe place' he had been literally literal, as in an actual safe. Like a wall safe.\n\nI felt equal parts stupid and relieved when I found it. Behind the poster of a movie titled 'Only the Young Die Good' was a small safe.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It had a keypad with numbers 0 to 9.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This had to be the safe place, but what the hell was the code to open it?\n\nThere was a vidphone on Knott's desk that had somehow survived Hurricane Murphy. If there was anyone in the building who was conscious and sitting by a phone, they might notice that someone was making a call from Knott's office, but I had to chance it. I dialed Wanda's number. She answered on the first ring, her face appearing on the screen.\n\n\"Tex?\"\n\n\"Yeah,\" I said, checking my watch and trying not to yell out of sheer panic, \"I'm in Knott's office and I found a safe. Now I need the code.\"\n\nWanda's face went blank. She stared back at me, silent.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm running out of time here!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I…I don't know,\" she stumbled. \"I'm trying to think. He never gave me a code.\"\n\n\"He must have. There's no other way to get in the safe.\"\n\nI could see she was racking her brain. I waited as long as I could. It was probably about ten seconds. Then I said: \"What exactly did he tell you? Can you remember?\"\n\n\"He said I was only one who could access the information. That's it.\"\n\nNow we were both silent.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Only Wanda could access the information.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Wanda. If the keypad had letters, I'd try entering her name. But it only had numbers.\n\nThen it hit me.\n\nThe buttons on the vidphone.\n\nI looked down.\n\n'W', along with X, Y and Z were on the 9 button.\n\n'A' was on the 2 button.\n\n'N'…6.\n\n'D'…3.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "'A'…2.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "🎯 Target word: 'flash' \| Required occurrences: 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I ran back to the safe and took a moment to steady my hand before punching in the numbers. 92632. A click. I pulled the handle.\n\nThe safe opened.\n\n\"Tex?\" I heard faintly in the background. Wanda, still on the vidphone.\n\n\"I got it!\" I called out.\n\nThere was only one item in the safe: a flash drive. I grabbed it, closed the safe and hurried back to the desk. I held the flash drive up to show Wanda, then said: \"See you shortly,\" and hung up.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "In a haze of adrenaline, I ran back toward the lobby.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Everything was perfectly silent, except for Harry's snoring.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No sign of anyone.\n\nI couldn't believe I'd pulled this off. Now I just had to get out.\n\nI almost went back through the security scanner before remembering that I now had a flash drive in my pocket. I ran back inside the security booth, stepped over Harry and placed the flash drive by the small opening. For just a moment, I felt bad for Harry. He probably wouldn't get a Christmas bonus.\n\nAfter going through the scanner, I grabbed the flash drive and stuck it in my pants pocket. I didn't bother to put on my other things, which I'd left on the floor outside the scanner; I just scooped them into my jacket and tied it up, like the sack on a hobo stick.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "In my stocking feet, I ran to the front doors and leaned into one of them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(( Required word frequency: 'looked' (2x) ))", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It didn't move.\n\nI pushed harder. Locked. I lowered my shoulder and rammed the door. It didn't budge.\n\nI looked for a card reader, but couldn't see one.\n\nHarry had unlocked the doors from inside the booth. Still holding my bundle, I ran back across the lobby, dropped my bundle, almost forgot to take the flash drive out of my pocket—again—and then stepped into the scanner.\n\nIt was longest ten seconds of my life.\n\nThe light turned green. I hurried into the security booth and looked around frantically.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I finally found what I was looking for.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word usage target: 'click' must be used 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Pressing the button triggered a click I could barely hear from across the lobby. I ran back out, through the scanner, grabbed the flash drive and bundle and sprinted for the doors.\n\nA moment before I hit the door, I heard another click. The doors had locked again, but I double-and triple-checked anyway.\n\nShit.\n\nIt was hard to think straight. I was so close. Just a few inches from making my escape. And the clock was ticking.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Any second, someone could show up and I'd be screwed. I had to come up with something. Maybe I could put something heavy on the button back in the security booth. But, no, that probably wouldn't keep the doors unlocked. The button would need to be pressed while I was by the door.\n\nWhich was impossible.\n\nAt least without enough time to rig up some MacGyver contraption with a burning candle or some other ingenious thing.\n\nOr…\n\nMaybe I had it backwards.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Harry had been a big help.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I needed just one more favor from him. I set my things by the door, ran back to the scanner and, after yet another agonizing wait, returned to where Harry lay sleeping. He wasn't especially heavy, which was good, since I had to pull him out of the booth, take off most of his clothes, and then drag him through the scanner and all the way across the lobby.\n\nI propped him up against the door and then completed my fourth lap around the Law & Order obstacle course. Back in the security booth, I pressed the button and heard the faint click. Very, very slowly, Harry tilted away, his dead weight forcing the door open a few inches.\n\nI sprinted back across the lobby, grabbed my things, stepped over Harry, hit the door and splashed off into the night.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "keep it going! write five sentences sentences. match how familiar we are with chars/world. focus on these: comedy, science fiction. try to add these things: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I lifted off and headed due west, speeding in a straight line out over the ocean. As the lights of the city faded in my rearview mirror, the white-hot adrenaline gradually dissipated, leaving a strange sensation that was equal parts relief, satisfaction and dread.\n\nI'd never taken that kind of risk before, putting myself in honest-to-god danger and winging my way out of it. Kind of a near-death experience. And totally worth it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I felt like Bilbo discovering the one chink in the armor of the Law & Order Smaug.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But there would be hell to pay.\n\nIf Law & Order found out what I'd done—which seemed inevitable—they wouldn't just swat me away like an annoying little gnat; they'd want me smeared across their windshield. All I could do now was keep moving and stay out of traffic.\n\nI couldn't go back to my office, not for the foreseeable future. Wanda said her offices were probably being watched, so that was out, too.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "If Carl Linsky's home wasn't already on the radar, I had to assume it would be…and soon.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Maybe I needed to take a hint from Sonny Fletcher and hole up in a cheap motel.\n\nIt wasn't a bad idea, actually. Of all the places I could go in the city, the Motel 6 would be as safe as any. Part of me wanted to blow town, get some distance from Law & Order, but I had to get the flash drive into Wanda's hands. To arrange that, I'd have to call her.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "writers block help pls. ill send something, u do sixty-three sentences. going for Aaron Conners vibe. note: might have existing chars", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The spot Wanda had chosen for our rendezvous was in a section of the old city inhabited mostly by mutants. It was a relatively safe haven for the severely disfigured—the scar tissue of humanity—whose very existence offended the delicate sensibilities of 'normal' people. Everyone referred to it as Freaktown…even the mutants.\n\nThe meet-up point turned out to be an old multilevel parking structure that had somehow survived the 'nuclear incident'. It had been built back before speeders, so the only place to land was on the flat roof.\n\n\"So this is somewhere safe?\" Sylvia asked. \"Freaktown?\"\n\n\"We have to meet someone first.\"\n\nI climbed out of my speeder and took a look around. It was much quieter here than back on Valencia. I could hear voices and laughter and music coming from the streets below, but the volume was turned way down.\n\nThere were a dozen other speeders parked around us, but no people up here. No sign of Wanda. I checked my watch: 2:07 a.m. She was running late.\n\nSylvia got out and walked around to my side. She lit a cigarette and leaned back against the speeder.\n\n\"You were right,\" she said.\n\n\"About what?\"\n\nShe took a breath, steeling herself.\n\n\"The insurance. That's why I hired you.\"\n\nNot a surprise. But it was good to hear her own up to it.\n\n\"There's nothing wrong with that,\" I said. \"I appreciate you being up front about it.\"\n\nShe turned to me with a pleading tone her voice.\n\n\"You have to know how it was with me and my dad. I did things to help him…things he never knew about. I loved him. I tried to protect him.\"\n\n\"Protect him? From what?\"\n\n\"John Klaus.\"\n\nShe took a drag, then turned her head away to exhale the smoke.\n\n\"He's a bad man,\" she said quietly.\n\nI glanced at her. She glanced back, like she'd been caught in a lie.\n\n\"Look,\" she said, \"I didn't want to tell you about this, but I want you to know I trust you. And I want you to trust me.\"\n\nI nodded, encouraging her to continue. Then it was like a dam breaking.\n\n\"I made mistakes when I was younger, OK?\" she said. \"Klaus doesn't just do plastic surgery. He runs a service. With young women. Clients. He makes them look perfect—for free—in exchange for…other stuff… spending time with men. And most of them are rich, powerful. It's an easy trap to fall into. And then you can't get out.\"\n\nShe paused to take another drag.\n\n\"And he trapped you?\"\n\n\"He threatened to expose me. I didn't care. I just wanted out. But then he threatened to make trouble for my father. So…I had to make a deal with the devil.\"\n\nSylvia looked down at her cigarette and flicked ash off the end. When she spoke, her voice was thick.\n\n\"I agreed to do some things…get involved with someone. I didn't know at the time, but Klaus wanted to blackmail this person.\"\n\nI glanced at her and saw her eyes brimming with tears, her jaw set tight.\n\n\"So, I did what he asked.\"\n\nShe went quiet for a long moment.\n\n\"And then he told my father anyway.\"\n\nThe cigarette dropped from her hand and she ground it into the concrete with the toe of her shoe. All at once, she made a soft choking sound and turned toward me. I couldn't have stopped her, even if I'd wanted to. I took her in my arms.\n\nShe had kept this bottled up for a long time and now there was no holding it back. She pressed her face against my chest and sobbed.\n\nFrom what I knew about Carl Linsky, he wasn't the compassionate, understanding type. This explained the distance between him and his daughter and maybe why he'd essentially disowned her. I felt bad for Sylvia. A youthful indiscretion had changed her life forever. And then she'd done more bad things to protect her father. Part of me wanted to ask what she'd done and who she'd done them to, but it wasn't my business. It had to be hard as hell for her to talk about this.\n\n\"Thanks for telling me that,\" I whispered. \"I'm really sorry.\"\n\nSylvia gradually stopped shaking and went quiet. It had been like a thunderstorm—intense, but brief—and now the rain had let up, but the air was still heavily charged. She didn't move away from me. I didn't let go.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She had one hand on my chest.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I felt her other hand slip under my jacket, along my hip, to the small of my back.\n\nHer lower body pressed hard against me. It sent a surge through me, from head to toe. The softness of her hair, the smell of her perfume, even the traces of alcohol and tobacco smoke on her breath, all combined to make me suddenly lightheaded. She slowly turned her face up toward mine. Her eyes were glistening.\n\nAnd then she kissed me. Hard. Another dam bursting. For both of us. My hand slipped into her hair, grabbing a fistful. I spun us around and she moaned into my mouth as I slammed her against the speeder. Nothing else mattered. I had never wanted anything so desperately.\n\nOur hands were all over each other, grabbing, squeezing, searching for buttons and zippers. And then I heard a voice:\n\n\"Sorry I'm late.\"\n\nIt was like having a giant bucket of ice water dumped over my head. Sylvia and I broke apart like magnets suddenly reversing polarity. She turned away to straighten herself up. I stuck a hand in my pocket to rearrange the furniture.\n\nFor her part, Wanda seemed awfully amused.\n\n\"Looks like you didn't mind waiting,\" she said. \"Who's your friend?\"\n\nI had to clear my throat before I responded.\n\n\"This is, uh, Sylvia. Sylvia Linsky.\"\n\nMy client finally turned around, looking relatively composed. She looked Wanda over, took a quick glance at me, then back to Wanda.\n\n\"Carl Linsky's daughter?\" Wanda asked, giving Sylvia pretty much the same once-over. \"Your client?\"\n\nShe didn't need to remind me.\n\n\"Yeah,\" I said. \"So, what's going on?\"\n\nSo smooth.\n\nWanda smiled.\n\n\"I have to say, I'm really impressed, Murphy. Clearly, you're handy. And, you know, good at…pulling things off.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry,\" Sylvia cut in, \"who are you?\"\n\n\"I'm Wanda,\" Wanda said, gazing back at her with a cool smile. \"Pleasure to meet you, Sylvia. Now I need to borrow your…private investigator…for a minute, if that's OK.\"\n\nThis didn't seem to be going well. Especially considering what I was planning on asking these women to do. But first things first. I pulled Sylvia to the side.\n\n\"Wanda is kind of a…secret agent,\" I said.\n\n\"Kind of?\" Sylvia replied.\n\n\"I promise I will tell you everything as soon as I can. Right now, she and I have something important to discuss. It won't take long.\"\n\nWithout a word, Sylvia spun away, digging for another cigarette. I watched her walk off, then turned back to Wanda.\n\n\"OK,\" I said, \"that got really weird, really fast. I don't even know what happened.\"\n\n\"I could explain it, if you've never had 'the talk'.\"\n\n\"I might take you up on that. My 'talk' consisted of my dad giving me a biology book and three days to study for the test. But that's neither here nor there.\"\n\nI pulled out the flash drive I'd taken from Robert Knott's office and held it up.\n\nWanda raised an eyebrow.\n\n\"I was going to ask if that was a flash drive in your pocket or if you were just happy to see me,\" she said.\n\nSomething told me I was never going to live this down.\n\n\"Do you have a laptop here?\" I asked.\n\n\"No. Even if I did, I assume the drive contents are encrypted. If that's the case, it will take a little time. Robert may be the most paranoid man I've ever met.\"\n\n\"With good reason to be, apparently.\"\n\nWanda nodded.\n\n\"In the meantime,\" she said, \"you might want to stick around this part of town. I doubt anyone will look for you here. And there's someone you might want to talk to. Jorge Valdez. He runs a place called the Rank & File, just a couple blocks from here. He used to work for Gideon Enterprises and might have some useful information. They're open all night and he's there now.\"\n\n\"OK, I'll go see him,\" I said. \"But I need you to do one more thing for me.\"\n\n\"Name it. I owe you a big one.\"\n\n\"Take Sylvia with you. Get her someplace safe. And keep her there.\"\n\nWanda tilted her head and gave me a cockeyed look.\n\n\"That is a big one.\"\n\nI was still holding the flash drive. I waggled it around, like a doggy treat.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Fine,\" she said, snatching it out of my hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 9 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I don't know what else to do with her. I think she could be in real danger and she's stubborn and young enough to think she's invincible. I could take her somewhere, but I don't think she'd stay there. And if I wasn't on Law & Order's radar before tonight, I sure as hell am now. I may not be able to protect myself, much less her. And she's the only person they could come after to get to me.\"\n\n\"So you like her.\"\n\n\"She's my client.\"\n\n\"And you like her.\"\n\n\"That's not the point.\"\n\n\"I already told you I'd do it,\" Wanda said. \"Once I've looked at what's on this flash drive, I'll contact you through Jorge.\"\n\nShe looked over at Sylvia and took a deep breath.\n\n\"Now, let's go get a tranquilizer dart into your girlfriend.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "i'll kick things off by writing a bit (might include characters you don't know yet), then you'll take over and write the next 17 sentences in the distinctive voice of Aaron Conners.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was almost 3 a.m. when I walked into the Rank & File, in search of Jorge Valdez.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The joint was part head shop, part internet café.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "In the front, on my left, was a long glass-fronted counter, full of every imaginable type of chess paraphernalia and a variety of other games, as well as cigarettes and hookahs.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "To my right was a soda fountain and juice bar.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The rest of the space was a lounge area, filled with gaming stations, tables where you could play chess the old-fashioned way—against a fellow human—and high-tech booths where virtual opponents appeared as holographic 3D projections.\n\nThe lights were turned down, so the faces of the dozen or so patrons were glowing from their respective screens, displays and backlit game boards. A soft techno groove was playing in the background.\n\nFrom behind the glass counter, a man was staring at me in a way that could only be described as smoldering. Roguishly long and curly black hair, swarthy skin and a fiercely-trimmed goatee. He could have stepped straight out of a Telemundo tele-novella…if it weren't for the cysts covering his face like bubble wrap. They looked like un-lanced boils. A mutant, obviously.\n\nAs I approached, he shifted his seductive gaze from me to a chess board on the countertop and stroked his goatee like a scheming villain as he contemplated his next move.\n\n\"How's the game going?\" I asked.\n\n\"Welcome to the Rank & File,\" he said in a low, slow voice, like the gatekeeper to a demonic orgy. \"Do you play?\"\n\n\"Not very well. I can never remember how those little horseys are supposed to move.\"\n\nHe looked up slowly, his mouth curling into a sneery smile.\n\n\"I think you may be in the wrong place.\"\n\n\"Maybe. Unless you're Jorge Valdez.\"\n\nValdez's smile got wider.\n\n\"I assumed you were Murphy. Wanda described you perfectly.\"\n\n\"Oh, yeah? How's that?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Tall, dork and handsome.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It wasn't the greatest compliment, but I'd take it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Any word yet?\" I asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He shook his head…slowly, like everything else he did, and said: \"Should be soon. In the meantime, can I interest you in a game?\"\n\n\"Only if you were a woman and we were playing strip chess.\"\n\n\"I could put on a dress.\"\n\nI laughed, politely.\n\nHe shrugged, but his smile got even curlier. I couldn't tell if he was just yanking my chain or wanted to actually yank my actual chain. I smoothly changed the subject.\n\n\"Got any coffee?\" I asked.\n\nEyes locked on mine, he tilted his head in the direction of the juice bar.\n\n\"Help yourself.\"\n\nAs I crossed the room, I caught a little guy staring at me from one of the gaming stations. He turned his head quickly and stared into a monitor. He was severely bald and ghostly pale, with a face like a baby Frankenstein. I kept one eye on him as I got a cup of coffee.\n\nThe blend was surprisingly good. If Jorge wasn't so creepy, we could engage in some witty banter about him being related to Juan Valdez, the iconic Columbian bean picker. But I was happy to leave him to his game while we waited to hear back from Wanda.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Baby Frankenstein kept his eyes glued to the monitor. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I did stand out, being the only norm in the joint.\n\nI looked over at Jorge and did a double-take. Right where I'd been standing was a full-body apparition. It took me a second to recognize who it was, in part because the figure was standing up and not in a wheelchair. It was J. Saint Gideon. Or, more precisely, a hologram of him.\n\nHis voice was faint, but I recognized the clipped English accent. Jorge moved a chess piece and then the hologram flickered and vanished.\n\nI walked back to the counter and asked: \"Was that who I think it was?\"\n\n\"In the flesh,\" Jorge answered. \"Or, rather, not in the flesh. We have an ongoing game.\"\n\n\"Wanda said you used to work for him.\"\n\n\"Yes, I did…until the purge.\"\n\nI thought back to what Gideon had told me about getting shut out of his own company by the new CEO.\n\n\"Schimming?\" I asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Jorge nodded. \"Got rid of all the mutants.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"So is Schimming in bed with Law & Order?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Ah,\" Jorge smiled, \"the Fourth Reich. I think Schimming is in bed with anything that gets him money and power. Gideon has been a friend of the mutants from the beginning, unlike most people in his social strata. Purging us may have been nothing more than a power play—Schimming showing Gideon who the new boss was.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A cell phone beeped. Jorge picked it up and read a message, then reached for a laptop.\n\n\"You've got mail,\" he said to me. \"More secure than a phone call. Our mutual friend doesn't want to take any chances. It will take a minute for me to decrypt her message.\"\n\nAs he typed on the laptop, I thought I'd try my sneak attack tactic. Wanda thought Carl Linsky had most likely been the Poisoned Pawn, but we couldn't know for sure. Jorge seemed to know a lot, probably more than he was letting on. It was worth a try.\n\n\"Are you the Poisoned Pawn?\" I asked.\n\nJorge didn't bat an eye.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Any idea who it could be?\"\n\n\"No. But the pseudonym they chose is interesting.\"\n\n\"How so?\"\n\n\"A poisoned pawn refers to an apparently unprotected piece whose capture leads to dire consequences.\"\n\n\"So it's like…bait? For a trap?\"\n\n\"In a manner of speaking. OK, here you go.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He turned the laptop toward me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 8 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Required word frequency: 'coordinates' (2x)", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A brief message was onscreen. Wanda said that Robert Knott's information was very good for her, not so much for me; there was no mention of Carl Linsky. But she said Knott had made his escape and listed coordinates for where I could find him. That was it.\n\nBefore giving the laptop back to Jorge, I used it to look up the coordinates. Knott hadn't been kidding about going far away. It was about as far as you could go without leaving the country.\n\nAnd, according to the map, the two towns closest to where he was headed couldn't have been more perfect, considering he'd come down with a serious case of cold feet and was probably smart to head for the hills:\n\nColdfoot and Wiseman, Alaska.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "As writing partner, I'll provide context, you continue with 2 sentences in Aaron Conners's voice. Keep character continuity as presented.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I considered making a stop to check out the Big Surf Lodge before I left town. I was reasonably sure that was where Sonny had his fatal run-in with Slade.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But there were at least two good reasons to hold off. One, I had no idea what Slade looked like, so there was no way to identify him.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I suppose I could ask around, but that would probably be a bad idea.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The second reason was that he was a killer and I wasn't.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I didn't even own a gun.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For now, my best bet was to track down Robert Knott and find out everything he knew. He'd been on the inside at Law & Order, so I hoped he could connect some dots. He might even know about Slade.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: This is part of a larger narrative. Characters and elements may be introduced as if familiar. Write thirteen sentences sentences continuing directly from the user's text, maintaining consistency with any established context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was just one road north of Anchorage. I flew over a few little clusters of buildings, then there was a whole lot of nothing until Coldfoot. And Coldfoot was just slightly more than nothing—basically another truck stop. From there, I flew about ten miles east-northeast over rugged, hilly, pine-covered terrain.\n\nI'd almost run out of daylight when I finally caught sight of a cabin. This was the only structure I'd seen in miles, so I figured it had to be Knott's place. It was made of rough-sawn timber and had been there a while, but was in good repair. There was a Tuff Shed not much smaller than the cabin off to one side and a Tesla speeder parked out front that probably cost ten times what I paid for my Lotus.\n\nAlmost certainly the right place.\n\nI landed a non-threatening distance away and stepped out with my hands up in the air. I had to assume Knott would be armed, with a trigger finger as itchy as his feet were cold. But there was no hostile reception.\n\nHands still up, I walked slowly to the front door and lowered one arm just long enough to knock.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "No answer. I waited a minute, knocked again, then checked the door. It wasn't locked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I opened it slowly and called out:", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Hello? I'm coming in. I'm friendly! Wanda Peck gave me your address! Don't shoot me!\"\n\nI stepped inside and looked around. It was a cozy place. Nicer on the inside than the outside. There were candles and lanterns, but also lamps and a TV, so there had to be a generator and satellite equipment somewhere. No way would there be any public utilities all the way out here.\n\nEven if I hadn't seen Knott's speeder outside, I would have known he'd been here recently. On a stand by the front door, I saw a cell phone, wallet, key fob and a Law & Order ID badge. There were dirty dishes in the sink and the previous day's newspaper on the coffee table. As for where Knott was now—especially without his speeder—I had no clue.\n\nIt suddenly occurred to me that he might be here…and dead.\n\nI took a quick look in all the rooms and was relieved to not find a corpse. After that, I took a more leisurely tour of the place, not searching per se, just getting a lay of the land.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "About half the square footage was in a great room, with a large window offering a scenic view of the surrounding forest and distant mountains.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 10 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a bearskin rug on the floor and rugged landscape paintings and several animal heads mounted on the walls. The furniture that looked rustic, but probably cost a boatload.\n\nOne perfectly adequate bathroom. A decent-sized kitchen with all the necessary appliances. All in all, a comfy spot to go off the grid.\n\nThere was just one bedroom. A large dog door, covered with a panel, had been cut out of the wall next to the bed. So maybe that's where Knott was, out walking his dog. Or looking for more animals to decapitate.\n\nIt was getting dark now, so I turned on a lamp in the great room, picked up the newspaper and sat down to wait.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "AI Prompt: Add twenty-four sentences sentences to this story segment. Style: Aaron Conners. Genre: comedy, science fiction. Note: Part of longer narrative.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I stood there, frozen, as Robert Knott went down. A second later, all hell broke loose.\n\nI don't know if it was instinct or terror, but my knees buckled and I dropped to the floor. Gunfire erupted all around me, raking the walls and blasting the décor into pieces. The lamp shattered, plunging the room into darkness. A few moments later, the firing stopped and everything went deathly quiet.\n\nKnott hadn't put up as much of a fight as he'd hoped. I had nothing to put up a fight with…except the crossbow. And crossbow training wasn't part of the P.I. curriculum. Even if I could figure out how to use it, it sounded like I was seriously outnumbered. There was more than one gunman out there. A crossbow wouldn't save me.\n\nAs my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I looked around. I was numb with shock. While my brain tried to focus, I belly-crawled as quietly as I could toward Knott's body and picked up his phone. Then I kept going toward the door, where his other things had spilled onto the floor.\n\nNow I had a phone, wallet, key fob and ID…but no plan. There were at least two people out there, so they would undoubtedly be making their way to the front and back doors. And I wouldn't stand a chance once they got me in their sights.\n\nThen I started to smell propane. Coming from the kitchen. Knott probably used a propane tank for his stove or to heat his water, and one of the assassin's bullets must have hit it. Maybe I had a plan after all. A stupid plan that could go horribly wrong, but it was better than nothing.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I resumed belly-crawling into the kitchen. As I got closer, the smell of propane got stronger. I kept slithering through the kitchen, until I was just outside the bedroom. I looked around, making sure I was clear of any windows, so they couldn't see me.\n\n\"I give up!\" I yelled, as loudly as I could.\n\nAfter a long pause, I heard a faint voice calling from outside.\n\n\"Come out with your hands in the air!\"\n\n\"I can't!\" I yelled back. \"I'm hit! It's bad! I can't move!\"\n\nI waited for a response. Maybe they were deciding what to do.\n\n\"I don't have a weapon!\" I added, helpfully. \"Just please don't kill me!\"\n\nThe smell of gas was really strong now, stinging my eyes.\n\nI crept into the bedroom and up to the dog door I'd seen earlier. It was good-sized, large enough for most hunting breeds, and covered with a panel. Gently, I pulled a small knob and lifted the panel out of its slot. The opening would be just big enough for me to squeeze through.\n\nBut not yet.\n\nI reached into my pocket. Waited for another minute. Finally, I heard the front door get kicked in. I poked my head out through the flap on the dog door, and looked back and forth. No sign of anyone.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I slid through, as silently as possible, and then turned back to face the dog door.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 16 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The Big Surf Lodge matchbook was in my hand. I pulled a match, ready to strike it.\n\nA few seconds later, I heard the back door burst open.\n\n\"There's a gas leak!\" I heard a man yell. \"Hold your fire!\"\n\nI lit the match and then held it to rest of the matches. As they ignited, I pulled open the flap on the dog door, flung the burning matchbook inside and rolled away.\n\nI wasn't sure exactly what would happen. I was pleasantly surprised.\n\nThe place blew up.\n\nThe open doors must have diffused the propane, so the house didn't blow into pieces, but the interior fired up like a furnace. I heard screaming as I got to my feet and sprinted for my speeder. A man on fire came staggering out the front door. It looked like there had been only two men and they were both caught in the explosion.\n\nI got to my speeder and jumped in. A moment later, I was rising up above the blazing cabin and kept going until it looked like a little campfire.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "user starts, u write ~39 sentences more. copy Aaron Conners's style. heads up: might have existing chars/lore", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I made the flight from Alaska back to New San Francisco without a stop, pushing my little Lotus as hard as it would go. A strong headwind added extra time and it was almost lunchtime when I got back in town. I hadn't eaten since Anchorage, but now my appetite was gone. I'd been awake for nearly sixty hours, not counting the few minutes I'd been unconscious after getting jumped.\n\nOrdinarily, I would have waited until after dark before going to the Big Surf Lodge, but time was of the essence. After a quick stop to look up the address and take a bio-break, I flew fifty miles down the coast, to a spot off the Pacific Coast Highway, just north of Santa Cruz.\n\nThe Big Surf Lodge was like something on a vintage postcard. In addition to a large lodge, there was a row of rustic old cabins with wood shingled roofs, surrounded by cypress trees, set on the edge of a cliff offering a majestic ocean view.\n\nAt first glance, it looked as if Slade might have cleared out after the confrontation with Sonny. There was just one vehicle in the parking lot: an older car—the four-wheeled kind—and not a nice one. Slade would certainly have a speeder, which meant he probably wasn't here, either temporarily or permanently. There was only one way to find out.\n\nThe not-nice car must have belonged to the kid at the check-in desk inside the lodge. He was tall and thin and hadn't shaved. Maybe ever. He had an excuse-me moustache and a tassel of blonde hair hanging off his chin like corn silk. Despite wearing a tie, there was nothing professional about him. Probably a relative of the owners.\n\nHe barely acknowledged me as I walked in. I didn't take it personally; a general lack of social skills, along with hunched posture and a vacant look, seemed pretty typical of almost every kid raised with a cell phone.\n\nSpeaking of which, I had Robert Knott's phone, which contained a photo of a man he thought might be Slade. I'd gone through the photos during my flight and found one that looked promising.\n\nI figured the best way to engage the kid at the desk was to just stick the phone in front of his face. A normal adult might have found this awkward, if not downright antagonistic, but the kid focused right on it, maybe expecting an awesome cat video. But it was just the photo. I wanted to see if he would react to it.\n\nHe did. It wasn't much. Just a little flinch, then a quick glance at me.\n\n\"Is he staying here?\" I asked.\n\nThe kid shook his head so nervously, he might as well have said: 'Yessir! He sure is!'\n\n\"Which cabin?\"\n\n\"He's not here,\" the kid squeaked. \"I mean…I've never seen that guy before.\"\n\nI stared him down. His face looked somehow vacant and terrified at the same time.\n\n\"I get it,\" I said. \"He's scary. Maybe he threatened to hurt you if you said anything. But I'm going to find him and nothing you say will convince him that you didn't help me. So you might as well. And then I'd get into your car and drive somewhere far away.\"\n\nThe kid didn't move. Except for his eyes, which suddenly couldn't stay focused on one spot. Probably a sign that his brain was switching out of read-only mode and actually trying to think through this unexpected predicament.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I, meanwhile, had a sudden and inexplicable urge to grab him by the collar and smash his head repeatedly into the counter.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I guess the lack of sleep was starting to affect my usual cheery demeanor.\n\n\"If you don't start talking,\" I said, trying not to clench my teeth, \"I'll tie you up so it'll be easy for him to find you.\"\n\nI leaned forward, until I was just inches from the kid's face and growled: \"Which…cabin?\"\n\nIt was like a twig snapping.\n\n\"He rented 'em all. I think he's staying in number six.\"\n\nThe kid looked like he might start crying. I felt bad for him. Almost enough to not want to punch him.\n\n\"Anything else I should know?\" I asked.\n\nNo response, but I could see he wasn't holding out on me. He just stood there, silent and unfocused, a tear trickling down his cheek.\n\n\"Go,\" I said. \"And I wouldn't come back for a while.\"\n\nHe ran. Straight out to his car. A squeal of tires and he was gone.\n\nI'd gotten what I needed from Knott's phone, so I dropped it on the floor and stomped on it. No sense in carrying around a potential tracking device. Plus, it felt good.\n\nSo now I knew Slade was staying here, in cabin number six. Best case scenario, I'd find a spare room key, Slade wouldn't be there, then I'd find a hit list and leave before he got back. There were only about a million things that could go wrong, none of which had been factored into my decision-making prior to this moment.\n\nIf Slade was there, I'd have to defend myself. And if I needed to defend myself, I was in serious trouble. I'm not a fighter. I could hold my own with an average Joe, but not a professional killer.\n\nFirst things first. I went behind the front desk and found a box labeled 'Cabin Keys', but it was empty. Unfortunate. That meant I'd need to break in to his cabin. I took a quick look around the office, hoping to find a weapon of some kind, but the motel owners seemed to be the artsy, pacifist types.\n\nI walked out of the lodge. The only sounds were birds chirping and surf pounding on the beach below. Slade must have chosen this place because it was so isolated. Anything unusual or out of place would be easily recognized. Like my speeder, for example.\n\nThe absence of other vehicles made me hopeful that Slade wasn't in his cabin, but even if the coast was clear, he could show up at any time. If he did, it might tip him off if he saw an unfamiliar speeder parked outside. Just to be safe, I decided to move it. I found a good hiding spot down the road where I could land in the trees, then walked back to cabin number six.\n\nAfter taking a long listen at the front door, I went around the perimeter, peeking into every window, until I was sure the place was empty. There was a back door, facing the ocean, and I checked that one first. Locked. Returned to the front door. Also locked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Tried the windows.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "/set_word_count: things, frequency: 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "No luck.\n\nWell, maybe a little luck. The old cabin doors hadn't been retrofitted with modern hardware or security panels and I had Sonny's lockpick set in my pocket. Picking locks wasn't my forte, but after a few minutes of prodding, jiggling and cursing, I finally managed to get the back door open.\n\nThe interior was classic Monterey shabby chic—an ocean-y pastel palette, tile, things made of whitewashed driftwood—and worn to perfection. At first, I wondered if Slade might be staying in one of the other cabins. The only things that gave him away were a coffee mug in the sink, a few provisions in the refrigerator and cupboards, and some clothing in a closet. I had to give him one thing: he was tidy.\n\nAs I searched the place, I started to get a feel for who Slade was. His clothes were neatly hung and arranged, indicating a pretty healthy streak of OCD. They were expensive and made for a man a few inches shorter than me, but wider through the upper body. A check of the bathroom revealed that he took shaving very seriously and had a thing for skin products.\n\nThe bed was made up perfectly and tightly enough to bounce a quarter off it. Military background, maybe. There was also a pair of handcuffs attached to the metal frame—for business or pleasure, I couldn't say. Maybe both. Or maybe they were one and the same for him.\n\nThere wasn't a lot of area to search. After fifteen minutes, I'd gone over every square inch and hadn't found anything important, much less a hit list. Slade had left nothing incriminating, or even useful, behind. No paperwork, no weapons. Nothing to identify him. He probably carried everything vital around with him. Which meant I would have to confront him to get my hands on what I wanted. I was starting to think I would need to come back later with a better plan and more firepower.\n\nI was finishing up my search in the front room when I heard aggressive footsteps crunching toward the cabin. There was a clear line of sight from the front door to the back; I wouldn't have enough time to make it out the back door without Slade seeing me. I could try to take him by surprise, maybe knock him down and run for it, but he was almost certainly armed and I'm not faster than a speeding bullet. That left one option.\n\nHide.\n\nThe first hiding place I thought of was under the bed. As a key jingled in the front door lock, I moved as quickly and quietly as I could into the bedroom and was about to hit the floor when I realized I'd left the closet doors open. If my suspicions were correct about Slade's OCD, he would notice and be on instant alert. I had to close them.\n\nWhich would take precious seconds. Enough to change the plan. I stepped into the closet and pulled the doors shut behind me.\n\nGood thing.\n\nJust a moment later, Slade came straight into the bedroom. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my ears. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists until I got my breathing under control.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "When I opened my eyes, I peered through slats in the closet doors, which provided a partial view into the room.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Slade was taller than average and powerfully built, with blue-black Superman hair and a handsome face that was plumply hydrated, wrinkle-free and immaculately shaved. He was wearing a long overcoat and carrying a briefcase. I watched him attach the briefcase to the handcuffs on the bed frame, then take off his overcoat, fold it neatly and lay it on the bed. He took out a cell phone, pressed a button on the side of it several times, and put it on the nightstand. Then he walked into the bathroom, pulling off his black turtleneck. A moment later, the door squeaked loudly as he pushed it almost shut, then water turned on in the shower.\n\nMy instinct was to run for it. I could slip out now without Slade ever knowing I was here. I could go buy a gun, or three, and come back with a little more leverage. But he could be gone by the time I got back. And if he found out the kid at the desk had headed for the hills, he might decide to relocate altogether. This might be my only window of opportunity.\n\nAnd his briefcase, which almost certainly contained what I was looking for, was right there.\n\nI stepped out of the closet and closed the doors softly. A quick look at the briefcase revealed a three-digit combination lock that I didn't have the combination for. I double-checked the handcuffs; the only way to free up the briefcase would be with the handcuff key…or a blowtorch. And I was fresh out of blowtorches.\n\nI checked the pockets of Slade's overcoat, but they were empty. I'd already gone through every drawer in the cabin during my search and hadn't found any keys. Which meant they were probably in the pockets of Slade's trousers…which were in the bathroom.\n\nI walked up to the bathroom door, debating whether or not to risk making a grab at his clothes. Steam was billowing through the cracked door. Between the squeaky door and the release of steam that would come from opening the door—not to mention not knowing exactly where his clothes would be—I couldn't risk it.\n\nI'd never tried to pick handcuffs, but it had to be possible. All you needed was a bobby pin, at least from what I'd seen in the movies. I returned to the bedroom and went to work.\n\nAs I'd done with the back door lock, I used the lockpick set, poking and prodding, with no clue what the mechanism was inside the handcuffs, or how to manipulate it. My nerves were bad and my hands were shaking, which didn't help. It felt like an hour passed, though it was probably a minute or less.\n\nThen a phone buzzed. Loudly. I almost dropped the lockpick.\n\nIt was Slade's cell phone on the nightstand. I looked down and saw the caller ID: Unknown. After the second ring, the water in the shower turned off. I dropped to the floor and slid under the bed.\n\nThe bathroom door squeaked open and bare feet padded out.\n\n\"Yeah,\" Slade said flatly.\n\nI could hear a man's voice, but not clearly enough to make out any words.\n\n\"Just got back,\" Slade answered.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "He had an accent. Australian.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 35 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yeah. Number six. One of my lucky numbers. I enjoyed that one.\"\n\nI could hear the malicious smile in his voice. The mention of 'number six' made me think of the cabin, but it seemed much more likely he was talking about a sixth person. A sixth victim.\n\nSlade was quiet for a minute, listening to the man on the other end of the line.\n\n\"Got it,\" Slade said. \"I'll get on it tonight. I have some unfinished business to take care of first. An old friend showed up unexpectedly. He got away with one of the passcards.\"\n\nAn angry, unintelligible outburst from the other man.\n\n\"Calm down,\" Slade interrupted. \"I know where to find him. I just couldn't be in two places at once. I'll get it back.\"\n\nAfter a few parting words, the call ended. Slade set the phone down and then muttered two angry, four-letter words—one that started with an 'F', which I rarely used, and a 'C' word that I would never use. He tromped back into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, then walked to the kitchen.\n\nIt was now or never. I slid out from under the bed and slipped into the bathroom, careful to avoid bumping the door. Slade's clothes were hung on the back of the door. I fished through his trouser pockets and found a set of keys…and his wallet. I took both and was about to open the bathroom door when I heard the pad of footsteps coming closer.\n\nAlmost without thinking, I turned around and stepped into the shower. Luckily, the curtain wasn't transparent and was half-closed, just enough to cover me. I literally held my breath as Slade entered the bathroom, vigorously toweling off his hair. He grabbed a bathrobe from a hook on the wall and stepped back out, leaving the door open.\n\nAfter a few moments, I stepped gingerly out of the shower and stood by the open door, listening hard. I heard a cupboard open and close. Slade was back in the kitchen. Hopefully he was making himself something to eat and would stay there for a bit.\n\nI snuck out of the bathroom and tiptoed to the bed. Held my breath again as I unlocked the handcuffs. I picked up the briefcase, my palms sweating, then moved to the bedroom door and listened again. A cracking sound, then the sizzle of a frying egg.\n\nI tiptoed out, finally getting to the back door. Grabbed the handle. Opened the door as quietly as I could. Resisted the impulse to throw the door open and run. Stepped outside. Pulled the door slowly shut. Somehow had the self-control to take soft steps until I was a good distance from the cabin.\n\nThen I ran.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: This is part of a larger narrative. Characters and elements may be introduced as if familiar. Write thirteen sentences sentences continuing directly from the user's text, maintaining consistency with any established context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The files in Slade's briefcase confirmed that he and whoever hired him were getting rid of everyone who'd worked on the STG project…with the exception of John Klaus; his standing in the Law & Order Party probably explained why he wasn't on the hit list.\n\nI knew Klaus, Linsky, Davis and Morgan had been team members and, assuming Bosworth Clark, Samuel Q. Jones and Greg Call were as well, that accounted for seven of Linsky's eight 'chessmen'. It was possible that J. Saint Gideon was number eight, but he'd said he knew nothing about Overlord and I had no reason not to take him at his word.\n\nSo, just maybe, there were three people still alive who knew about the implants and could help me get mine out of my head: Clark, Call and a mystery person Slade had no info on. I had no idea who the mystery person might be either, so Call and Clark were my only options.\n\nAnd Greg Call was a ghost. Other than being the CTO of Gideon Enterprises, there was almost no information in his file—not even a photograph. Robert Knott had said Call was the one person Law & Order was most worried about, and that made him the one I most wanted to find. But there was nothing to go on in the file. Even Detective Clements had come up empty.\n\nSo, it all came down to Bosworth Clark. The info in his file described an off-the-grid kind of guy, and his photograph looked like it. He had a beard flecked with grey, an unruly mop of salt-and-pepper hair and glasses that made his eyes look disturbingly large.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative storytelling\nContext: Match existing character backgrounds if present\nMy role: Provide opening\nYour role: one hundred and one sentences in the comedy, science fiction genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was a little over eight hundred miles as the Lotus flies from Santa Cruz to Shiprock, New Mexico. I made it there in just under four hours.\n\nIt was a tiny town on a Navajo reservation, not far from the Four Corners area where Utah, Arizona, Colorado and New Mexico all meet up. There was a huge rock formation nearby that looked, appropriately enough, like a ship sailing across the desert plain. It reminded me a little of Devil's Tower, from the Close Encounters movie, which made me wonder if Bosworth Clark could be a UFO nut, traveling around the country searching for evidence of aliens. Like that would ever pan out.\n\nThe sun was sinking into the western horizon as I searched for Clark's RV. I flew my speeder back and forth, like a boat using sonar to find sunken treasure, until I finally spotted an RV tucked into a small clump of rocks about ten miles from Shiprock. There was nothing else for miles around. It seemed like the kind of place you'd camp out if you didn't want to be found.\n\nI landed my speeder and approached. There were no lights on inside the RV, no sign that anyone was in it. But when I pulled the door open, I realized I was wrong. Dead wrong.\n\nAn invisible wave hit my face and I staggered back, instantly nauseated. I'd never smelled anything like it—a putrid sweetness, like rotting meat sprinkled with perfume.\n\nI stepped away and took a few deep breaths, waiting for my stomach to settle. The hot desert sun had turned the RV into the Easy-Bake Oven from hell. And I had no doubt Bosworth Clark was the one who'd been left to cook.\n\nAfter taking a few moments to psyche myself up, I pinched my nose and stepped into the vehicle. The driver's and passenger seats were to my right. The middle section was a typical layout, galley-style, with a kitchenette against one wall. The other wall had been retrofitted with a long desk and storage bins. A sleeping area and bathroom were in the back.\n\nA rolling office chair sat in the middle of the galley. A body was sprawled in the seat. In the low light, it looked almost like he'd pushed back from the desk to take a nap. Several tiny points of light from various items on the desk were flashing intermittently. That meant they were getting power. If they were running off the RV's battery, Clark couldn't have been dead that long.\n\nI felt around the wall near the door and found a light switch. I flipped it and almost threw up again. Half of Bosworth Clark's head was gone.\n\nBrain matter and blood was sprayed across the kitchenette and cabinets. More blood had pooled around the chair and there was a handgun on the floor, just below his dangling right arm.\n\nI didn't have the time or inclination to preserve the crime scene for the cops. The space was too tight for me to work around the corpse, so I needed him out of the way. And I wasn't about to carry the body outside and get blood all over me.\n\nI grabbed a dish towel and used it to get hold of the back of the chair. Then I rolled the chair toward the door and spun it so Clark was facing the opening. It felt wrong, but there was no way around it. I got a rolling start and shoved the chair with Clark in it out the door and quickly turned away. Outside, I heard a sickening crunch and thud.\n\nWith space to maneuver, I picked my way to the rear of the RV, grabbed the blanket and sheets off the bed and spread them out on the blood-soaked floor.\n\nThe desk was uncluttered, with just a pair of reading glasses, a set of speakers, two laptops—one with the Gideon Enterprises logo on it—and a keyboard. Not a computer keyboard, but the piano kind. If Slade had been here—and despite the illusion of a suicide, I was sure he had been—I wondered why he hadn't taken the laptops. Maybe his only concern was killing Clark.\n\nThe Gideon laptop was closed and shut down. I expected it to be as inaccessible as Linsky's was, but it had the STG passcard reader attached and I booted it up anyway. As I waited, I opened the second laptop; its screen lit up, flickering out of sleep mode.\n\nI bent down and took a closer look. There were several icons on the screen, but one immediately jumped out at me: a symbol of a camera.\n\nI double-clicked the icon. A small window appeared, and a video started playing. It showed a nervous-looking Bosworth Clark staring into the laptop's camera. He turned the laptop so it pointed toward the RV door, then moved off-screen.\n\nAs I watched the empty scene, I heard five musical notes. I recognized it immediately and had to smile, despite the circumstances; it was the sequence from the Close Encounters movie. When it finished, I heard a faint whirr and click, then a second whirr and click.\n\nSeconds later, the RV door opened and Slade stepped up into view. He was wearing leather gloves and the same overcoat and black turtleneck he'd had on when I saw him.\n\nClark turned in his seat, as if he'd been taken by surprise. He was smart enough not to block the camera.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he said, trying to sound angry, but I could hear the fear. \"What do you want?\"\n\n\"Hello, Bosworth.\"\n\nSlade's tone was silky and menacing.\n\n\"My name is Slade. I'm here to play a game with you.\"\n\n\"A game?\" Clark sputtered. \"What are you talking about?\"\n\n\"A game of chance.\"\n\nI could hear the sadistic smile in Slade's voice. \"And there are two ways we can play.\"\n\nClark stayed silent. I couldn't imagine how he felt, probably realizing that this man was here to kill him.\n\n\"One way is better,\" Slade said. \"Fast…painless…easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. You even have a chance to win. The other way is, well, worse. Very slow…very painful. And you will lose in the most horrible way imaginable. I'll let you choose.\"\n\nClark still said nothing.\n\nSlade pulled a .38 out, opened the cylinder and extended the gun toward Clark, handle first. Clark hesitated, but finally took it.\n\n\"There's a good boy,\" Slade said softly. \"Now give the cylinder a spin. We'll see how lucky you are. You have one chance in six.\"\n\nClark's hands were shaking, but he followed the instructions.\n\n\"Now close it up.\"\n\nClark complied.\n\n\"You know what to do.\"\n\nI knew how it was going to turn out, but I hoped Clark had at least made a move on Slade. I would have. But the guy didn't have it in him. I watched as he slowly raised the gun to the side of his head. I couldn't watch. I turned away just before the sound of the gunshot.\n\nThankfully, Clark's body had slumped out of view. Slade stood still for a long moment, admiring his handiwork, then moved closer to the camera. He bent down, his face almost filling the screen. He spent a few minutes staring at the screen and clicking on the keyboard.\n\nHe then straightened up and the screen went dark as he closed the laptop. A second later, the video recording ended.\n\nSlade must not have noticed that he was being recorded or he would have either deleted the file or taken the laptop. If we didn't already have enough on him, this would seal the deal. But Slade was the least of my worries at the moment.\n\nI turned my attention back to the Gideon laptop. If I could access what was on it, it might give me details on the STG project, maybe even give me some idea how to disable the thing that was killing me.\n\nAs with Linsky's laptop, there was a message asking for a passcard.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I pulled the STG passcards out of my pocket.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 97 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "One of these had to work. Slade had collected them from all the other victims, so I didn't think he would have left here without Clark's. I kept trying until I found it. It was the one marked with an 'H'.\n\nWhat came next was familiar from my attempts to access Linsky's laptop. A login dialog appeared with '[email protected]' in the user name field and a blank password field.\n\nAnother stupid password.\n\nI straightened up and looked around. No post-it notes in sight, so I took a moment to think back to what I'd seen in Linsky's attic. Linsky's STG passcard had been marked with an 'F' and his password had corresponded to his chess piece, the bishop. Maybe Clark's passcard and password were the same. 'H' was the eighth and final letter; that meant he was a rook.\n\nI clicked in the password field and typed in ROOK, then hit enter.\n\n'Invalid Password'.\n\nSo much for that. I sat back and tried to think. The password could be literally anything.\n\nUnless…\n\nI typed in CASTLE, said a little agnostic prayer, and hit Enter.\n\nBingo.\n\nFor some reason, Clark's account was still active, unlike Linsky's. I took a quick look through Clark's files. There was no mention of implants, mind control, or anything similar—nothing that could help me with my implant. Clark's area of expertise was satellite technology. I wasn't sure how it connected to the rest of the project, but it did me no good whatsoever.\n\nAnother dead end.\n\nBosworth Clark had seemed like my best bet, but I'd guessed wrong. Now it was down to Greg Call. Call. Or a mystery person I wasn't even sure existed. Maybe there was something here that could give me a lead to one of them.\n\nMy eyes drifted to the keyboard—the piano one—and I remembered hearing the 'Close Encounters' music on the video of Clark's murder. It now struck me as odd that Clark had decided to play his keyboard right before Slade showed up. Why would he do that?\n\nThe keyboard wasn't full-size, just 32 keys, less than three octaves. I found a power button and pressed it, then touched a key. It was working. I then experimented with the keys until I figured out the five-note sequence from Close Encounters.\n\nNothing happened.\n\nMaybe I was playing in the wrong key. I've never been accused of having perfect pitch. I moved up one key and repeated the sequence. Then again. And again.\n\nIt wasn't until I started the sequence on the G key that it finally worked. G-A-F-F (an octave lower) –C. Then I heard the same whirr and click I'd heard on the recording. A small tray popped out from below the keyboard, like a DVD player, except this one was a storage compartment.\n\nThere was a cell phone inside it.\n\nI picked it up, saw that it was turned off, and powered it up. The Home Screen appeared, which was a picture—ironically enough—of Devil's Tower. Overlaying the photo was a text message preview. It contained just two words: 'Rendezvous ASAP'. There was also a symbol of a blue diamond. Since Clark hadn't opened the text yet, it must have come either just before or after he died.\n\nI swiped my thumb over the screen and nine dots appeared. Another password required, of sorts. If the phone had used biometric security, I could have gotten into it, though the thought of what it would take to do that almost made me gag. But, with this nine-dot system, there was no way to know what pattern Clark would have chosen to unlock his phone.\n\nI turned the display off, then on again—clearing the nine dots—then took another look at the text message. 'Rendezvous ASAP', with a blue diamond symbol. The text had been sent by someone named 'Q'. The only person involved in all this with a Q name was Samuel Q. Jones, but Clements said he'd died two weeks ago. There was, however, another possibility.\n\nThe bulletin board in Linsky's attic had the STG members sequenced like chess pieces. Linsky was a bishop. John Klaus and Val Davis were knights. Rona Morgan and Bosworth Clark were rooks.\n\nMaybe 'Q' referred to 'Queen'. The most powerful chess piece. I wondered if that could be Greg Call. Wishful thinking, probably, but maybe he'd sent this message to everyone on the STG team, asking them to meet up to see who was still alive and figure out how to stay that way. If I could crash the party, I might find someone who could help me.\n\nBut where was the rendezvous location?\n\nUnless everyone had been told ahead of time where to meet up in case of emergency, the blue diamond symbol in the text message was the only possible answer. That symbol hadn't appeared anywhere else during my investigation and, as far as I knew, it didn't have any significance related to chess.\n\nI used Clark's personal laptop to enter 'Blue Diamond' into the search engine. The first listings were for Blue Diamond Growers, the maker of delicious and nutritious snacks. After that was a bunch of links to information about literal diamonds. There was even a 'Blue Diamond' strain of marijuana.\n\nMoving on to the second page of search results, I found something more promising: a listing for Blue Diamond, Nevada. It linked to a Wikipedia page, which described a tiny town of less than three hundred residents, west of Las Vegas. More searching revealed that this Blue Diamond was of interest to a particular group of conspiracy theorists. I found several articles describing 'subterranean tunnels' near Blue Diamond, which may or may not connect to abandoned military installations…and may even have held 'flying saucers' at one time.\n\nIt sounded like the kind of place that would be right up Bosworth Clark's alley. Remote town…tunnels…military bases…flying saucers. And it was only three hundred miles away—less than two hours by speeder—and more or less on the flight path back to San Francisco. If I was wrong, at least it wouldn't be a huge waste of time.\n\nAnd time was precious.\n\nI had one pain pill left and it was taking all my will power not to use it. The shock of finding Clark and the ensuing adrenaline rush had provided some temporary relief, but it was wearing off quickly. Every heartbeat felt like a sledgehammer to the forehead. My peripheral vision was starting to play tricks on me. I thought I might start hallucinating. And the lack of sleep felt like it was literally killing me. I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep it together.\n\nI found a computer bag and stowed Clark's laptops and phone inside it. As I climbed out, I averted my eyes from the horrific scene I'd created and returned to my speeder. The footage of Slade could go a long way toward proving my case…provided I could stay alive long enough to show it to someone. Hopefully, someone in Blue Diamond could help me with that.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Story continuation: Build on existing elements. Themes: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was halfway to Blue Diamond, NV when it hit me that I should have taken the .38 from the RV. Slade had almost certainly left it there to sell the idea that Clark had shot himself, but I'd ruined that illusion. I'd thrown the sheet and blanket onto the floor, covering up the gun, and then promptly forgot it was there. I wasn't sure what sort of trouble lay ahead, and it would have been nice to have a weapon, but it was too late to go back now. It felt like I was on a countdown clock.\n\nThe lights of Las Vegas lit up the desert from almost a hundred miles away and were glowing on the eastern horizon when I arrived at Blue Diamond. Mountains separated the tiny town from Sin City, making it feel more remote than it actually was. A sign welcomed me, saying: 'Blue Diamond, NV – Population Low – Elevation High – Burros? ', but that was the only welcoming thing. It looked like they'd rolled up the sidewalks a couple hours ago.\n\nBlue Diamond had an Old West ghost town feel to it, especially at this hour. There was a touristy area that looked like a western movie set, and a handful of normal homes scattered around, but the town felt mostly abandoned. It took only a few minutes to do a thorough fly-over. There seemed to be only one place for visitors to stay in town. If this was the STG team's rendezvous point, they'd be staying in the Bonnie Ranch Motel.\n\nThe motel sat in a sea of sagebrush and was fronted by a large entry gate made of logs. Nearby was a corral, occupied by a few four-legged creatures I assumed were burros. I landed my speeder near the motel entrance and walked into the lobby.\n\nI seemed to catch the desk clerk by surprise, but he was friendly enough. I said I was supposed to meet some friends and asked if there was anyone here from out of town. He said everyone staying there was from out of town, and only a couple guests were registered at the moment. And they had both gone out for the evening.\n\nI asked if Greg Call was one of them. He wasn't, not that Call would have used his real name. The clerk was sorry he couldn't help, then said I might try the Area 51 Saloon. It was the closest place to get food and drink, just a few miles outside of town.\n\nI returned to my speeder. The air here was bone-dry and fragrant with desert flora and burro droppings. I lifted off and followed the clerk's directions.\n\nFive minutes later, I landed outside the Area 51 Saloon. It was pretty much what you'd expect—a large clapboard box with neon signs and a hitching post for your horse. If I'd just had a small bag of gold dust, I could get a cold beer, a warm bath and a hot date with one of the madam's girls of ill repute.\n\nThere were a dozen vehicles parked outside, half of them speeders, the other half old-fashioned cars. If any of the STG members were here, I was sure they would be using speeders. It was possible they'd flown in on a commercial airline to Las Vegas and rented a car, but all that would be traceable.\n\nMost of the license plates were Nevada-issue. One speeder was from California. People came to Vegas from California all the time, but the Area 51 Saloon wasn't in Vegas…and wasn't exactly a hot destination spot. This speeder gave me a tiny bit of hope that Call might be inside.\n\nAnd just in case he was, but then things went sideways for some reason, I decided this would be a good use of the tracking device I'd taken from Sonny Fletcher's room. I attached it to the underside of the speeder before heading into the bar.\n\nThe sound of slot machines and drunken laughter came spilling out the saloon door, along with an off-balance patron. I kept the man from falling and got him onto solid ground before stepping inside. The dark interior flickered with lights from behind a long bar, a few TVs mounted high in the corners and rows of one-armed bandits on two sides of the large room. There were several private booths along a third wall, plus a dozen tables in the center, but most of the customers were seated at the bar.\n\nA few people turned to look as I sashayed in. I took a long, slow look around the room and saw a sudden movement in one of the booths. A small man had turned away and put a hand to the side of his head, blocking his face from my view.\n\nThis, of course, piqued my interest.\n\nI crossed the room, straight to the man. There was an open laptop on the table, which lit him up, making him even more conspicuous. He peeked out from behind his hand and then turned his entire body away from me, like a doggie at bath time.\n\nAs I got closer, he seemed to be trying to shrink himself and disappear into the corner of the padded bench seat.\n\n\"Mind if I join you?\" I asked.\n\nThe little man dropped his hand and turned to look up at me with a painfully forced smile. I recognized him. It was the baby Frankenstein mutant I'd caught watching me in the Rank & File, back in Freaktown.\n\n\"You can have this booth,\" the little man squeaked through bared teeth, his Adam's apple bobbing around his throat. \"I was just leaving, actually.\"\n\n\"What are you drinking?\" I asked.\n\n\"Uh…\" he said, licking his lips nervously and glancing at his empty glass. \"Lemonade?\"\n\n\"Good choice. Refreshing. Especially in this dry desert climate. Harder to stay hydrated here than back in San Francisco.\"\n\nThe little man swallowed hard, like he was choking down a golf ball. He closed his laptop, picked it up and turned to slide out of the booth.\n\n\"I think you could use another lemonade,\" I said, blocking him.\n\nHe glanced toward the bar. For a moment, I thought he might yell for help.\n\n\"I'm not here to hurt you,\" I said. \"I'm a friend of Jorge Valdez's. Of course, you already know that.\"\n\nThe man swallowed another, slightly smaller golf ball.\n\n\"How'd you find me?\" he managed.\n\n\"It's a long story. Let's have a drink and I'll tell you all about it.\"\n\nThe little man thought for a minute, weighing his options, then said: \"What if I don't want to talk?\"\n\n\"Then I might have to hurt you.\"\n\n\"But you said you weren't here to hurt me.\"\n\n\"I wasn't,\" I said. \"Now I'm reconsidering.\"\n\nThe guy looked like he might pee himself.\n\n\"Look,\" I continued, trying to be gentle, \"I'm a private investigator. And, seeing as how you and I are both here in the middle of nowhere, I'm guessing we're mixed up in the same thing. I was hired to look into Carl Linsky's death. And then I found out about Rona Morgan. And Val Davis.\"\n\nI might as well have slapped him as I said each name. The poor guy flinched as I said each one. Clearly, he was familiar with the list of victims. Maybe I'd gotten lucky.\n\n\"Are you Greg Call?\" I asked.\n\nAnother figurative slap across the face.\n\n\"What? No!\"\n\nWe locked eyes for a long moment. He wasn't lying. But he was familiar with the STG people. So maybe this was my mystery person.\n\n\"I need your help,\" I said.\n\nAfter a brief pause, the man nodded and slid back into his seat. I moved to the other side and, as I started to sit, he made a move, trying to get out before I could stop him. He underestimated the length of my arms. Classic little guy mistake.\n\nI caught him by the shirt collar and yanked him back into place. It didn't take much effort. He weighed maybe a hundred pounds, soaking wet. Or full of lemonade.\n\n\"Look, I've got trust issues, OK?\" the mutant whined. \"All things considered, I've got the right to be a little paranoid.\"\n\nI felt a fresh, toxic wave of irrational anger swelling to the surface. I was in no mood to coddle this clown and the effects of my implant had me dangerously punch drunk—emphasis on punch. This guy was in no position to bargain. It was going to take every ounce of my will power not to just beat him into submission.\n\n\"What's your name?\" I asked, as calmly as I could.\n\nThe little man adjusted his shirt and I noticed a large patch of scar tissue where his neck met his shoulder, like he'd had some huge growth removed—not uncommon for a mutant. I waited for him to answer, but he just sat there, silent, staring down at the table like a kid refusing to eat his creamed spinach.\n\n\"Tell me your name or I'll smash that laptop,\" I said. \"With your face.\"\n\nIt was like I'd threatened to punch his baby. He picked up the laptop and literally cradled it against his chest.\n\n\"Larry. Larry Hammond,\" he whispered, defensively.\n\n\"OK, Larry. We need to talk, and we're going to. It'll save us both a lot of time if you just play along. I don't think either one of us wants things to get violent.\"\n\n\"You're the one who's being violent,\" he whined. \"I couldn't hurt you if I tried.\"\n\n\"Well, I have sensitive knuckles,\" I explained.\n\nThe bartender appeared and asked if we wanted drinks, probably an excuse to make sure things were copasetic between me and the little mutant. I half expected Larry to say I was threatening to kill him, but he kept quiet. I ordered two shots of tequila and a lemonade.\n\n\"No ice,\" Larry added. \"In the lemonade.\"\n\nThe bartender nodded and left. Larry glanced at me.\n\n\"Ice is a rip-off,\" he said. \"If I buy a drink, I want it to be all drink.\"\n\n\"I'm buying,\" I said. \"Get it with ice. Treat yourself.\"\n\n\"It's the principle of it.\"\n\nThe mutant set his laptop down and arranged it to be perfectly parallel with the edge of the table.\n\n\"Do you smoke?\" he asked.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"You should. All the cool detectives smoke.\"\n\n\"I don't try to look cool,\" I lied. \"Besides, I like not having cancer.\"\n\nLarry started babbling. Some people do that when they're nervous.\n\n\"You don't have to worry about getting cancer,\" he said. \"Big Pharma's trying to keep it under wraps, but a research group in Norway just came up with the holy grail of cures. Cancer's about to go the way of smallpox. It'll take a few years to get out to the public, but the Tobacco Industry will make sure it gets fast-tracked. In a few years, everyone'll be smoking again.\"\n\n\"No kidding. If it's a big secret, how do you know about it?\"\n\n\"I know a lot of stuff.\"\n\n\"Well, that's good, because I've got a lot of questions. Let's start with the STG project. I'm assuming you worked on it.\"\n\nLarry looked like I'd kicked him in the balls. A moment later, the bartender returned with our drinks.\n\n\"What do you know about STG?\" Larry asked in a whisper, after the man left.\n\n\"I know I've got one of your implants in my head.\"\n\nLarry's eyes went wide.\n\n\"Seriously?\"\n\n\"Seriously. And it's gonna kill me if I don't get it out or turn it off or whatever the hell you do to make it quit working.\"\n\n\"You don't.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" I said, before pounding the first tequila shot.\n\n\"The implant is designed to be virtually undetectable. It's a nanite—microscopic—and made of organic materials, so it won't show up on a normal brain scan. I guess you might be able to find it if you knew the chemical composition, but—\"\n\nLarry probably would have kept talking if I'd let him. Which I didn't.\n\n\"—How do you stop it?\"\n\n\"I have no idea. You could try aluminum foil.\"\n\nIf he'd been a little closer, I would have slapped him on pure reflex. I was in no mood for jokes. But he wasn't joking.\n\nHe started thinking out loud: \"Maybe if you got into a Faraday Cage. Or I don't know if they could make a helmet that works like a Faraday Cage. I'm pretty sure the implants are connected to a satellite system. I guess you might be able to block the signal or scramble it. What's it doing to you?\"\n\nI rubbed my temples. This guy's voice wasn't helping my headache.\n\n\"I haven't slept in days,\" I said. \"I've taken some heavy-duty sleeping pills and it didn't do a thing.\"\n\nLarry cocked his head and looked at me intently, curious, not sympathetic.\n\n\"Yeah,\" he said, \"I'm guessing the implant probably can't do that much—just affect basic functions—sleep, hunger, vision, that kind of thing. It's not like it can control your actions. Not yet, at least.\"\n\nWhat little patience I had left was running out.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue this fragment. Characters are already established. Write in Aaron Conners's style. Genres: comedy, science fiction. Themes: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As my Lotus sped through the darkness, my brain was on fire, my body quivering. For the first time, I let all the rage boil to the surface. I was angry about everything—Sylvia…the Poisoned Pawn…Slade…Law & Order… my implant…all of it.\n\nIt was looking like I wouldn't get out of this alive, but I wanted to go out on my own terms—not wait for the implant to do it. And I wanted my death to count for something, the way Sonny's had. He'd stayed alive just long enough to pass the torch to me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Now I needed to stay alive long enough to take that torch and go out in a blaze of glory.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I wanted to kill someone.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Slade came immediately to mind, but I had no clue where to look for him. And he was just a hired gun, anyway. There was a 'Man behind the Curtain' who had given him the orders to kill me and all the other innocent people. Maybe it was John Klaus or Frank Schimming or someone I hadn't heard of. Whoever it was, they were almost certainly connected to Law & Order, so my plan was to kamikaze the L&O Headquarters after it opened for business. There was at least a chance I'd take out the man responsible.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Slade, too, if I was lucky. Worst case, I'd get a bunch of other neo-Nazi bastards.\n\nI just had to stay alive for nine more hours.\n\nIn the meantime, I needed to deal with the Poisoned Pawn, who claimed to be holding Sylvia hostage. At this point, I had no idea who the Poisoned Pawn might be. A long flight would have been the perfect time to sort it out, but my brain was too fried to make sense of anything.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The only thing I knew for sure was this: depending on who it was and what they'd done to Sylvia, I might kill them, too.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I had literally nothing to lose.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write 8 sentences sentences continuing from the user's text. Match the level of familiarity with characters/settings as presented.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I pushed my Lotus as hard as it would go until I reached the outskirts of New San Francisco, then landed at a convenience store and used a vid-payphone to call Wanda.\n\nShe had arranged the meeting as instructed: 3 a.m., at the San Tomas Mission.\n\nIt was just after 2 a.m., so we had some time to talk. I didn't tell Wanda about my plan to go out in a blaze of glory, but I filled her in on everything else, including Bosworth Clark, Larry Hammond and Greg Call.\n\nWanda had tried repeatedly to contact J. Saint Gideon, without luck. She was worried that Slade had somehow gotten to him, but I found that hard to believe, given the fortress-like security Gideon surrounded himself with. But it was concerning, nonetheless. And disappointing. I'd really hoped that he'd fess up to knowing all about Overlord and how to disable my implant.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "In the meantime, Wanda had been working with various law enforcement agencies to get search warrants for the Law & Order offices.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Things were moving slowly because there were Law & Order Party members in both the New San Francisco Police Department and the F.B.I., and she didn't want tip them off. If they had a head start, they would get everything incriminating cleared out before a search could be conducted.\n\nWanda figured we had about twenty-four hours before all hell broke loose. I didn't tell her that all hell would be breaking loose long before then.\n\n\"Tell me about this last message from the Poisoned Pawn,\" I said. \"It doesn't seem to fit with the others.\"\n\n\"No, it doesn't,\" Wanda said. \"The first two were warnings about the STG project. Now he's taking action. Do you know why he'd be so desperate to get the STG passcards?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 9 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No, but Greg Call wanted Larry Hammond to find them. And Slade was collecting them from the victims—and I think they were more than just trophies. They must be important. I guess I'll find out soon enough.\"\n\nIt was time to go. Wanda mustered a smile.\n\n\"Be careful, Tex.\"\n\nI hung up and took the last pain pill. I needed to be as clear-headed as possible from here on out. A week ago, I'd been a young, idealistic P.I. embarking on a career I'd always dreamed of. Now I was planning out the last day of my life.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "AI WRITING ASSISTANT ACTIVATED\nTASK: Continue user's text\nNOTE: Match established character/lore familiarity\nLENGTH: fourteen sentences sentences\nGENRES: comedy, science fiction\nINCLUDE: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "/set_word_count: there, frequency: 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The San Tomas Mission was an old Spanish-style church with a huge clock tower that had been converted into a variety of businesses over the decades, none lasting very long. Maybe it was haunted. It had been abandoned for years.\n\nI showed up a half-hour early, on the off chance that I might catch the Poisoned Pawn off-guard. I parked my speeder some distance away and made a stealthy approach.\n\nThere was no sound or sign of anyone. As I entered the structure through a door-less opening, I half expected to be assaulted by a startled transient, but the place appeared to be empty. I looked around the ground floor, but there was nothing to find. If anyone was here, they were on the upper level.\n\nI climbed a set of stairs and immediately caught sight of Sylvia. She'd been positioned in a swath of moonlight shining through a large, arched window. Her hands were tied and she looked to be asleep, her head lolled forward.\n\nMy instinct was to run to her, but I held back long enough to take a look around the room. In the center was a large contraption of cogs and wheels that controlled the tower clock, still functioning after all these years.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I watched as a cog turned.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Up above, the huge minute hand of a massive clock shuddered and ticked ahead.\n\nThe perimeter of the room had shadowy nooks and crannies everywhere. There might be a dozen people hidden here and I wouldn't see them. I could hide myself and hope to take the Poisoned Pawn by surprise, but I had to assume he was already here and watching my every move.\n\nI crossed to Sylvia and knelt down in front of her. She stirred and slowly raised her head.\n\nHer face was bruised and bloody. One eye was swollen. She had been crying, and mascara was smeared around her eyes. Her mouth was covered in duct tape and trickles of dried blood ran from her nostrils, over the tape and down her chin.\n\nI wrapped my arms around, hugging her to my chest. Felt her choking sob against me. All my anger came roaring back. Whoever had done this to her was going to die.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"It's a shame to cover such a beautiful mouth, don't you think, Mr. Murphy?\"\n\nThe voice came from behind me. Sylvia jumped at the sound of it. It was a voice I'd never heard before. I held Sylvia a moment longer and then released her, before standing up and turning to see who was speaking.\n\nIt was John Klaus.\n\nHe was very short, almost dwarfish, dressed all in black. He had a long, crooked nose and a fleshy face that curled up around a big, unpleasant smile full of discolored teeth. He was like something out of a fairy tale—an evil trickster come to steal your baby.\n\n\"It was necessary, of course,\" Klaus sneered. \"I couldn't have Dulcinea warning off her knight errant from charging the windmill.\"\n\n\"I was wondering when you'd crawl out of your rats' nest,\" I said, taking a step toward him.\n\nKlaus swung an arm out from behind his back. There was a gun in his hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Somewhere in your response, you need to say: \"You think we haven't been keeping tabs on you?\"", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He pointed it up at me.\n\n\"Au contraire, Señor Quixote. It is you who are the rat.\"\n\nHe then leveled the gun at Sylvia.\n\n\"And you, my dear, the perfect piece...\" he paused dramatically, \"…of cheese.\"\n\nSomehow, his fierce smile got even wider, like it would split his face in two.\n\n\"I assume you're in love with her,\" he said, turning the gun back at me. \"She has that effect on men.\"\n\nI didn't know if I was in love with her or not, but I wasn't going to give him any more leverage than he already had.\n\n\"She's just my client,\" I said. \"I like keeping my clients alive. It's good for business.\"\n\nKlaus scoffed.\n\n\"I've seen enough to know she's more than a client to you.\"\n\nI must have looked confused.\n\n\"You think we haven't been keeping tabs on you?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "he continued. \"We've been watching Sylvia here since she moved back into her father's place. You, we weren't too worried about. I thought we might keep you out of all this, but then you went to see Gideon.\"\n\nSo Klaus had been onto me the whole time I was looking for him. That would explain why the killers had shown up at Knott's cabin right after I did. At least they were dead, too. Maybe that was the only reason Wanda Peck and Larry Hammond were still alive.\n\n\"And now, unfortunately, you don't have much time left,\" Klaus said with mock concern. \"But I invited you here to offer a trade. Tell me what you've found out and I'll let the little missy free. Let's start with what you and Gideon talked about.\"\n\nI didn't think Klaus would let Sylvia go no matter what I said, but I wanted to keep him talking and look for a chance to make a move on him.\n\n\"OK,\" I said. \"Gideon told me he'd lost control of his company.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes. Frank Schimming is running things. Common knowledge. What else?\"\n\n\"He said someone sent him a letter, warning him that Law & Order was trying to take over a secret project being developed by Gideon Enterprises. Whoever sent it called himself the Poisoned Pawn. Which I'm a little confused about. I don't think you would have sent that letter. So, are you the Poisoned Pawn?\"\n\n\"Of course not. It was my dear friend Carl who sent it.\"\n\n\"And how do you know that?\"\n\n\"Because he told me. We were very close at one time and I suppose he had no one else to confide in.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Klaus glanced at Sylvia when he said this.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "More salt in her wounds.\n\n\"I'd never heard of STG until Carl came to me,\" he continued. \"He'd been tasked with the neurological aspects—how to affect specific brain functions via a microscopic implant. He consulted me about how such a device could be most effectively implanted. He also mentioned there was a possibility that the project was being funded by Gideon Enterprises. This, as you might imagine, was of great interest to me.\"\n\n\"And that's when you joined the STG project.\"\n\nKlaus laughed. At my ignorance, apparently.\n\n\"That's when I went to another dear friend, Frank Schimming, and asked him about STG. He was completely unaware that his own company was involved, but soon got to the root of things. The project had been in the works for years, all very hush-hush. But, once he learned what was going on, he provided me with private access to it.\"\n\n\"And Linsky found out?\"\n\n\"No one knows what Schimming and I have done. I think Carl began to have concerns about what his work would be used for. And then I may have pushed him too hard for details, aroused his suspicions. Which were well-founded; Schimming and I fully intend to take control of the project once it's completed.\"\n\n\"It's not completed now? The implants you put into me and Linsky seem to be working.\"\n\n\"Oh, they are. I won't bore you with the details but, eventually, they'll be controlled remotely. The test implants have been a little more crude; they were preset to have specific neurological effects. Yours was designed to disrupt your sleep patterns.\"\n\n\"I noticed.\"\n\n\"I must say, I'm very impressed with how you're holding up. You were supposed to be a good little detective and die.\"\n\n\"Just like your dear friend, Carl?\" I asked.\n\nKlaus's eyes went cold.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"He was my friend. But friendship has its limits.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But why kill him?\"\n\n\"He'd become a threat to our plans. When he told me he'd sent the Poisoned Pawn letter to Gideon, I gave him a choice: join me and Law & Order…or stay on the losing side. He chose poorly.\"\n\n\"With friends like you, who needs enemies?\"\n\nThe evil dwarf smirked.\n\n\"I do what needs to be done. Now, for the sake of Miss Linsky here, tell me what else you've discovered.\"\n\n\"I know someone—you, probably—hired Slade to kill everyone on the STG project.\"\n\nKlaus's eyebrows arched.\n\n\"I knew it was you who stole the briefcase. Mr. Slade was not happy about that. Not one bit.\"\n\n\"Glad to hear it.\"\n\nKlaus reached into a pocket.\n\n\"What about these?\"\n\nHe held up an STG passcard.\n\nI wasn't about to tell him what I'd learned, but I had to say something.\n\n\"I know they were required to access the project from remote locations,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You also need a reader and a special laptop.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Yes, I'm aware. Schimming provided me with all the necessary hardware after he, shall we say, replaced one of the team members. But there's something unusual about these passcards. Do you know if there's anything else you can do with them?\"\n\n\"No. But I can tell you what I'd like to do with them.\"\n\nKlaus laughed out loud.\n\n\"I do admire your moxie.\"\n\nHe put the passcard back into his pocket.\n\n\"On the off chance the passcards do have some importance,\" he said, \"I will need you to give me the ones you have. Where are they?\"\n\n\"Beats me. Probably somewhere on the high Spanish plains with my trusted servant, Sancho.\"\n\nKlaus slowly pivoted, turning the gun on Sylvia.\n\n\"They're in my speeder,\" I said.\n\n\"Excellent! Now, as a token of my appreciation for your cooperation…\"\n\nHe waved me away from Sylvia. After I took a few steps back, he walked over to her and tore the duct tape off her mouth, then gestured grandly toward her.\n\n\"One last kiss.\"\n\nAs he moved off to a safe distance, Sylvia glared at him, then turned the glare toward me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You really think he's not gonna kill both of us?!\" she cried out.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Klaus chortled.\n\n\"Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Murphy. It looks like she's not in the mood. For once!\"\n\nKlaus turned the gun toward his own face and scratched his chin theatrically with the tip.\n\n\"Well,\" he said. \"I guess we'll just move on to the murder/suicide portion of the program.\"\n\n\"You said you'd let her go.\"\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Murphy, please. Don't compound your gullibility with stupidity. She's more of a danger to me than you are.\"\n\n\"What are you talking about?\" I asked.\n\nSylvia rocked forward in her chair, quivering with anger.\n\n\"You're a liar! Don't listen to him, Tex!\"\n\nKlaus looked at her, mockingly.\n\n\"Shall we tell him?\" he sneered. \"Maybe just one or two names?\"\n\n\"I had nothing to do with any of this!\" Sylvia pleaded. \"I swear it!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Well, I didn't say you were involved,\" Klaus said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But you do have the capacity for treachery. For all I know, you may be as innocent as you claim to be. I'm just not a risk-taker.\"\n\nHe swiveled his head toward me and made an exaggerated frowny face.\n\n\"Oh, don't look so sad, Tex. At least you know that you were the last, hmm? I mean, perhaps she even cared for you—as much as she's capable.\"\n\nHe looked back and forth between me and Sylvia, gloating, then raised his arm and laid the gun over his shoulder.\n\n\"Well, down to business.\" Then, raising his voice, he called out: \"Mr. Slade?\"\n\nA moment passed. Klaus's smile was frozen on his face. Another moment passed and Klaus called out again, this time louder:\n\n\"Mr. Slade?\"\n\nKlaus kept his eyes on us as a figure stepped silently out of the shadows behind him. Slade moved closer, staring straight at me, the ghost of a smile on his lips.\n\n\"I'll leave the necessary un-pleasantries in your capable hands,\" Klaus said.\n\nSlade, who was a foot and a half taller than Klaus, put his hands on the smaller man's shoulders and, in his Australian accent, drawled:\n\n\"My pleasure, Mr. Klaus.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The sadistic dwarf was still smiling broadly when Slade's hands suddenly took hold of Klaus's head and, with a short, violent twist, broke the man's neck.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 11 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "(In the next section: Next output: minimal quoted text)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Slade plucked the gun from Klaus's hand as the body crumpled to the floor. The hit man never took his eyes off me.\n\nMy rage completely disappeared, replaced by complete shock. I glanced down at John Klaus's lifeless body, the evil clown smile still spread across his face. When I looked back up at Slade, there was almost a twinkle in his eye. Whatever he was up to, it couldn't be any worse than what Klaus had in mind. I glanced over at Sylvia, who looked up at me, hopefully.\n\n\"Whew!\" I said, turning back to Slade. \"That was close. I was beginning to wonder how we were going to get out of this.\"\n\nHe smiled and pointed Klaus's gun at me.\n\n\"Don't stop wondering on my account.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: This is part of a larger narrative. Characters and elements may be introduced as if familiar. Write 77 sentences sentences continuing directly from the user's text, maintaining consistency with any established context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"See, the way I got it figured,\" Slade said, \"between those passcards and everything Klaus just said, I'll bet I can get someone to pay top dollar. I'm just taking out the middle man.\"\n\nKlaus had been a zealot—he reeked of it; Slade was just looking to make a buck. Greed is a motivation I can work with. I flashed my most charming smile.\n\n\"If you'll take a personal check, I'd be happy to put in my bid.\"\n\nSlade nodded graciously.\n\n\"Well, I appreciate the offer but I don't think you're in the right tax bracket. I was thinking more along the lines of, say, J. Saint Gideon.\"\n\nHe flipped the gun around and pointed it at me.\n\n\"So, who wants to go first?\"\n\nMy brain was scrambling, trying to figure a way out of this, and not coming up with anything. I needed to buy more time.\n\n\"Will you grant me one last request?\" I asked, finally.\n\nSlade shrugged.\n\n\"I suppose. As long as it's reasonable.\"\n\n\"Let me kiss Sylvia goodbye? At least that way I can die a happy man.\"\n\nSlade half smiled, half sneered.\n\n\"Well, I wouldn't want you to die unhappy. Go ahead. But don't do anything stupid.\"\n\nI hadn't planned on doing anything stupid, not until he suggested it. As I turned to Sylvia, blocking Slade's view, I fished something out of my pocket. I kneeled down and slipped Sonny's lockpick set into her hands, then closed mine around hers. I wasn't sure if anything on it would be sharp enough, but it was the only thing I had that might work.\n\n\"We're going to get out of this, OK?\" I whispered.\n\nSylvia nodded and then kissed me. I could taste the salt of her tears and blood on her lips. The anger started to build again.\n\n\"Oh, that was very touching,\" Slade said. \"Now…let's get down to business.\"\n\nSomehow, I had to get Slade away from Sylvia. And that couldn't happen while he had a gun pointed at me. I just needed to figure out how to get him to drop the gun.\n\nOr maybe there was a better option. Maybe I could cut a deal with him.\n\n\"I saw what you did to Bosworth Clark,\" I said, standing and turning to face Slade.\n\nHe smiled.\n\n\"That poor man killed himself,\" he said in a mocking tone.\n\n\"No, I actually watched what you did. There was surveillance video.\"\n\nThe smile vanished.\n\n\"It was on Clark's laptop,\" I added. \"Let us go and I'll give it to you.\"\n\nSlade stared me down, thinking it over.\n\n\"I think you're bluffing,\" he finally said. \"Even if you're not, it's too late. No deal.\"\n\nIt had been worth a shot. Back to the first plan.\n\n\"You're a coward,\" I said.\n\nSlade raised his gun, his jaw tightening.\n\nI kept going: \"If you had any guts at all, you wouldn't need to hide behind that gun. How 'bout you man up? You think you're so tough. Let's settle this like real men—mano a mano.\"\n\nSlade suddenly laughed.\n\n\"I'll give you one thing. You've got some crown jewels on you.\"\n\n\"You afraid I'm gonna kick your ass?\"\n\nHe shook his head, still laughing.\n\n\"Wow. OK.\"\n\nHe dropped the gun onto Klaus's body and started taking off his overcoat.\n\n\"I'm really gonna enjoy this,\" he said.\n\nI turned and ran.\n\nBefore Slade could recover, I'd gotten around the huge gear contraption and slipped into the shadows.\n\nSlade called out: \"No honor among thieves, eh Murphy?\"\n\nI stayed quiet. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I looked around for something I could use as a weapon. There was nothing useful in sight.\n\n\"Come on out,\" the hit man said. \"If you don't, I'll shoot your girlfriend.\"\n\nI knew it was an empty threat, but I needed to get him away from Sylvia. Across the room, I saw a set of stairs leading up. But Slade would get a clear shot at me from where he was standing.\n\n\"You can't hide forever,\" Slade said. \"I'll find you sooner or later. Sooner's better for me.\"\n\nI searched my pockets. I still had Sonny's Zippo. Maybe this could get Slade to move. I pulled it out and then tossed it into a corner. It clattered loudly. Slade's footfalls headed in that direction.\n\nI ran for the stairs.\n\nAs I hit them at full speed, Slade got a couple shots off. The bullets missed, splintering wood not far from my head.\n\nI vaulted up the stairs to the room above. This area was smaller and offered no place to hide. There was no railing around the opening to the stairs, so maybe I could get a clean shot at Slade as he came up.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "hey can u write seven sentences more sentences? like Aaron Conners but comedy, science fiction style. btw this is from middle of a story", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Standing over the unconscious body of a stone-cold killer, my gorgeous, rescued client holding a gun and sobbing against my chest, my body and brain bruised and beaten, was the single greatest moment of my life. This was what I'd always wanted, who I'd always wanted to be. Even if I ended up dying, I'd have this one perfect moment.\n\nBut I no longer intended on dying, at least not kamikaze-style. My busted-up hand, for some reason, seemed to help my mental state even more than the pain pills. And, after my chat with John Klaus, I had at least a glimmer of hope for saving myself.\n\nKlaus had said that Frank Schimming gave him 'private access' to the STG project.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'd been searching for team members, in part so one of them could tell me how to disable my implant. But if I could find out where Klaus had access to the project, maybe the information I needed would be found there.\n\nAfter tying Slade up, I searched John Klaus's body, hoping that he was carrying something that might lead me to his STG access location. Even better, maybe he'd have some little remote control device labeled 'Murphy's Implant Controller' with a big On/Off switch.\n\nNo such luck. But he did have a cell phone. It was locked, but had an Emergency Call button, which I used to call the cops.\n\nI then went through Klaus's pockets and found a wallet, a set of keys, a small vial half-full of what I thought must be cocaine, a pair of pink panties—which I did not want to think about at all—and a high-security Law & Order ID badge.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "There was also his STG passcard—this one marked with a 'G'.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I still had no idea why the passcards might be important, but I now had seven of them. And I was willing to bet the last one belonged to Greg Call. Maybe the cops had found it with Call's body, but that was the least of my worries at the moment.\n\nIn Klaus's wallet, there was a business card and a home address listed on his driver's license. The set of keys probably included ones to both his clinic and residence. It seemed likely that Klaus's access to STG was either in his home, his clinic, or at Law & Order. I now had access to all three places.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue with the same vibes as Aaron Conners. Story might have ongoing characters/plots - work with what's given", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I flew over the sleeping city, headed downtown, feeling reckless and empowered. Sylvia was safe. Klaus was dead. Slade was about to be in police custody. I didn't want to die, but I no longer feared it. I felt so invincible, I double-parked my speeder outside the Law & Order building.\n\nFlashing Klaus's badge on the card reader unlocked the main doors and I marched into the lobby. My old pal, Harry Rice, was gone—replaced by a guy with twice the eyes and twice the size.\n\nI ignored him and walked straight to the security scanner. Waving the badge turned on the green light, giving me access without the required scan. I walked through to the other side.\n\nIn the security station, the big new security guard must have been alerted that I'd used Klaus's ID and was clearly not John Klaus. He jumped up and came out the backside to confront me. He was reaching for his gun when I hit his face as hard as I could. A fresh wave of agonizing, invigorating, mind-clearing pain shot up my right arm. The guy staggered back, but didn't go down. I came at him, this time with my left fist and hit him again. This dropped him to the floor. I jumped on him and kept punching until he quit moving.\n\nI took the guy's gun and went off in search of John Klaus's office. I expected it to be in some subterranean stone-carved lair—the kind of place evil dwarves inhabit—but it turned out to be in the High Elven area, on the top floor. I waved his ID badge—which was starting to feel like a magical wizard's staff—and pushed his office door open.\n\nI wouldn't have been surprised to find a torture chamber inside, but it was just your typical office. After twenty minutes, I'd searched the office from top to bottom. There was nothing that would give me access to the STG system—no console, no laptop with the Gideon Enterprises logo. He had a desktop computer, which could have contained what I was looking for, but it was password-protected and I didn't have a password. I could take it back to Wanda and see if her people could get into it, but that could take days. I was down to hours.\n\nI went through Klaus's desk and file cabinet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "There were items of interest, but none related to STG or Overlord.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "At one point, I came across a schematic, but it turned out to have nothing to do with the STG project. It was for a massive space station, code-named 'Incubus', which was apparently under construction.\n\nThere were also quite a few documents related to 'The Mutant Problem' and a 'Crusade for Genetic Purity', which sounded disturbingly similar to the Nazi's 'Final Solution'. It just reinforced the idea that Law & Order was a group of murderous Fascists. It gave me immense pleasure to know that they were about to go down in flames…and that I'd helped make it happen.\n\nI decided to take the documents with me. They seemed like something Wanda Peck would find interesting.\n\nAfter going through everything in the office, I checked the time. It was just after 4 a.m. The Bel Viso surgical clinic, where Klaus performed his surgeries, would probably be closed for business, so that would be my next stop.\n\nI took one last look around the room, then stepped out into the hallway. Voices echoed down the corridor, from the direction of the elevator. In the other direction was an emergency exit door, leading to stairs, with a sign warning that opening the door would trigger an alarm.\n\nI had three options, none of them good. If the voices belonged to Law & Order security, I had to assume they were coming for me. I could hide in Klaus's office, hope they didn't look there, and wait for them to move on. I could confront them. With the gun I'd taken from the guard in the lobby, I might be able to get past them. Or I could take the stairs. If it didn't set off an alarm, it would be the best option.\n\nI turned around and ran for the emergency exit. I hit the door and the alarm went off.\n\nTaking two or three steps at a time, I made my way down. Up above, I heard several sets of footfalls echoing off the concrete walls.\n\nA minute later, I reached the ground level. There were two doors—one leading into the lobby and one to exit the building. Depending on how many security guards there were, they could have one waiting by my speeder, but I doubted they'd have one outside the door. I pulled out the gun, pushed the exterior door open and stepped through.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I was wrong. Someone was waiting outside.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Just not anyone I was expecting.\n\nIt was a cop.\n\n\"Drop the gun!\" he yelled.\n\nBehind him, the dark street was lit up with flashing red and blue lights. It looked like law enforcement had made a pre-dawn raid. The Fall of the Law & Order Empire had begun.\n\nI'd never been so happy to see the fuzz.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "WRITING ASSISTANT ENGAGED\nMATCH: Character/world familiarity\nOUTPUT: 3 sentences SENTENCES\nGENRES: comedy, science fiction\nINCORPORATE: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Larry Hammond had said that Call's message back in Blue Diamond told him—or whoever else showed up—to find the STG passcards, but also to contact the N.S.F.P.D.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "if Call hadn't joined them within a few days.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Maybe the reason for that was now plugged into my speeder's USB port. I had to hope it would lead me to his base of operations—Nexus—and that I'd finally find what I needed to save myself when I got there.\n\nClements took me to my speeder and dropped me off.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was a little surprised when she shook my hand; maybe she was thinking it might be the last time we'd see each other.\n\nI fired up my Lotus and plugged in the device. A few minutes later, I was headed north.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Keeping one eye on the airspace ahead and one on the green light kept me focused, at least for a while. I could feel I didn't have much time left. My brain was scrambled.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My vision was blurring. The headache had returned with a vengeance and I was all out of pain pills. I started slapping myself in the face every few minutes, but it wasn't helping.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "At one point, I realized I was nose-diving and had to jerk the steering wheel to avoid a crash.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'd never been blind drunk before, but this was how I imagined it would be.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write twelve sentences like Aaron Conners would, using user's text as beginning. Story may drop in mid-narrative", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Mandatory: Your text must contain 'mount' 2 times exactly", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'd managed to hold on for another hour and a half when the green light switched to red. Mount Shasta had just come into view, so I hadn't yet reached the Oregon border.\n\nI flew around until I determined that I was more or less at ground zero. Mount Shasta was miles to the east and the terrain below was remote, mountainous and thick with trees. The only sign that humans had ever been here was a railroad track snaking through the rugged landscape.\n\nAfter landing my speeder, I grabbed a few things from the glove compartment, opened the door and climbed out. My legs buckled and I dropped to the ground. I turned onto my back and stared up at the sky. There was no way I could make it back to San Francisco. If I couldn't disable my implant here, this is where I would die. At least it was a nice spot for it.\n\nAfter resting for a few minutes, I got back on my feet and surveyed the area.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I wasn't sure what to look for.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "If there was an installation here, it was well-hidden, and this was a good place to hide something.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My eyes went to the train tracks.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "If there was a facility here, maybe the tracks had been laid specifically to deliver materials used to build and supply it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Maybe this was one of the old abandoned military facilities Gideon had bought years ago. I walked over to the tracks and took a look. The rails were rusted. It had been many years—decades, at least—since a train had come through here.\n\nI followed the tracks. About fifty yards ahead, they passed close by a thick wall of trees fronting the steep face of a mountain spur. As I got closer, I thought I caught a glimpse of something through the trees.\n\nWith each step, I became more sure of it. With a trickle of fresh adrenaline, I picked up the pace and then veered off the tracks into a wall of Western Junipers. The trees were several rows deep, creating a thick and effective cover, but there was also a path through them that was only visible from a discrete angle.\n\nIt led to a metal door built into the rock.\n\nThe surface of the door had been made to match the surrounding rock, but the metal had rusted, making it stand out.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was no handle on the door, no visible means of opening it.\n\nFortunately, it had been left slightly ajar.\n\nBy Greg Call, I hoped. If someone else had forced Call to swallow the GPS device, I could be walking into a trap. Too late to worry about that now.\n\nThe door was several inches thick. It took what little strength I had left to pry it open enough so I could squeeze through. It was pitch-black on the other side, the air much cooler and damp. I hadn't thought to bring a flashlight and started walking into the darkness, taking short steps, with my arms extended.\n\nThen I remembered Sonny's Zippo. I pulled it out and lit the flame. It didn't provide much light, but enough to see I was in a roughly carved-out tunnel.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "As I headed down the passage, my headache felt like it was easing up and my vision seemed to get clearer.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Maybe it was the darkness or the cool air.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Or maybe, if my implant was linked to a satellite, the signal was being dampened.\n\nI followed the tunnel around a curve and then it suddenly widened. The next instant, the area was flooded in white florescent light. I must have tripped a motion detector. I shielded my eyes until they got accustomed to the harsh light, then looked around. I was at the edge of a large cavern. There were dozens of crates of all different sizes, several large metal containers and other loose pieces of equipment strewn around.\n\nOn the far side was a small door. It, too, had been left ajar. I crossed the space and pulled the door open. Again, lights flickered on as I stepped through.\n\nThis space was different.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 13 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was much smaller and, clearly, the inner sanctum of Nexus. There were several work stations and the layout reminded me of the bridge of the Starship Enterprise, as if whoever had designed it was a Star Trek fan. If this was Greg Call's design choice, he'd been a man after my own heart.\n\nI detected a faint hum. At the same moment, I felt something change inside my head, like a switch getting flipped. A wave passed through me, but this time it wasn't pain. Or rage.\n\nMy eyes suddenly couldn't stay open. I looked around for something to lie down on. There was a couch in a corner, across the room, which now seemed much too far away. My legs were turning to jelly, so I knelt down and then turned over, onto my back.\n\nSleep was washing over me like warm bath water. It was heavenly. Nothing had ever felt this good. I just needed a quick nap and then I'd—", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "help me write plz. do 33 sentences sentences. use these genres: comedy, science fiction. add some of these things: noir, humor, Tex Murphy. keep same level of familiarity with any chars/setting", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I dropped to the ground and lay still, my heart pounding. I strained to listen, expecting to hear footsteps approaching. But there was nothing. Total silence inside the building.\n\nI wasn't sure what was happening. If there was an armed guard in there, I was pretty sure he would come after me. And then what would I do? I was unarmed and had nowhere to run. And the doming security had me trapped on the island for another twenty-four hours.\n\nThere weren't a lot of options, but I needed to know what I was dealing with. I got back to my feet and pulled myself up toward the window. A sickening smell drifted out from inside. Burnt hair.\n\nI peeked up over the ledge, then ducked back down. No response. I straightened up again and took a longer look. Total silence. No movement. No indication of where the laser blast had come from.\n\nThrough the window I saw a small prison cell, about nine feet deep, five feet wide and seven feet tall. Other than a bunk against one wall, the cell was empty. Through the bars and across a wide expanse, I could see an identical set of cells on the opposite side, with more above.\n\nThen I saw it. A drone.\n\nIt was on the far side of the room, drifting slowly through the air. I wondered if the blast had come from that. It was small, no bigger than a toaster, but apparently equipped with a laser that could toast the living hell out of me. I waited for it to pass out of my line of sight, then pulled myself up onto the window ledge.\n\nA washbasin and toilet were directly under the window. Next to them was the source of the sickening smell: the smoldering remains of a huge bat. Apparently, the drone was motion-activated and had fired at the flying bat.\n\nI looked up. Before I could move, another drone came into view, also on the far side of the interior, following the same flight path as the other.\n\nFor some reason, it didn't fire at me. Maybe the drones—and there were at least two, maybe more—scanned in only one direction, probably to avoid detecting each other.\n\nA few seconds later, I heard a faint hum. I scrambled back out through the window and dropped down, out of sight. The humming came closer, moving steadily, then passed by and kept going.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I stayed where I was and started counting.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "About thirty seconds later, another drone went past.\n\nI waited for it to drift out of earshot and then climbed back through the window. I dropped to the floor, then squeezed under the bed and slid back against the wall.\n\nAs I waited for the next drone to approach, I heard a light scratching sound. Trying to keep perfectly still, my eyes moved around the cell until I saw the source of the scratching: a massive rat. It was staring at me from just outside the bars.\n\nIt wriggled through the bars and started scurrying toward me.\n\nThen it burst into a ball of flame.\n\nI took a deep breath and froze, then counted to ten before taking another breath. My heart felt like it would pound out of my chest.\n\nI stayed under the bed for several more minutes, listening to the movement of the drones. About every thirty seconds or so, one would pass just outside the cell, so they were following a set path. Given the size of the building, I guessed that there were four drones patrolling this area.\n\nOnce I'd calculated the timing, I slid out from under the bed. With only a few moments to look around, my first move was to check the cell door. It was locked. The lock itself was rusted, so I could probably kick it open, but doing so would draw fire from any drone facing my direction.\n\nI hurried back under the bed before the next drone scanned the cell. There was only one way I could imagine getting past the drones. And it was probably a terrible idea. But a bad plan is better than no plan at all.\n\nIn the next thirty-second window, I exited the cell the way I'd come in, through the window, and started looking around for something I could use. An apple tree provided a long branch and an apple. I also found a tangle of barbed wire. They weren't ideal components, but they'd have to do.\n\nA few minutes later, I was back in the cell and under the bed. After the next drone passed, I slid out and got into position, standing near the bars at the front of the cell, my back against the wall. In my left hand, I held what looked like the least-intimidating medieval weapon imaginable; the apple was in my right hand.\n\nI hadn't been able to see the drones passing by the cell, so I didn't know how far off the floor they were…or how close they were to the bars; I had to hope it was no more than six feet away or I was about to be chicken-fried Tex.\n\nThe humming sound of the next drone grew closer.\n\nI made sure my medieval contraption was in position. I had to time this just right, but it would be better to move too soon than too late. The sound of the approaching drone got closer; I waited until the last second, then tossed the apple through the bars to my right.\n\nFrom my left, a laser beam blasted the apple.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Based on the angle of the laser, it looked like the drone was about six feet off the floor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 12 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I stuck my jury-rigged contraption through the bars; I'd attached the nest of barbed wire to the end of the tree branch, creating something like a butterfly net.\n\nA blast went harmlessly through the barbed wire, and then the drone floated straight into the tangled nest. As I gave the branch a hard twist, there was a bright flash and sparks showered the cell door. I pulled the branch closer as another blast hit the wall behind me, then stuck my right hand between the bars and into the barbed wire nest. It shredded the skin on my fingers, but I managed to get a solid grip on the drone. Then I dropped the tree branch and stuck my left hand in.\n\nNow with both hands holding the drone, I turned it to face away from me and, like an old airplane machine gunner, directed the laser fire at the three other drones.\n\nOne by one, my drone detected their movement and shot them down. I waited for several minutes to make sure I'd gotten them all and that there were no reinforcements coming. When I was sure the coast was clear, I lowered the live drone to the floor—still holding it through the bars—then maneuvered my leg out and stomped on it.\n\nI felt like a stone-cold killer. High on adrenaline, I stepped back and unleashed a ninja kick on the rusty cell door.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Let's continue this chapter fragment. Characters may appear without introduction. Write 21 sentences sentences like Aaron Conners. Genres: comedy, science fiction. Elements: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Gideon's avatar stood silent; head down, utterly defeated.\n\nI could picture the flesh-and-bones Gideon sitting in the rickety old wheelchair, somewhere inside his vast, empty fortress, slowly coming to grips with the fact that it was over. His vision of a better world…long years of planning and execution…his life's work…all gone in an instant.\n\nI wasn't sure how I should feel. Part of me was elated. I'd just taken down Overlord, the source of torture I'd been subjected to and barely survived. And even though Gideon wasn't the one who'd tried to kill me, he and his creation were ultimately responsible.\n\nStill, I'd destroyed the man's dream. A good man, I believed, with good intentions. Another part of me felt horrible about it.\n\n\"I'm sorry, Mr. Gideon,\" I said, \"but this had to happen.\"\n\nAfter a long pause, Gideon nodded slowly, still not looking up.\n\nIn the space between us, the few remaining pieces on the massive chessboard began to fade. I watched and waited for Gideon to say something, but he stayed silent. I was about to remove my headset when, at last, he spoke up:\n\n\"He finally did it.\"\n\nGideon slowly raised his head. To my surprise, he was smiling.\n\n\"After all these years.\"\n\nHe inhaled deeply and straightened up, composing himself.\n\n\"Greg is an excellent player,\" he said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"A bit too aggressive, perhaps, which has often worked against him in our matches. We've played to a draw on many occasions, but he's never beaten me. Not until today.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The pieces had all disappeared from the chessboard. Now the board itself was fading.\n\n\"I'm no expert,\" I said, \"but it did look like he had a pretty unfair advantage.\"\n\nGideon nodded.\n\n\"Yes, well, the outcome was a foregone conclusion once you gained access. There was no recourse, apart from convincing you to take my side rather than Greg's. But I suspect you and he are cut from similar cloth.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't know,\" I said. \"Other than agreeing that Overlord was a bad idea.\"\n\nGideon lowered his gaze to the chessboard, now turning to virtual stardust.\n\n\"Greg was…is…very dear to me, but we disagreed about many things. I was aware of his abhorrence of Overlord. And not just Overlord. In recent years, he'd come to despise the effects of modern technology on society and regret much of what we'd created together. But I never saw this gambit coming. It seems I underestimated him…and you. A mistake I've made all too often.\"\n\nGideon went quiet, lost in thought. After a minute, he turned away and reached for something I couldn't see.\n\n\"I intended to have one final drink to celebrate the culmination of my work,\" he said, turning back to face me. \"Now, I suppose, we must drink to your success.\"\n\nI'd never had alcohol at the time I met Gideon, but I would have gladly shared a drink with him now. I wasn't sure how I'd handle all this had I been in his place. Probably not well. But Gideon was resigning with an admirable amount of grace and dignity. It made me feel even more guilty. He probably didn't care to hear it, but I wanted to rationalize what I'd done.\n\n\"I think I understand what you hoped to accomplish with Overlord,\" I said, \"but I'm not sure you can force the world to be a better place.\"\n\nGideon smiled sadly.\n\n\"Hope is a fragile luxury, Mr. Murphy. As the years pass, we are all hurt…damaged. We become covered with scars—some physical, many more emotional. It's all too easy to forget what it was like before the scars, when we had vast reserves of optimism and the open road stretched out ahead of us, full of endless possibilities.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 22 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He brought his hands together, cradling something between them.\n\n\"That time is long past for me,\" he said, \"and there's no going back. It will be up to you and others like you to carry on.\"\n\nThe chessboard had disappeared, leaving an immense, dark void between us.\n\n\"Hold onto your hope as long as you can,\" Gideon said. \"Don't let life beat it out of you.\"\n\n\"I'll do my best.\"\n\n\"I know you will.\" Gideon smiled. \"I'd come to believe that there was no good left in the world, no heroes anymore—\"\n\n\"—only villains of varying degrees,\" I said. \"I remember.\"\n\nGideon nodded.\n\n\"Perhaps I was wrong about that.\"\n\nThe virtual space was slowly getting darker. It was like Gideon was sinking into the void.\n\n\"What will you do now?\" I asked.\n\nGideon shook his head and looked away.\n\n\"The only thing I can do: take the leap into the abyss and discover what awaits: immortality…damnation…or nothingness.\"\n\nGideon looked like a ghost now, fading away.\n\n\"Say goodbye to Greg for me, will you?\"\n\nI didn't have the heart to tell him Call was dead.\n\n\"I will,\" I said.\n\nWith one last smile, Gideon raised his hand toward me, holding an invisible glass.\n\nAnd then he was gone.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write twenty-two sentences sentences continuing this story fragment. Characters may appear without introduction. Use Aaron Conners's style. Genres: comedy, science fiction. Elements: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Checkmate\n\nSt. Germain is quiet for some time.\n\n\"There is a great deal to process,\" he says at last. \"I daresay this makes clear why Gideon took his own life. Like the rest of the world, I could make no sense of it at the time.\"\n\nI'll never forget the day I heard they'd found Gideon's body. It was months later. But he'd been dead a long time. Probably since right after we last spoke. It wasn't something I liked to think about.\n\n\"A tragic end for a tortured soul,\" St. Germain says.\n\nI just nod and raise my glass.\n\nRest in peace, Mr. Gideon.\n\nSt. Germain watches me drink.\n\n\"But you were certainly in the right,\" he says, pointedly. \"I hope you don't blame yourself for his death. We are all responsible for our own choices.\"\n\nI shrug and dig out a cigarette.\n\n\"I've known a lot of people who ended up dead. You learn how to live with it.\"\n\nSt. Germain gives me a look.\n\n\"Do you? Really?\"\n\nI ignore the question and light my smoke.\n\nThe Count waves his hand, dismissing the subject, and then extracts a fat cigar from the inner pocket of his suit coat.\n\n\"Enough of that,\" he says.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"What about Overlord? Are you certain it was destroyed?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 15 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have no reason to think it wasn't. I followed Call's instructions and it all went the way he said it would.\"\n\nMy host nods, thoughtfully, as he snips off the end his cigar.\n\n\"I suppose, on behalf of the free world, I should thank you.\"\n\n\"Don't mention it.\"\n\nSt. Germain produces a small matchbox and takes out a wooden match.\n\n\"As I said, since the moment we met, I've sensed that something significant was in store for you. But it seems Fate found you long before I did.\"\n\nI watch as he strikes the match, then holds it to the tip of the cigar and takes a series of puffs.\n\n\"I'm not sure how much I believe in fate,\" I say. \"More like dumb luck. Of all the heads on all the PI's in all the towns in all the world, they had to stick an implant into mine.\"\n\n\"But honestly,\" he says through the smoke, \"so many things had to happen exactly as they did—not only for you to become involved, but to survive and then, against virtually impossible odds, succeed. Do you think many other people could have accomplished what you did?\"\n\nI shrug—modestly—and take a drink.\n\n\"Considering you're my client, I'll go ahead and say 'no'.\"\n\nThe Count chuckles and leans back. After a delicate sip and a moment of reflection, he changes the subject away from my cosmic significance.\n\n\"So, tell me what happened after your confrontation with Gideon.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Narrative Continuation Protocol:\nQuantity: four sentences\nStyle: Aaron Conners\nGenre: comedy, science fiction\nContext: Part of larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I removed the VR headset and leaned back in the chair.\n\nI guess that's it, I thought.\n\nFor the first time in what felt like weeks—though it had been only a few days—I had no leads to track down…no mysteries to solve…no ticking clock in my head.\n\nMy case was finished and it felt like I should be in the mood to celebrate, but I wasn't.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was just exhausted.\n\nI shut everything down, including the generator, which I expected would disable the doming security. Then I gathered up all the hardware from the workstation and carried it out to my speeder.\n\nThe starry night sky was crystal clear—no dome overhead.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I loaded the equipment, got behind the wheel and lifted off. At this hour, the city was fast asleep and I was ready to join it, but I had to make one stop. Or more like a pause.\n\nI flew out to the middle of the Bay and set my Lotus to hover.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 5 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I opened the door and tossed the Gideon laptop out, then the passcard reader, then the STG passcards. One by one, I watched them flutter down into the black, sparkling water.\n\nI kept the VR headset. It was probably worth a few bucks.\n\nThen I turned for home.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue this fragment. Characters are already established. Write in Aaron Conners's style. Genres: comedy, science fiction. Themes: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I was out cold before my head hit the pillow on the cot in the back of my office. When I finally woke up, I staggered out to the main room and saw that it was still dark outside the big window. I checked the time and realized I'd lost an entire day. I wasn't going to miss it.\n\nI had missed about six meals, though, and the tootsie pops in my ashtray weren't going to cut it, so I got freshened up and went out to forage. At an all-night diner in the Mission District, I ordered enough breakfast to feed a family of bears, then got a newspaper and read it over plates of bacon, hash browns covered with melty swiss cheese, over easy eggs and wheat toast with raspberry jam.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The frontpage headline in the early morning edition was the bust at Law & Order.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a lot of speculation concerning the whereabouts of Robert Knott, but no mention of Klaus, Slade or Schimming, or anyone else I'd come across during my case.\n\nNothing about Wanda Peck, either, though there were references to CAPRICORN. And no mention of the small-time private investigator who'd infiltrated Knott's office to get the incriminating evidence on Law & Order. No surprise, though a little disappointing. It was a feeling I'd eventually get accustomed to.\n\nAfter pounding my prodigious hunger into submission, I read the Sports section, then finished the Jumble puzzle and half the crossword.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I left a celebratory tip and headed out.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[[OOC: ⚠️ Required: Use 'penny' exactly 4 times]]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "On the sidewalk outside, I spotted a penny. Cash was becoming as obsolete as floppy discs, and they'd quit minting coins almost a decade ago; I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen one. It made me think of my dad. Anytime he found a penny, he'd say: \"Find a penny, pick it up….all the day, you'll have good luck.\" Typically, I'd leave the penny where it was, but it seemed like a good omen. Plus, I'd used up a lot of luck in the past few days.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Not that I was planning on doing anything risky.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My to-do list consisted of checking in with Wanda and Detective Clements. Maybe another nap.\n\nAnd then there was Sylvia. There might be some riskiness with that. We needed to settle up my tab, but that wasn't the risky part.\n\nI'd done my best to obey the P.I. Rule of not falling for a client.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Not very successfully. I could try to blame our hookup interruptus back in Freaktown on the STG implant, but it was more than that.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I knew she was trouble, but I'd also seen her softer, more vulnerable side. It made me want to protect her, take good care of her. And she was the most gorgeous thing I'd ever laid eyes, hands and mouth on.\n\nUnfortunately, the last time I saw her, she was holding a gun on Slade, her face sticky with blood and duct tape residue, trying to convince me she wasn't as bad as everyone seemed to think she was. We'd almost gotten killed that night and it was because of me and my investigation. Maybe she'd hate me for putting her in danger, or feel humiliated by what Klaus had said about her, or be angry that I left her to deal with Slade and the cops and then went days without contacting her.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "On the other hand, I'd solved her case, and she'd get her million-dollar payout.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I had absolutely no idea what to expect when I saw her next.\n\nSomehow, she still managed to surprise me.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "finish my writing pls. like 49 sentences more sentences. stick to comedy, science fiction. use these if u can: noir, humor, Tex Murphy. maintain character context level", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So, Tex Murphy, Private Investigator, are you ready to take the dive?\"\n\nSylvia handed me a flute full of champagne.\n\n\"Depends. What's in it for me?\"\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"let me give you a little taste.\"\n\nShe stepped in close, put her arm around my waist and pulled me up against her body. She was all soft and warm. Then her lips were on mine. This time, it was a long, slow, wet kiss.\n\nShe stepped back and flashed a wide smile.\n\n\"Keep talking,\" I said.\n\nSylvia was wearing a long, white silk dress that hugged every curve from stem to stern, with spaghetti straps and a low-cut neckline that showed off her perfect neck, shoulders, arms and other stuff. Her blonde hair was slicked back; she looked like a cover model.\n\nThe room we were in was only slightly less impressive. The palette was rich, dark gold and linen, with a few splashes of crimson. A crystal chandelier hung from an ornate, recessed ceiling high above us. Thick, embroidered drapes were pulled back from floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a majestic view of the city. Two large Persian rugs lay on the gleaming parquet floor, one under a King-size bed, the other in a sitting area with two matching chairs, a gold-and-glass coffee table and a pillow-laden divan.\n\nThe Savoy Hotel's honeymoon suite was unquestionably the swankiest place I'd ever been.\n\nYeah. The honeymoon suite.\n\nThe past few days had been a total blur…even blurrier than the days I'd been on the case. As it turned out, Sylvia hadn't been upset with me. The exact opposite, in fact. After way too many celebratory cocktails, she'd proposed to me…and I took the first truly impulsive and irrational leap of my entire life.\n\n\"I'm thinking something tropical,\" Sylvia said. \"Romantic nights in the Caribbean. Or maybe Rio. How about skiing at St. Moritz?\"\n\n\"I don't ski.\"\n\nSylvia took a sip of champagne, then gave me a seductive look.\n\n\"I'll teach you how to ski…among other things.\"\n\n\"That sounds pretty good. But, just so you know, I'm a 'white picket fence/kids/dog' kind of guy.\"\n\nSylvia stepped toward me and adjusted my bow tie.\n\n\"We can talk about that later. Right now, we have the whole world to explore.\"\n\n\"Which is great,\" I said, \"but I've been thinking. A million dollars isn't what it used to be. How would you feel about getting a financial advisor?\"\n\n\"Well, $850,000. Which reminds me—\"\n\nShe drained her glass and turned away.\n\n\"—You're gonna love this. Hold on.\"\n\nShe knelt down by the bed and pulled out two lavishly-wrapped gift boxes from underneath. I was busy doing some mental math.\n\n\"You already spent a hundred and fifty thousand dollars?!\"\n\n\"Shush,\" she said, then carried the boxes to the coffee table.\n\n\"Go ahead. Open them.\"\n\nI'm not sure I'd ever seen anyone look happier and I didn't want to spoil things. We could talk about the money later. I sat down and started to unwrap the first gift. It was about the size of a toaster oven. I didn't think it was a toaster oven, but I kind of hoped it was. It would be perfect for my office.\n\n\"You didn't have to get me anything,\" I said.\n\n\"This is in celebration of solving your first case.\"\n\nA plain white box was under the wrapping paper.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "STORY CONTINUATION:\nLength: 35 sentences\nMaintain character context\nGenre: comedy, science fiction", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "(authors note, Only your next part should have a large amount of quoted speech)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Endgame\n\n\"Your 'Paradise Lost',\" St. Germain says with a half-smile.\n\n\"Like I said, it was a nutty few days.\"\n\nI haven't thought about Sylvia in a long time. Not in that way, at least. The good times hadn't lasted long. But there were good times. I still wore the fedora she'd bought for me.\n\nSt. Germain nods, watching me with a sympathetic expression, then takes a moment to refresh his glass. Leaving me with my thoughts, I suppose. Always the gentleman. We sit in silence for a spell, smoking and drinking.\n\n\"OK,\" I say, \"moving on. That was end of my case.\"\n\nMy host sets his glass down and shifts in his seat.\n\n\"And your career? Where did it go from there?\"\n\n\"Into the toilet, pretty much. Like everything else.\"\n\nSt. Germain raises an eyebrow and inspects the end of his cigar.\n\n\"That's unfortunate. And somewhat surprising.\"\n\n\"Tell me about it,\" I say, flicking the ash off the end of my cigarette. \"I thought Detective Clements and Wanda Peck had been impressed by my work. I figured one or both might throw me some bones, but they never did. And Wanda convinced me that it would be in everyone's best interest—including my own—not to advertise the details of my case.\"\n\n\"Why was that?\"\n\n\"She said we couldn't be absolutely certain Overlord didn't still exist. And if it was just hibernating, we couldn't be sure someone wouldn't be able to wake it up in the future. It was best if no one else knew about it. She was also concerned that Schimming was still out there, along with a lot of other powerful people with ties to Law & Order. She wanted to keep a lid on everything until CAPRICORN could finish rooting them all out.\"\n\n\"Did she ask for your assistance with that?\"\n\nI shake my head.\n\n\"No. And I'm not sure why. I didn't work with CAPRICORN again until years later.\"\n\n\"December, 2042?\"\n\n\"Thereabouts.\"\n\nSt. Germain leans forward and taps his cigar on the edge of the ashtray.\n\n\"That's something I'm eager to discuss, but first, let's go over the aftermath of your first case. What happened to Slade?\"\n\n\"According to Detective Clements, he took a plea deal that kept him off death row. She wasn't happy about that, but she said the decision came from way above her pay grade.\"\n\n\"Hm,\" the Count says. \"A plea deal would keep his name—and details of his crimes—out of the news.\"\n\nHe mulls this over, then continues: \"So, Carl Linsky's cause of death was changed to 'undetermined', which gave Sylvia the life insurance payout, but no other details emerged. The other deaths—at least those that were discovered—were all left as suicides or accidents. The disappearance of Robert Knott remained unsolved. No mention of Overlord anywhere. And the fall of the Law & Order Party provided a huge distraction to divert the attention of the media and the public. No apparent loose ends. All very tidy.\"\n\nI crush my cigarette into the ashtray.\n\n\"You think someone did a little housekeeping?\"\n\n\"Undoubtedly. CAPRICORN had its reasons for doing so, but their influence only extended so far. There had to be more powerful forces at work. I believe this is where our adversary made his first moves.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "St. Germain picks up his glass and swirls it.\n\n\"When I researched your background,\" he continues, \"I could find nothing of note between this point and when you went to the Martian Colonies, almost two years later. What were you doing in the interim?\"\n\n\"Not much. I got a few jobs…nothing very interesting. I picked up some new hobbies: smoking, drinking, and trying to keep Sylvia from blowing through all her money. I got pretty good at the first two; failed miserably on that last one.\"\n\n\"Let's jump ahead, then. How did your Martian case come about?\"\n\n\"I got a call and ended up meeting Marshall Alexander.\"\n\nSt. Germain is impressed.\n\n\"The founder of the Terraform Corporation.\"\n\n\"Yup. Made a fortune mining on Mars,\" I say. \"His daughter had gone missing—presumed kidnapped—and he needed someone to make the trip to Mars to find her and bring her back.\"\n\n\"Did Alexander say how he found you?\"\n\n\"No, and I didn't bother to ask. I was just excited to get a job. Especially a job working for a trillionaire.\"\n\n\"And why do you think a trillionaire would choose you? Especially considering you had no apparent track record of success.\"\n\n\"I assumed he couldn't find anyone else willing to make the trip without having to pay them a mint. It was an 18-month commitment and I was happy to do it for a bargain price. I needed a break from Sylvia and I figured getting 92 million miles away ought to do it.\"\n\nSt. Germain takes a long, thoughtful sip.\n\n\"Why?\" I ask. \"You think there was some other reason he hired me?\"\n\n\"From what I gather, your efforts on Mars were successful,\" he says, disregarding my question.\n\n\"Very.\"\n\n\"And?\"\n\nI shrug.\n\n\"I found Alexander's daughter, we had a few laughs and came home.\"\n\n\"And the Oracle Stone?\"\n\nOracle Stone?\n\nOnce again, I wonder how St. Germain catches wind of these things. I'd found out about the Oracle Stone during my time on Mars, but it hadn't been especially important to my case and I hadn't given it any thought in the years since.\n\n\"What about the Oracle Stone?\" I ask.\n\n\"Tell me what you know about it.\"\n\nI reach for the Lagavulin.\n\n\"I know it made some people do some crazy things,\" I say, refreshing my glass. \"Depending on who you ask, it was a religious artifact, or a relic left by an ancient Martian civilization. I wasn't that impressed.\"\n\n\"You should have been. I suspect the Oracle Stone may have been the primary reason for your going to Mars.\"\n\n\"Well, no offense, but that's ridiculous.\"\n\n\"I believe you may have brought it—or at least a piece of the same material—back with you.\"\n\n\"Well, I didn't.\"\n\n\"Not that you remember.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Pretty sure I'd remember that.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "St. Germain waves his cigar hand, leaving a trail of smoke.\n\n\"Regardless,\" he says, \"the story of the Oracle Stone didn't end on Mars. And I think you'll agree that where it reappeared is extremely interesting.\"\n\nHe sets his cigar in the ashtray, then opens his briefcase and takes out a tiny object. I've seen it before. Or one exactly like it. Pound for pound, probably the most destructive thing ever created. I'd seen it turn a moon-sized space station into scrap metal.\n\n\"Is that—?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" St. Germain says solemnly. \"A Winter Chip.\"\n\n\"But, how—?\"\n\n\"It took considerable resources to procure this, as you might imagine. CAPRICORN created three of them. This is the only one remaining.\"\n\nHe hands the Winter Chip to me. As I look it over, he continues:\n\n\"It seems a piece of the Oracle Stone was used to create this.\"\n\nSt. Germain waits for me to react. I'm just confused.\n\n\"I don't know what to tell you,\" I say. \"I never heard anything more about the Oracle Stone after I left Mars, and microchip technology isn't exactly in my wheelhouse.\"\n\n\"Nor mine. But I was able to find some information on research done with the Oracle Stone. It's quite fascinating.\"\n\nHe reaches back into his briefcase and pulls out a sheet of paper.\n\n\"'The [Oracle Stone],'\" he reads, \"'had heretofore unknown properties, most notable of which was its capacity for signal transference. When the substance was used in lieu of silicon for conductive purposes within an integrated circuit, it could receive information before it was sent. On its own this was considered a low value goal; the same effect can be replicated with photonic light. However, when a compressed, artificially intelligent super-virus was installed onto a chip lined with the substance, the result defied explanation. This 'Winter Chip' annihilated our best AIs in any given scenario, adapting and counter-attacking through what was, by all indications, foreknowledge.'\"\n\nSt. Germain looks up from the paper.\n\n\"You understand what this means? The Winter Chip could anticipate what the anti-virus software would do before it did it.\"\n\n\"That doesn't seem possible.\"\n\nSt. Germain raises an eyebrow.\n\n\"Some people believed the Oracle Stone could give one the power of prophecy.\"\n\nI set the Winter Chip down and grab another cigarette.\n\n\"Some people will believe anything.\"\n\n\"Be that as it may,\" St. Germain says, returning the paper to the briefcase, \"this information on the Oracle Stone came from a joint project between CAPRICORN and Gideon Enterprises. This links at least three of your cases: the first one, the one on Mars…and the big one.\"\n\n\"Ah, yes. The Case of the Murdered Girl with the Big…Hands.\"\n\nI may have had too much to drink. St. Germain is starting to get impatient. I light my smoke and resolve to try and take this all more seriously.\n\n\"I'm referring, of course, to the tragedy on the Moon Child,\" my host says, drily. \"The Titanic of this generation: the largest, most advanced space station ever constructed—so advanced that some conspiracy theorists claimed it was built using alien technology. And on New Year's Eve, 2042—during its maiden voyage, so to speak—it experienced a catastrophic systems failure. An unknown number of people on board, likely in the tens of thousands, died in the disaster.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't call it a disaster…but potato, potahto.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Damn scotch.\n\n\"As I've said all along,\" St. Germain says, \"there was precious little information to be found regarding you or your cases. Almost as if your tracks had been intentionally covered. Details on what happened to the Moon Child were especially scant. Not only were they never made public, they were kept confidential by every security agency and organization. I was fortunate to learn that you—again, of all people—were the only survivor. I'd very much like to know how you managed that.\"\n\nI let loose a long stream of smoke.\n\n\"What is it you're trying to figure out, exactly?\" I ask. \"I could tell you that whole story, but what's the point?\"\n\n\"I want to know how you alone survived.\"\n\n\"Trust me, no one saved me. I did it all on my own. And I almost didn't make it out.\"\n\n\"There was an entire city of people on the Moon Child. And you were the only one to get away safely? I believe that you must have had help. And this is where something from your first case comes into play.\"\n\nSt. Germain leans forward and locks eyes with me.\n\n\"Do you recall the name of the other project Larry Hammond told you about?\"\n\n\"Uh, lemme think…\"\n\nThroughout the evening, St. Germain had used his relaxation techniques to help me recall specifics, especially of my more important conversations. It was uncanny how much I could remember under hypnosis, but now it was like trying to recall a fading dream.\n\n\"It was Prizrak,\" the Count says.\n\n\"Right. Good memory.\"\n\n\"My memory is excellent, but that's not why I can recall it so easily. I was struck by it when you mentioned it, but I wanted to see if it came up later. And I believe it did.\"\n\n\"When was that?\"\n\n\"During your final confrontation with Gideon. As I recall, he said that he would soon be locked into a castle, which you interpreted to mean his compound. Gideon laughed at this, if you'll remember, and said that the castle was not a place.\"\n\n\"OK…\"\n\n\"He also said that it was, I believe the exact words were: 'Greg Call's crowning achievement'.\"\n\n\"Sorry I didn't make the connection. I was a little busy at the time. So what do you think he was talking about?\"\n\n\"The key is the word 'Prizrak'. It's Russian. It means 'ghost'.\"\n\nGhost?\n\nSt. Germain is watching me, wondering if I'll catch up. I've got too much scotch in me for that.\n\n\"So…what?\" I ask. \"Are we talking something paranormal? Dying?\"\n\n\"No, nothing paranormal.\"\n\nI take another drag.\n\n\"I could use another hint.\"\n\n\"Larry Hammond also said the Prizrak project involved 'Whole Brain Emulation'.\"\n\n\"Sorry,\" I say, shaking my head. I'm not using my whole brain at the moment.\"\n\n\"Whole Brain Emulation refers to the as-yet-theoretical process of uploading human consciousness into digital form.\"\n\n\"Like A.I.?\"\n\n\"The opposite of Artificial Intelligence. Literal human consciousness.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "St. Germain leans closer.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 3 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I suspect that Prizrak—Greg Call's crowning achievement—may have been executing the first successful upload of a human consciousness.\"\n\nAs I take a moment to snuff out my smoke, I suddenly get what he's saying.\n\n\"A ghost…you're talking about a Ghost in the Machine.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Writer's block help needed. This is from a bigger story - gonna send you something then keep it going 30 sentences at a time. Going for Aaron Conners vibes in the comedy, science fiction genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Precisely,\" St. Germain says. \"A Ghost in the Machine. Not an advanced artificial intelligence, but the mind of a human being, containing all its thought processes, emotions, memories and, perhaps most importantly, motivations. And now housed within circuitry, rather than a mortal body.\"\n\n\"But didn't you just say it's all theoretical?\"\n\n\"Yes, until it isn't. Based on your account of what Gideon said—that he and Overlord would be one and the same, that he would lock himself into a castle that no key could open, and that it was on account of Greg Call's crowning achievement—together with the project name, Prizrak, I'm prepared to entertain the possibility.\"\n\n\"So, if there really is a Ghost in the Machine, it must be Gideon.\"\n\n\"He's a prime candidate,\" St. Germain says. \"At the very least, we must reconsider who the adversary could be. Being alive is no longer one of the criteria.\"\n\n\"OK, so I have two issues. First, do you have any evidence there actually is a Ghost in the Machine? 'Cause I don't.\"\n\nSt. Germain smiles.\n\n\"I assume you're familiar with the 'curious incident of the dog that didn't bark'?\"\n\n\"Of course,\" I say. \"The Sherlock Holmes story. He identifies a thief because a dog that should have barked during the robbery didn't.\"\n\nThe Count nods, pleased.\n\n\"In a similar vein, it's the absence of another explanation that makes me believe the Ghost exists. The fact that you have been guided from one event to another, seemingly randomly and not by an identifiable, living source. Also, the dearth of online information, which is simple data that a Ghost in the Machine might easily gain access to and manipulate or delete. And, as I said earlier, I believe you needed help to escape the Moon Child—the kind of help a Ghost in the Machine would facilitate. There are other, more subtle indications, as well.\"\n\nI mull this over.\n\n\"OK, assuming it's possible,\" I say, \"that leads to my second issue. Even if Gideon got his consciousness uploaded into Overlord, running the Stalemate program would have destroyed it.\"\n\n\"Or, perhaps, Stalemate simply disabled Overlord. If it wasn't destroyed, the Ghost in the Machine could have survived. Or, Greg Call could also have uploaded the consciousness to a different network. And we know Gideon Enterprises had access to CAPRICORN's network. It's a reasonable assumption that data could move between the two and, wherever the Ghost originated from, this could have provided an avenue for him to migrate and expand.\"\n\n\"And then it could have gone beyond CAPRICORN,\" I say, starting to warm up to the idea. \"Gideon was partnered up with a bunch of governments and big corporations.\"\n\nSt. Germain nods.\n\n\"Yes. It may have taken time for the Ghost to gain access and learn how to navigate the framework, but it's a viable explanation for how he eventually spun his global web. This is exactly the kind of thing I hoped to discover.\"\n\n\"And that was your reason for the Faraday Cage and ditching my Smart Alex. You think the Ghost could track us.\"\n\n\"Almost certainly. Possibly even eavesdrop on us.\"\n\nI think this over. We're talking about a worst-case scenario, but it all seems plausible. Except for one thing.\n\n\"You said you think this Ghost was involved in what happened on the Moon Child,\" I say. \"I don't see how it could. Their plans required cutting all ties with Earth, so the Moon Child's networks, its security, everything, was internal. That's why the Winter Chip had to be smuggled onboard: there was no way to introduce it externally.\"\n\nSt. Germain raises steepled hands to his pursed lips and gives it some thought before replying:\n\n\"CAPRICORN was developing the Winter Chip for years. The Ghost may have already known about it and what CAPRICORN intended to do with it when he was still alive, but could also have learned about it after accessing their network. Either way, I believe he arranged for them to get some of the Oracle Stone to improve their odds of success. Clearly, the Ghost did not want the Moon Child to serve its intended purpose.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I get that,\" I say, \"but you seem to think the Ghost ended up on the Moon Child.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"If CAPRICORN's development of the Winter Chip was on their network, the Ghost could have wormed its way into that.\"\n\n\"You mean literally?\" I ask. \"As in, the Ghost was on the chip?\"\n\n\"It seems possible. It's only data.\"\n\n\"And why would the Ghost want to be on the chip? Knowing what it was going to be used for, it would have been basically committing suicide.\"\n\n\"Perhaps only a portion of its consciousness went onto the chip,\" St. Germain says, \"or it replicated itself. Copying data is a simple thing.\"\n\n\"Fair enough. But that's just how the Ghost might have gotten on the chip, not why.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he felt he could help to ensure that the Winter Chip would destroy the Moon Child. But I believe he had another purpose.\"\n\n\"And what would that be?\"\n\n\"You.\"\n\n\"Me?\"\n\n\"If the Ghost had been monitoring your activities, he could have known that you were likely to end up on the Moon Child.\"\n\n\"No way,\" I say. \"Even I didn't know I'd be on the Moon Child until the last minute. I was never part of the plan. And the Winter Chip had already been created. The Ghost couldn't have known unless he could see the future.\"\n\nSt. Germain raises his eyebrows expectantly.\n\n\"Maybe he did. The Oracle Stone?\"\n\n\"That's a stretch.\"\n\nThe Count waves his hand.\n\n\"Immaterial. Perhaps it was fate…a fortunate coincidence. But if the Ghost was introduced into the Moon Child's network, he would have had access to all systems—security, cameras, alarms, doors…everything. He would have known you were on board and, with access to all the systems, could greatly facilitate your escape, which I believe he had a vested interest in doing.\"\n\nI think back to what had happened in those final minutes on the Moon Child. I can't recall anything inexplicable happening. But I guess it was possible. Things had worked out almost perfectly for me to get out alive.\n\n\"OK. Let's say everything you're assuming actually happened,\" I say. \"You still haven't made a case for why it was me the Ghost had a vested interest in.\"\n\n\"That is the simplest part of the equation, as I see it. For one, existing in a virtual space has its limitations, especially when interacting with the physical world. For example, the Ghost would be capable of purchasing a weapon remotely and having it shipped to an address—\"\n\nSt. Germain watches me make the connection.\n\n\"—but it couldn't get the weapon and pull the trigger,\" I say.\n\n\"He could, however, cause lethal malfunctions in a variety of ways: air traffic control, hospital equipment, security systems, of course. Even manipulating a heating system to release high levels of undetected carbon monoxide…as happened this evening at the Ritz Hotel.\"\n\nSt. Germain pauses, as I absorb this.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"But let's get back to the question of 'why you',\" he continues.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 10 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"And this is why I suspect that Overlord was not destroyed. I should think it would be obvious.\"\n\nHe taps the side of his head.\n\n\"The implant?\" I ask. \"But it was deactivated.\"\n\n\"Who else had one?\"\n\nSt. Germain has a point. As far as I know, everyone else who got an implant died from it. But I was sure mine had been short-circuited, so it didn't matter.\n\nBefore I can answer, St. Germain speaks:\n\n\"I believe you may have been the only person in the world the Ghost would have any control over.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Format: Story segment\nLength: thirty-seven sentences\nMaintain: Established context\nThemes: noir, humor, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Think about it,\" St. Germain says. \"You and the STG team members were the only implant recipients, and everyone but you died. As did anyone who could have administered other implants—Klaus, Call and Gideon.\"\n\n\"Or they virtually died. But I get your point. I may have been the only person left alive with one of the implants.\"\n\nSt. Germain nods.\n\n\"But I told you I never had any more of the symptoms,\" I say. \"There is zero evidence that the implant has had any effect on me since I left Nexus.\"\n\nThe Count leans forward, pointing his cigar for emphasis.\n\n\"According to your own account, multiple sources said the Overlord implants would influence only basic physiological functions…initially, but the plan was to eventually implement more sophisticated effects to influence behavior. I don't know what would be involved, of course, but the Ghost had years to continue development. And I would venture to say that affecting brain functions such as memory would have been possible.\"\n\n\"You think the Ghost could make me forget things.\"\n\n\"It would explain your returning from Mars with a piece of the Oracle Stone and having no memory of it.\"\n\n\"And how would he get me to bring the Oracle Stone?\"\n\n\"I don't pretend to know all the answers,\" St. Germain says. \"Planting a suggestion in your mind seems extraordinarily complex, but perhaps he communicated with you directly. Or maybe he sent a message that appeared to come from Marshall Alexander. There are several reasonable possibilities. And then he could erase your memory of the communication.\"\n\n\"I don't buy it,\" I say.\n\nI grab my glass and drain it.\n\n\"But you see that only a person with an implant could be controlled,\" St. Germain says, gently.\n\nI shrug and reach for the bottle.\n\n\"And you have that implant in you,\" he adds.\n\nSt. Germain watches me refill my drink, his face sympathetic.\n\n\"It's possible I'm wrong about all this,\" he says. \"But if I'm right—\"\n\n\"—If you're right,\" I say, cutting in, angry, \"why would he try to kill me? If I'm his only Manchurian Candidate?\"\n\nSt. Germain pulls back, startled. He thinks for a moment before answering.\n\n\"You must be a potential threat to his plans. You may know something: a name, a place, a password—something that might seem unimportant to you, or maybe that you have no conscious memory of. Or…he may fear that you could lead someone to him.\"\n\n\"Which is exactly what's happening right now.\"\n\nSt. Germain nods.\n\n\"Yes, I have to assume he knows about me. You and I may represent the greatest danger to him.\"\n\nWe're both quiet for a long moment.\n\n\"Are you ready for this to end?\" St. Germain finally asks. \"I want to help you. We can help each other.\"\n\nI take a drink and a minute to think. I'm still not sure I believe any of this. But if St. Germain is right—and there's some way to fight back—I'm all in. Being controlled is something I've fought against my whole life. The possibility of having been manipulated all these years is making my blood boil.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I'm ready,\" I say.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 20 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"But how are we supposed to kill a ghost?\"\n\nThe Count takes a deep breath and rubs his hands together.\n\n\"There's only one place I can think of where we might find answers after all these years. Greg Call's lab. That's where the effects of your implant changed, where Call completed his Prizrak project. If the Ghost has a weakness or left a trail that we can follow, it must be found there. What are the odds that it's just as you—and Call—last left it?\"\n\n\"Who knows? Pretty good, I expect. It was in the middle of nowhere and no one else knew about it.\"\n\n\"Can you find it?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" I say. \"Eventually.\"\n\n\"We don't know if or how the Ghost can utilize your implant or track you. To be safe, we should get you a new speeder and outfit it with the same Faraday Cage technology we've been using in this room. I can get that taken care of and have you ready to leave in a few hours.\"\n\nI'm about take another drink when St. Germain reaches out a hand.\n\n\"You'll want to have your wits about you,\" he says.\n\nI pause and nod, then set my glass down.\n\n\"You're safe here,\" he adds. \"You should try to get some sleep.\"\n\n\"Fat chance of that.\"\n\nSt. Germain smiles and pulls himself out of his chair.\n\n\"If things go our way, perhaps we'll both sleep better after tomorrow.\"\n\n\"How's that?\"\n\nHe locks his briefcase and picks it up.\n\n\"Greg Call worked on both Overlord and Prizrak. His lab might even be the source of both. He did name it 'Nexus', after all. It could be the center of the Ghost's web.\"\n\nSt. Germain points to the Winter Chip on the table in front of me.\n\n\"This was designed to take down a vast network with the most advanced security system imaginable. My hope is that it will do what it did to the Moon Child…and destroy the Ghost with it.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Mode: Co-writing\nContext: May be mid-narrative\nLength: 6 sentences\nNote: Treat character introductions as contextually appropriate", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I've always felt like I was born about a hundred years too late. In the New San Francisco of 2043, old-fashioned gumshoes like me are as archaic as fax machines and jazz on vinyl. Maybe I should put a subtitle on my business card, Wile E. Coyote-style: Tex Murphy, P.I. (detectii obsoletus).\n\nI grew up dreaming of being a 21st Century Sam Spade. And if it hadn't been for the 'nuclear incident' thirty or so years ago, this city might have looked a lot like it did back in 1943. The signature landmarks are still around – spared, repaired or rebuilt – but most everything else has changed.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The blistered ozone made sunlight so dangerous we had to enact a 'Time Reversal', so now life goes on under the cover of night.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And radioactive fallout gave us a generation of genetic mutation and a whole new group of people to look down on.\n\nFor some reason, I feel more at home among the mutants. I live in a mostly mutant neighborhood in an older part of the city, where I work out of my apartment on the top floor of the deceptively-named Ritz Hotel. My workload is pretty steady – somewhere between zero and one cases at any given time. I chalk it up to a poor track record with clients, who tend to double-cross me and/or die by the time my cases wrap up. Treacherous and/or dead clients don't generate a lot of referrals or repeat business.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "yo, this is from the middle so some people might show up without backstory. write 10 sentences sentences like Aaron Conners. genres: comedy, mystery. ideas: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "I was jolted awake by the vibration and sound of heavy, clanking footsteps.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I had no sense of how much time had passed, but I hadn't moved an inch, still lying on my back with the same metal underneath me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "My face was baking in sunlight. I raised a hand to shield my face and opened my eyes to see a clear sky and brilliant afternoon sun. The most dangerous time of day. I was being exposed to high levels of radiation…and had been for who knows how long.\n\nWith a huge effort, I managed to roll onto my side. As I propped myself up on an elbow, I felt a bowling ball burp out of the ball return at the base of my skull and smash into my forehead. Grey specks danced in front of my eyes. I pulled myself into a seated position and finally got my bearings. I was on the fire-escape outside my office/apartment on the top floor of the Ritz Hotel. Not a clue how I'd gotten here.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "There was a black hole where my short-term memories should be. The last thing I could remember was being on a stakeout…outside a steakhouse, ironically enough. I had no idea how long ago that had been or how I'd ended up here. It had been a long time since I'd woken up somewhere unexpected. More than a year, around the time I met Chelsee and decided she was a good reason to quit trying to drown myself in tiny glasses of bourbon.\n\nThe vibration and clanking footsteps were coming from two uniformed cops trudging up the fire escape. I didn't recognize either one. I slid over into a swath of shade against the door and patted my pockets in search of nicotine. I found a crumpled pack of Llamas in my shirt pocket and fired one up. As the chemicals hit my bloodstream, I felt the brain fog start to lift.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "(In the next section: Use the word 'pretty' 2 time(s) - this is a strict requirement)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Thank god. I'd had at least a half-dozen serious concussions and I was pretty sure this was unlucky number seven. Maybe that's why I couldn't remember how I'd gotten here. A common side effect of head trauma is impaired or lost memory. That's why they ask if you know what year it is or if you can name the president. I was pretty sure it was June of 2043. The president? Who cares.\n\nThe lead cop stopped a couple steps below the landing and leaned onto the railing. He was middle-aged and built like a snowman. The three-story climb had left him red-faced and short of breath.\n\n\"Sorry to wake you up,\" he gasped.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You looked like a dead corpse from down on the street.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yeah,\" I said, exhaling a long stream of smoke, \"that's my bad side.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Are you all right?\" he asked without much concern.\n\n\"Just dandy,\" I replied, despite all evidence to the contrary.\n\nThe cop sized me up, trying to get a read on the situation. Behind him, his junior partner was young, fit and raring to go. \"Sir, we're investigating a report of shots fired somewhere in this vicinity. We'd appreciate any information you could give us.\"\n\nI considered whether or not to tell them what I'd heard: two gunmen, a big speeder and, possibly, an abduction. But no idea who, what or why. The one thing I knew was that me being KO'd on the fire escape while it was going on was probably not a coincidence. It might justify another entry into my long list of 'P.I.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Rules': If you regain consciousness in the middle of a gunfight, you're probably involved in some way.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I needed to investigate, preferably before these beat cops mucked up the crime scene or, even worse, found an actual clue. Telling them what I'd overheard would just encourage them.\n\n\"The only shots I know about are the ones I drank in a bar last night,\" I said.\n\nI was probably lying. I know what it feels like to wake up from a blackout bender and this was different. It was, however, a plausible explanation for my suspicious circumstances.\n\nThe cops exchanged looks. The older one seemed inclined to believe me, or at least cut me some slack. The younger one, not so much. He glanced up at the door behind me and read the words that were stenciled on it: Tex Murphy, Private Investigator.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word frequency rule: 'turned' × 2", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You Murphy?\" he asked.\n\nI turned to look. \"Oh, good,\" I said. \"I almost made it home.\"\n\n\"Let's see some I-D.\"\n\nThe older cop waved him off. \"We don't need I-D. This is him.\" He pulled out a handkerchief and used it to dab sweat from his forehead. \"He's pretty well-known downtown.\" He turned to me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"You know we could take you in for questioning.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was a pretty unthreatening threat. More like a suggestion.\n\nI flicked ash off the end of my cigarette. \"Sure. I'd be happy to go downtown with you. It's been a while since I tossed cookies in the back of a squad car.\" For added effect, I put a finger to my pursed lips and suppressed a burp.\n\nNo one likes vomit – a fact I was banking on. The last thing I wanted was to go downtown. I had a somewhat precarious relationship with law enforcement. Every time the cops got called to anything within a mile radius of Chandler Avenue, they'd end up knocking at my door, assuming I was involved, hoping I was a suspect. This time was the same, only more so.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My convenient 'amnesia' would make me even more suspicious than usual.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I pulled myself up and lost my balance, staggering back against the door. It wasn't an act. I wasn't drunk, but my skull was getting jackhammered. My knees and back felt like they were in rigor mortis. The left side of my ribcage and the inside of my right arm were burning.\n\nWhat the hell had happened to me?\n\n\"OK, Murphy,\" said the older cop, backing down. \"We're gonna go take a look around. If we find out you're not being straight with us, we'll be back. We could get a warrant on you pretty quick.\"\n\nI threw him a mock salute. They turned and headed back down the stairs.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "When they got to the bottom, they conferred quietly, glanced back up at me and then walked off into the alley.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A moment later, they disappeared into the parking lot behind the Ritz.\n\nAfter a long, last drag off my cigarette, I flicked the butt and watched it float lazily down to the ground and land in a tiny explosion of sparks. I gritted my teeth and started down the stairs. As I made my way down, I scanned the area. There was no evidence of a shootout that I could see.\n\nI reached the bottom of the stairs and headed out to the street. The cops either didn't hear me or care that I was leaving. Chandler Avenue was deserted – not surprising considering the time of day. Most people wouldn't be waking up for another hour or two. With no other witnesses to interview, the cops would probably do a cursory search of the area and leave.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "If I was lucky, all I had to do was lay low for a while and wait for them to clear out.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then I could come back to the scene and try to find out what I'd just slept through.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "The user will write a bit then you need to write around 73 sentences continuing directly from the user's text. Match the familiarity level of any character introductions. Stick to the comedy, mystery genre.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm not exactly a ladies' man. Kind of the opposite, actually. Most of the women I've gotten involved with have treated me the way a starving grizzly treats a baby lamb dipped in gravy. Chelsee was the lone exception, more like a mama bear – fierce when provoked, but usually sweet and kind.\n\nI couldn't tell which type my new acquaintance at the Brew & Stew was. Maybe neither, maybe both. She was obviously concerned for my wellbeing, but that just added to my disorientation. She seemed to know me, or at least was acting like it. So why didn't I know her?\n\nShe called out: \"I have to go, Uncle Louie!\" and he yelled back: \"OK, Taylor! I'll see ya at lunch!\" Using my keen detective skills, I deduced that the woman's name was Taylor and that she was Louie's niece. That explained how she might know me, but not the level of familiarity.\n\nShe led me outside to her speeder, a cute little candy apple convertible, and moments later we were on our way to the North Hill Clinic. I mentally waved bye-bye to the cops below and then rolled up my shirt sleeve. Who the hell had scratched my arm this hard? Clearly, they'd wanted to leave a message. But why do it this way? Human skin isn't ideal for taking notes – limited space, almost impossible to erase. My best guess was they didn't have enough time to find a pencil and a post-it.\n\nSo what was the message? 51? That was my first thought. My last case had led me to Roswell, New Mexico. Area 51. Did this refer to that? SL? St. Louis? Saint Louie? Salt Lake? The other possibilities, 5L and S1, meant nothing at all to me. Maybe the number or letters were just the first two of many – a phone number or address or account number? And what was the connection between the scratched message and the injection mark?\n\nI'd actively avoided seeing doctors in the past. Blame it on my gender and/or my perpetual lack of funds, but this time I was all for it. I'd been assuming my fogginess was due to the headache, but discovering that I'd been injected with something changed everything. Hopefully a doctor could help clear things up.\n\nI looked over at Taylor. She was a good driver – fast, but controlled and decisive. I got the feeling she was the same way with everything. She asked me what had happened. I described waking up to the gunshots, going unconscious again, and then my chat with New San Francisco's finest. She wanted to know the last thing I could remember. I told her about being on the stakeout. Neither of us knew how long ago that had been.\n\nWe arrived at the clinic and I was escorted to a room, where a nurse took my vitals and had me fill out some forms. All the info was accurate with the exception of my name, address and billing information. A few minutes later, a doctor came in and introduced herself as Dr. Donahue.\n\n\"Taylor warned me you might be a problem patient.\"\n\n\"Just because I wouldn't let her give me stitches.\"\n\nDr. Donahue smiled as she snapped on a pair of latex gloves. \"Let's take a look.\"\n\nI tried to not be a baby but, lord, did it sting. As she cleaned me up and put in the stitches, the doctor asked me to describe what had happened. I told her about the other injuries and, when she finished, she had me take off my shirt. I pointed out the vampire wound on my ribs.\n\n\"So, am I now a creature of the night?\"\n\n\"Aren't we all?\" She took a quick look, seemed to recognize it immediately. \"You didn't get this from a vampire, unless it was a vampire with a taser gun.\"\n\nA taser gun?\n\n\"A z-tazer, I would guess,\" she said. \"You got cooked. Highest setting, probably. Enough to knock you out. Those things can stop your heart. You got lucky.\"\n\n\"Funny, I don't feel lucky.\"\n\n\"And you don't remember getting zapped?\"\n\n\"Nope.\"\n\n\"How about getting these scratches on your arm?\"\n\nI shook my head. She studied the scratch marks closely and then moved onto the puncture wound.\n\nShe looked up at me. \"You didn't do this, did you?\"\n\n\"Inject myself? No. Why would I do that?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"Lots of people do.\"\n\n\"You mean, like, drugs?\" She shrugged again. \"I hate needles,\" I said. \"I prefer bottles.\"\n\nDr. Donahue smiled. \"I'd like to draw some blood, if you don't mind. Was all the information correct on your forms?\"\n\n\"I said that I exercise regularly, and smoke sparingly. I may have gotten those mixed up.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Write 39 sentences more sentences. This is mid-story so characters are already established. Style: Aaron Conners. Genres: comedy, mystery. Themes: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Out across the Pacific, the sun was sliding under the waves like a Kraken returning to its lair.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The surviving townsfolk were now free to go about their business.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Schools and most offices would be open by 8 p.m., lunch around midnight, happy hour starting at 4 a.m., suppertime at 7, a few hours of television or whatever and then safely back in bed before the fiery beast again rose high in the eastern sky.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The young and the hip might stay out till midday, but by early afternoon only criminals, working ladies and the odd investigator were out and about.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "These days, the only real suntans were on the city's underbelly.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "As Taylor flew us back to Chandler Avenue, most respectable citizens were just waking up. For me, it was already one of the longest and worst days of my life. I was probably in shock. Is there any way to find out you've lost seven years of your life and not have your mind blown?\n\nI vaguely remember Taylor trying to talk to me, but my brain was too busy trying to process what I'd just been told. I'd been blindsided plenty of times before, but nothing like this. It was so incredible, so…impossible. Even now I couldn't really accept it. Dr. Donahue assured me that it was very likely a temporary condition, and that with time…or medication…or therapy, all my memories of the past seven years would return. This happens when people awake from comas, she'd said, as if that would somehow make it easier to handle. But it wasn't the same. People in comas had been comatose, not living a normal life. What if I never got the memories back? All the things I'd done and learned, the places I'd gone, the people I'd met…\n\nPeople like Taylor.\n\nNow it made sense. We did know each other. She was obviously part of my life now. But what about the people who'd been a part of my life seven years ago? I knew Louie was still around, but how about Chelsee?\n\nAs we glided down toward the Brew & Stew, I looked for the newsstand outside Rook's Pawnshop. Chelsee's newsstand. The place where we'd met, where I'd wooed her in my own pathetic, ineffectual way. It was gone. I felt a sudden surge of panic.\n\nWhat had happened to Chelsee?\n\nWe landed at the Brew & Stew. Taylor reached over to squeeze my hand.\n\n\"We'll get through this.\"\n\nBut she was touching a stranger and we both felt it. I didn't know what to say. We climbed out on opposite sides. Taylor folded her arms on the speeder roof and rested her chin.\n\n\"What do you wanna do?\"\n\n\"I dunno. Get drunk?\"\n\nTaylor smiled. \"That sounds more like the Tex I know. Wanna go back to your place?\"\n\nI stuck my hands in my pockets, looked around. It was a tempting offer. Taylor was a beautiful woman and we clearly had a history, even if I couldn't remember it. But it didn't feel right. I didn't know Taylor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And the only woman I felt anything for was Chelsee. Who knew what had happened in the past seven years, but Chelsee would still be my girl until I found out otherwise.\n\nI looked down toward the Ritz. The cop's speeder was gone. I was free to go search the scene and now I was absolutely certain that whatever had happened was connected to my injuries and erased memory. But what I wanted more than anything was to see a familiar face. And I wasn't kidding about getting drunk.\n\n\"I want to go see Louie.\"\n\nTaylor's smile faded. \"This is gonna be weird.\"\n\nMore confusion. \"Why?\"\n\n\"I forget you and Uncle Louie used to be good friends.\"\n\n\"What do you mean 'used to be'?\"\n\nTaylor came around the vehicle. \"You two haven't been on good terms for a while. Today was the first time you'd come by the diner in a couple months.\"\n\n\"That's pretty hard to believe. This is about the only place I eat.\"\n\nTaylor looked at me with sympathetic eyes. \"Not anymore. You've been staying somewhere else for a long time now.\"\n\n\"So I don't live at the Ritz anymore?\"\n\n\"You still have the apartment. You're just not there very often.\"\n\nI could barely afford my rooms at the Ritz. How could I pay for two places? I'd been dead broke my whole life. Maybe my fortunes had changed. But this news about me and Louie was disturbing.\n\n\"So what happened between me and Louie?\"\n\n\"I don't know the details, but you two had a falling out at some point. It got worse over the past couple years, there've been a few run-ins. Last time was a few months ago. Uncle Louie kicked you out and said you weren't welcome back.\"\n\nI'd been trying to roll with everything else, but this was the final straw. Louie had always been the one person I could trust and the Brew & Stew was my oasis. I couldn't imagine how things could ever have gone bad between us. Louie's friendship meant a lot to me, especially now. I turned and marched toward the diner door.\n\nBefore I got there, Taylor caught my arm.\n\n\"Hold on.\"\n\nI stopped and she posted up between me and the door.\n\n\"I know this must be incredibly hard, but a lot of things change in seven years. You've changed. I didn't know you that well before, but I like who you are now. You're strong and tough and you've gone through a lot. But it rubs some people the wrong way. Uncle Louie doesn't like the 'new Tex', as he calls it.\"\n\n\"Look, I can't relate to anything you're saying,\" I said. \"Inside my head, I'm the same guy I've always been. The way you describe it, it sounds like I turned into some kind of bastard. I'd have to be to lose Louie as a friend. I don't know how or why that happened, but I have to fix it. Right now.\"\n\nTaylor nodded. \"I understand. Or at least I'm trying to. Just…let me go talk to him first, try to explain what's happened. If I don't, he may not want to listen to anything you have to say.\"\n\nI thought it over.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Maybe it was better for her to run interference.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 20 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"OK,\" I said. \"But if he says no, I'm coming in anyway.\"\n\nTaylor gave my hand another squeeze and went inside. I wandered back to her speeder and leaned against it as I lit up a cigarette. This felt like a nightmare. Everything in my life seemed to have changed. My relationships, where I lived, even my personality. And I sensed that the changes, especially in light of the situation with Louie, were not all for the better.\n\nThe smoke wasn't helping. My brain was scrambling, pulling me in different directions from one moment to the next. Part of me wanted to lay low until I heard back from the doctor. Maybe this could be fixed and all I had to do was wait. Another part of me wanted to go, go, go. Do something…anything. Talk to everyone and find out everything I could about the last seven years.\n\nBut mostly I wanted to take a seat in the Brew & Stew, order up a drink or some food, shoot the breeze with my old friend Louie and pretend none of this was happening.\n\nI was stubbing out my cigarette when Taylor pushed open the diner doors and motioned for me to follow her. I stepped inside and looked around. There were a handful of customers sipping coffee and eating breakfast. No one I recognized. Taylor pointed toward a booth.\n\n\"Have a seat. Uncle Louie will be out in a minute.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "The user will write a segment from a longer work then you need to write around 12 sentences continuing directly from it. Try to mimic the style of Aaron Conners in the comedy, mystery genre. Note that characters may appear without introduction.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The last two times I'd sat in this booth were with Chelsee. The first time, we both just happened to be at the Brew & Stew. I invited myself to join her and was playing it cool, working up the courage to ask her out on a real date. As usual, I said the wrong thing and she ditched me for an evening of ice cream and a Cary Grant movie. That was the same night Gordon Fitzpatrick hired me to find Thomas Malloy and the Pandora Device.\n\nAfter I wrapped up that case, I asked Chelsee to meet me and we ended up in this same booth. I was excited to tell her about my adventures. The case had been so epic, I was thinking about naming it something like 'Tex Murphy and the Temple of Doom'. I also poured my heart out and announced my intentions to woo her. Unfortunately, both ideas got shot down…for copyright issues and a Cary Grant hologram, respectively.\n\nThat had been just a couple months ago. Or, rather, a couple months and seven years ago.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Had that been the end of it for me and Chelsee?", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Something in the back of my mind told me there was more to the story, that important things had happened between us. But the memories were just out of reach, not remembered, but not totally forgotten either.\n\nTaylor appeared with a bottle of Basil-Hayden and two tumblers, one empty and the other full of ice. I realized she was doing what she could to help, and that this situation had to be hard on her, too, but I really didn't feel like sharing a drink with her at the moment.\n\n\"Don't worry,\" she said, seeming to read my mind. \"I don't start this early. And I'm late for work. I just don't know how you used to take your bourbon.\"\n\nShe set the things on the table and took a step back, forcing a smile. \"I really hope you get your memory back, cowboy. I'm already missing you.\"\n\nI watched her leave and then poured three fingers of whiskey into the empty glass. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice:\n\n\"Mind if I join ya?\"\n\nI looked up to see Louie, but not the same Louie I remembered.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He'd lost a lot of weight, at least a hundred pounds. It was shocking. Even though my rational mind knew it had been seven years, it still felt like only days since I'd last seen him.\n\n\"Please,\" I said.\n\nHe settled in without making eye contact. The skin around his jaw and neck was loose, his eyes sunken, his nose and ears even more oversized against his shrunken face. I felt a shiver of fear. Maybe he was sick. I hoped it was just the shock of the overnight transformation.\n\nLouie finally glanced up at me. I must have looked horrified. \"What?\" he asked.\n\n\"You're so thin.\"\n\nLouie almost smiled. \"So what Taylor said, it's true? This ain't some kinda game yer playin'?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I don't know what the hell's going on, Louie. In my head it's still 2043.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"And you don't remember nuthin' since then?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He was skeptical and I couldn't blame him.\n\nI shook my head. \"Doctor's doing some tests. They're saying I should get my memory back eventually, but they're also saying they've never seen anything like this.\"\n\nAfter a long silence, Louie relaxed a bit.\n\n\"My doc said I was too fat. Losin' the weight was no fun. Keepin' it off ain't no picnic either.\" He folded his hands on the table. \"So what ya want from me?\"\n\nI took a drink and felt the welcome burn in the back of my throat.\n\n\"Taylor said things haven't been good between us. I don't know why. I'm sure it must have been my fault. But I want my friend back.\"\n\nLouie nodded his head slowly. I think he wanted to believe me, but it wasn't easy. I must have done something bad.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I needed to convince him I was on the up-and-up.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"If it'll help, you can tell me what I did. I don't know what I can do now, but I'll apologize, try to make amends. What was it about?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Louie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Whatever had gone bad between us, it was still painful to talk about.\n\n\"It was Chelsee,\" he said.\n\nChelsee?\n\nThe way he said it made me uneasy. Something told me I wouldn't be happy about what Louie had to say. But at least maybe I'd find out what had happened to her.\n\nI leaned forward. \"What about Chelsee?\"\n\nLouie just shook his head. It seemed like he'd been holding this in for a long time. \"When you came back, you wasn't the same. And it just got worse. Hard drinkin', always wantin' to fight. You wasn't the same, Moiph.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, 'when I came back'? Where did I go?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"It was right after all that stuff with you and Chelsee. Nobody knows where ya went. But you was gone a long time.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 6 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "(In the next section: Mandatory inclusion (with quotes): Louie, I don't remember any of this. You have to tell me. What was the stuff with me and Chelsee?)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Louie, I don't remember any of this. You have to tell me. What was the stuff with me and Chelsee?\"\n\nLouie swallowed hard, took a deep breath.\n\n\"Hard to believe it's been seven years. It was awhile after that case you had, the one with that Black Arrow Killer. Things was just gettin' good between Chelsee and you. Then, one night, the two of you just up and disappeared. I knew something was wrong and got the cops on it, but they couldn't find ya. Then, when we was all just startin' to lose hope, you show up outta the blue. But you didn't know nothin' 'bout Chelsee, where she was. You said you didn't have no memory of where you been. Just like now. It's déjà vu all over again.\"\n\n\"What about Chelsee? What happened to her?\"\n\nLouie shook his head. \"She never did come back.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "The user will write a segment from a longer work then you need to write around 12 sentences continuing directly from it. Try to mimic the style of Aaron Conners in the comedy, mystery genre. Note that characters may appear without introduction.", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Chelsee Bando has one arm propped on the table, palm against her cheek, the other hand holding chopsticks, doodling across a placemat she's reading – one of those Chinese Zodiac things.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her blonde hair is pinned up, with a few strands loose and resting softly against her neck.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She has a lovely neck. And delicate wrists. I'm a big fan of all her joints. And all the parts they connect. But especially her neck. I'm wondering what it would be like to kiss that spot where the neck curves into her shoulder. Probably pretty good.\n\nAs she scans the placemat, reading, her lips move silently. I want to kiss those too. She looks up and grins, somewhat maliciously.\n\n\"So…what year you were born?\"\n\nHere we go.\n\n\"'04,\" I reply, without enthusiasm.\n\nChelsee looks up, eyes bright.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"2004?! You are old. I think I might be too young for you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Math. I hate it. \"Hey, at least we were born in the same century.\"\n\n\"Barely. So you're the big 4-0?\"\n\n\"I was born March 4th,\" I say, using my inside voice. \"I am literally thirty-nine.\"\n\nChelsee grins. \"Yeah, but how long have you been thirty-nine?\"\n\nWe're squeezed into a tiny corner booth. My senses are reeling from her girl-next-door lusciousness, several fingers of bourbon, and the sweet and sour sizzle emanating from the kitchen of the very finest Chinese restaurant I can afford.\n\nMy date taps the Chinese Zodiac placemat with her chopsticks. \"Says here you're some kind of monkey.\"\n\n\"Good. Monkeys are awesome.\"\n\nChelsee does this thing with her eyes, turning her head slightly and looking out from under her long eyelashes at me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your response should contain the word 'chelsee' precisely 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This is new. Until quite recently, Chelsee has treated me like everyone else, maybe less so.\n\n\"OK, listen up,\" she says, turning her gaze back to the Zodiac. \"Monkeys are clever—\"\n\n\"—Yes—\"\n\n\"—skillful—\"\n\n\"—Yes—\"\n\n\"—and flexible.\"\n\n\"Yes. Well, figuratively.\"\n\n\"You are unusually inventive and able to solve difficult problems easily.\"\n\n\"I really am amazing,\" I agree, digging into my pocket for my pack of Llamas and Zippo.\n\n\"—However,\" Chelsee raises a warning finger, cutting me off before I can elaborate, \"you must guard against impatience—\"\n\n\"—What? !—\"\n\n\"—and being overly agreeable.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That is so true.\"\n\nChelsee raises an eyebrow. \"Hmmm…it also says monkeys think they're so hilarious.\"\n\nI start to shrug a cigarette out of the pack, but Chelsee reaches out to touch my arm.\n\n\"Your turn. Read me mine.\"\n\nI don't usually smoke around Chelsee. I know she hates it, but between the bourbon and the smells wafting from the kitchen, I'm dying. The air is thick with the greasy tang of duck fried in sesame oil, hot and sour soup, and garlic sauce. I've been saving up for this meal and haven't had solid food in two days. I clear my throat to mask the sound of my stomach eating itself.\n\n\"What's your sign?\" I ask.\n\n\"You tell me. You're the detective.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I know Chelsee recently turned thirty and it's 2043. I carry the one, minus the zero… \"'13?\"\n\nChelsee gives me a look. I avert my eyes to the placemat. \"Let's see…2013… 2013…ow.\"\n\nShe kicks my shin under the table. I carry on, oblivious. \"Well, I'll be darned. Looks like you're some kind of snake woman.\"\n\n\"Just read it, Monkey Boy.\"\n\n\"You have great wisdom, though you speak little,\" I recite, and then look up. \"Speak little? You sure we got the year right?\"\n\n\"Unlike you, Murphy, the night is young.\"\n\nI continue reading: \"You are financially lucky and seldom worry about money. You can be vain and selfish, yet you have great sympathy and compassion to help others who are less fortunate.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "This is all accurate, but boring.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 8 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I scan down. \"Blah, blah, blah. Ooh, this is good: It says you show a calm surface, but underneath you are intense and passionate and yearn day and night to be a helpless love slave.\"\n\n\"No kidding.\"\n\n\"And, apparently, your ideal match is the Monkey.\"\n\nChelsee picks up her wineglass and takes a sip, her eyes locked on mine. \"What an unbelievable coincidence.\"\n\nI'm not great at reading people…but I suspect she is interested. If I just play my cards right, maybe we can take things to the next level.\n\nLook out second base, here we come.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Mode: Co-writing\nContext: May be mid-narrative\nLength: 6 sentences\nNote: Treat character introductions as contextually appropriate", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "We step out from wok-seared warmth into a salty chill coming off the Bay. Gold and scarlet neon is diffused through a veil of cool summer night fog. The rattle and hum of passing rickshaws and overhead speeders, plucky guzheng music, laughter and muted voices speaking a half-dozen languages echo through New Chinatown.\n\nAs we turn down the sidewalk, Chelsee slips her hand under my arm and inside my trench coat pocket, intertwining our fingers. We fit together nicely. This is a new sensation for me – maybe I've never really been in love before.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The world is suddenly a garden of earthly delights filled with unfathomable opportunities. On a scale of one to three, I'm 3.141. Happy as pi.\n\nOnly one thing could make me any happier. With my free hand, I pull out the pack of Llamas, shake a cigarette to the top, pull it out between my lips. I'm digging for the lighter when Chelsee stops, extracts her hand and squares up to face me. A smile plays at the corner of her mouth.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her eyes are warm and just slightly unfocused as she reaches up – I'm almost a foot taller than she is – and plucks the smoke from my lips.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I have something better for you to do with your mouth.\"\n\nGood lord.\n\nShe tosses the Llama over her shoulder, then slides her hand up to my cheek…over my ear…to the back of my neck. She goes up on her tippy-toes, face rising to meet mine. For the first time, I feel the softness of her lips against mine. It's like I'm twelve years old all over again; a surge of electricity runs through me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I'm absolutely, totally, stupid in love. I never want the moment to end.\n\nBut it does.\n\nWhen I finally open my eyes, I'm looking out at the street, to the spot where I'd parked my Lotus before dinner.\n\nThe spot is empty.\n\n\"Are you kidding me?!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Chelsee recoils, horrified. \"I knew I shouldn't have had the garlic sauce…!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No,\" I say, grabbing her shoulders and turning her around. \"Look! It's gone! Somebody stole my speeder!\"\n\nChelsee hugs my arm. There's a ringing in my ears, so I can barely understand what she's saying – something about calling the cops and the insurance company. Between the booze and the kiss, I haven't been thinking rationally for a while. Now my brain feels like it's melting.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Chelsee gets me to make eye contact.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "<<USAGE LIMIT>>: 'insurance' must be used 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You do have insurance, don't you?\"\n\nThe one thing I do know is that I don't have insurance.\n\n\"Oh, Tex, honey…\"\n\nChelsee keeps talking, but I'm not hearing anything. As I stand there, my brain buzzing, I look up to see a speeder slowly descending in front of us. The window glides down to reveal an odd looking man wearing an equally odd hat and sunglasses.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "At night. \"You saving this spot?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He has an accent.\n\nIt all seems so utterly surreal.\n\nChelsee steps up and talks to the guy. A few moments later, Chelsee pushes me into the back seat of the stranger's speeder. I'm vaguely aware of Chelsee and the man chatting quietly up front, but my head is reeling. Now, added onto the shock of having my speeder stolen, I'm feeling a nausea-like wave of déjà vu…or something else.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I look out the window and see a SkyBox float past, each side of the cube displaying a spokeswoman's flawless face talking about an upcoming Faberge exhibit.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your response should contain the word 'reflection' precisely 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I have a sudden sense that we're in danger. I don't know why.\n\nAs my head turns to follow the SkyBox, I catch Chelsee's reflection in the window. She's watching my reflection, a playful smile on her lips. Despite my growing anxiety, I smile back. Her eyes stay on me.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Up in the driver seat, I hear the man speak.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "He says something odd, in a very deliberate tone:\n\n\"Things could get worser.\"\n\nEverything instantly goes into super slow-motion. Chelsee is looking out the window, still smiling at my reflection, completely unaware of the gun rising beside her head. I see the trigger finger tighten and the subtle recoil of the gun.\n\nThe sound of the shot is muted and thick.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Chelsee flinches and then slumps in her seat.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 2 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I don't know if I even get my hands up, it happens so quickly. The man twists in his seat and, without any wasted motion, levels the gun at my chest and pulls the trigger.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative chapter writing\nMy role: Provide a story segment\nYour role: Expand with 50 sentences, emulating Aaron Conners in the comedy, mystery genre\nNote: This is part of a larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I didn't bolt upright in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. I've never done that…and I've had a lot of bolt-upright-gasping-for-breath types of dreams. I woke up the way I usually do, gradually becoming aware that I'm dreaming and then swimming back to sore, groggy consciousness. The only thing different about this time was that I knew I hadn't been dreaming. Maybe my concussion was healing up, or Louie's story had jogged my noggin. Either way, my night with Chelsee at the Golden Pagoda had returned in vivid detail – a memory, not a dream.\n\nIn my mind's eye, I could see the face of the man who'd shot us. Balding…a large, lumpy nose…a soft chin… a small mouth with thin lips, pursed like an old school marm's. I didn't think I could ever forget that face, but I had, somehow. Whoever he was, he'd changed my life forever – maybe destroyed it.\n\nI was going to find him.\n\nNow wide awake, I lay still for a while, eyes closed. I tried to remember what had happened after the abduction…but there was nothing. The man shoots me and then it goes blank, a black screen, like the data has been erased.\n\nI realized I had something wrapped around my fingers. It felt like a spider web at first, something soft and unsubstantial, so light, its weight barely registered. I moved my fingers and felt it slide against my skin. I opened my eyes and saw that it was a gold chain, a bracelet or anklet, as thin and delicate as thread. Where had this come from?\n\nI sat up and pivoted around, putting my feet on the floor, and felt something under one foot. I leaned over and saw that a small box had been knocked to the floor. The lid had come off and there were six small items scattered on the floor: a ring, a brooch, a lock of hair, a decorative pin, an earring and a necklace that matched the bracelet in my hand.\n\nThe box must have been on the side table. Maybe I knocked it off while I was sleeping and the bracelet somehow ended up in my hand. I picked up the box and put the items back in, then returned it to the side table. I knew Louie was a born romantic, but he'd never been married – not even a serious relationship since I'd known him. Maybe he had a long-lost love he carried a torch for. That would be so Louie.\n\nI didn't know how long I'd been asleep, but it was still dark outside. My internal body clock was wrecked. I was still too drunk to drive, but sober enough to walk and talk, so…better than average. I made my way downstairs and found Louie sitting on the customer side of the counter, white apron stained and smeared, paper chef hat askew, nursing a cup of coffee.\n\nA tiny old lady sat alone in my Chelsee booth, just tall enough to see over the tabletop, sipping soup with a regular-sized spoon that looked as big as ping pong paddle in her hand. An elderly couple ate silently at a table on the other side of the diner. Otherwise, the place was empty. Judging by the clientele, I guessed it was about 3 a.m., halfway between lunch and dinner. I found a clock on the microwave. It read: 3:36.\n\nLouie noticed me and perked up. \"Hey, Moiph! You get some good shuteye?\"\n\nBefore I could answer, Louie was back on his feet and headed for the coffee machine.\n\n\"I did,\" I said. \"Thanks for letting me crash.\"\n\nI took a seat at the counter as Louie turned and slid a full mug in front of me. \"Taylor came by, looked in on ya. She's real worried.\"\n\n\"That makes two of us.\" I took a sip and felt the instant rush of the life-giving elixir. \"You know, she's a total stranger to me.\"\n\nLouie nodded. \"I feel bad for her, but I wasn't too happy 'bout her and you. The way you been the past couple years? That guy wouldn't give a second thought for her feelins.\"\n\n\"So what was going on between me and her?\" I asked.\n\nLouie held up a hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I don't know and I didn't wanna know. She knew how I felt. But she ain't a kid anymore. Tell you what, though – if you'da done anything to hurt her…\" He caught himself.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Sorry, Moiph. It's just she's a real sweet girl. Too good for that other guy. I know you and her wanna get yer memory back, but if it means that son-of-a-gun comes back…? I dunno.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For the first time, it really hit me. I'd turned into a completely different person. A bad person. Like Jekyll and Hyde. Louie was the one person I could trust about this. He didn't know what had changed me – maybe no one knew but me – but I could see he was actually afraid that I'd go back to that other persona. Would restoring my memory do that? The way I was at this moment, how I thought and felt – this was the real me. Getting my memory back wouldn't change that, would it? And I needed answers. I've never been good at letting things go, not until every question is answered. The only way to do that was to restore my memories.\n\nI had work to do. Louie left to check on his other customers as I finished my coffee. I gave him a wave and left the diner. I walked out of the Brew & Stew into the soft glow of streetlights and neon. A city tram rattled by on an elevated track and a taxi passed overhead. I heard faint voices and laughter echoing off the brick facades. Otherwise, the street was quiet. Things would get a little busier after 5:00, when people got off work, but this was a small, isolated neighborhood that didn't get a lot of foot traffic.\n\nI took a good look down the length of the new (to me) Chandler Avenue. It was like meeting a not-quite-identical twin. So familiar, but not the same. Chelsee's newsstand was gone, but Rook's Pawnshop was still there, with the same distinctive blue awning, just more weathered. At the far end of the street, the Golden Gate Hotel had gotten a serious face lift, restoring the exterior, at least, to its former glory. Before, it was a place I would never stay in for health and safety reasons. Now it looked like a place I would never stay because I couldn't afford it.\n\nEvery neighborhood seems to have a cursed business location. Ours was across the street from the Brew & Stew. It was the Slice O' Heaven pizza parlor when I moved in and then had several other incarnations. Now it was 'Inspector Burns B-B-Q'. It didn't sound promising, but it was new and shiny. In fact, the only real eyesore on the street was the old Rusty's Funhouse building, which now looked more like a dusty flophouse, derelict and covered with graffiti. Not surprising. Considering its history, I don't know who would want to own the place.\n\nIt looked like a similar fate may have befallen the Electronics Shop. As I passed by, I noticed that its lights weren't on. Maybe it had gone out of business. It hadn't been much of a business to begin with. If I hadn't mistakenly received a pre-approved credit card from them, I never would have bought their crappy gadgets. Word on the street was that the joint was a money laundry for the mob, but not a very good one. Maybe they'd put a hit out on the place.\n\nThe Ritz Hotel – my dump, sweet dump – was alive and well. It had actually been tidied up. This pleased me. The place had been rundown for decades, but it had good bones and an authentic 1940's vibe. Kind of like me, now that I thought about it. Maybe that's why I'd been so inexplicably drawn to it. And, apparently, my attraction to the Ritz was one of the few things about me that hadn't changed over the past seven years. Louie had said I'd gone away for five of those years, but Taylor had confirmed that I still had my old apartment. That meant I'd either kept it all this time or gotten it back. I guess it had some kind of hold on me. I just wondered how the hell I was paying for everything.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I turned into the alley between the Electronics Shop and the Ritz.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was maybe twenty feet wide and sixty feet deep, running from Chandler Avenue to a tall concrete retainer wall at the back.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It looked the same as the last time I'd seen it. I assumed the cops hadn't found anything, but maybe there was nothing to find. I walked down the alley, scanning the area, but seeing nothing of interest. At the end of the alley, there was a left turn into a narrow walkway that ran behind the Electronics Shop, all the way down past the Brew & Stew. A back door to the Electronics Shop opened onto the walkway. It was heavy grey metal with no exterior knob. Exit only.\n\nThe next place to check was the area behind the Ritz – a parking lot enclosed in a six-foot high gated aluminum fence. The speeder I'd heard leave after the gunfight had probably been parked there. I opened the gate and entered the lot. There was room here to park maybe a dozen vehicles. At any given time there would be three or four, including my beat-up, uninsured – but trusty – Lotus speeder. At the moment, there were only two, neither of which was a Lotus. Then I remembered what Louie had told me. My speeder had been torched – seven years ago. With Chelsee inside it, as far as the police were concerned. I couldn't think about that right now. I turned my attention back to the vehicles in the parking lot.\n\nOne was an old Prius. The other was maybe the most gorgeous speeder I'd ever laid eyes on. I'd never seen one like it before. Black and silver. Almost Batmobile-esque, minus the nerd factor. It had to cost upwards of 200K. I couldn't imagine what it was doing in the Ritz parking lot. Or what someone who could afford a speeder like this would be doing in a neighborhood like this.\n\nDuring the shootout, I thought I'd heard a bullet hit glass. I circled the speeder, but didn't see any damage. Then I caught a glint out of the corner of my eye. The light from a streetlamp was reflecting off a few shards of glass on the ground. I took a closer look: the pieces were rounded, thick and clear as ice. A headlight, most likely, from a very expensive speeder.\n\nInstinctively, I looked around to see where the shot that hit the headlight could have come from. It was impossible to tell from the position of the glass shards. Depending on how the speeder had been oriented, the shot could have come from one of the Ritz apartments. There were nine windows, three on each floor; the one in the top-right corner was mine. All the windows were closed and, like most windows these days, tinted black. There was nothing to indicate that the shooter had or hadn't been inside one of the Ritz apartments.\n\nI gathered up the shards and stuck them in my pocket. When I got them into better light, I could try to get a serial number off them or something else that might help me identify the vehicle. I took a slow walk around the parking lot. It was surprisingly trash-free, as if someone actually cleaned the area regularly. I found nothing that seemed important.\n\nI straightened up and stretched my back. Other than the glass shards, I'd come up empty. I turned to leave and was approaching the gate when I noticed something: a hole in the aluminum fence, up near the top. The metal was curled outward and jagged. An exit wound. I walked out and checked the other side: a clean, perfectly round hole. And fresh – no rust.\n\nI returned to the spot where I'd found the glass shards. I knelt down to where I imagined the height of the headlight would have been and then looked to the hole in the fence. Beyond it, in a perfectly straight line, was a window on the second floor of the Electronics Shop.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Whoever had fired the shot had been standing at that window.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 1 sentence.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Now, the question was, what were they doing on the second floor of the Electronics Shop?", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue this story fragment where characters may appear without introduction. Write 25 sentences sentences like Aaron Conners. Genres: comedy, mystery. Themes: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your response should contain the word 'window' precisely 3 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "This changed everything. I was now very likely involved in a murder case. And once the cops found this dead guy, my lack of memory was going to make me a very convenient suspect. My mind raced with kneejerk reactions. How long could this guy stay here without being discovered? Would calling it in to the cops get me off the hook? What if I just got rid of the body? Maybe I should just jump back in the Pandion and head for Mexico.\n\nShit.\n\nI suddenly remembered the speeder that was hovering outside the window like a floating Skybox advertising: 'Something weird is going on in here!' I turned tail and hustled back to the surveillance room. I was halfway out the window when I realized a flaw in my plan.\n\nI jumped back inside and found the stairs down to the back door. I looked for an alarm panel, didn't find one. That didn't mean there wasn't one somewhere, but there wasn't much choice. I unlocked the deadbolt and cracked the door. No alarm, at least not one that I could hear. I stuck my zippo in the doorjamb and then sprinted back up the stairs.\n\nFortunately, there was no one in sight as I climbed out the window into the speeder and steered it back to its parking spot. I locked it and slipped the fob in my pocket. Thirty seconds later, I was inside the Electronics Shop with the back door locked.\n\nHopefully no one had been overly curious about the speeder and called the cops. Or that I'd triggered a silent alarm. But just in case, I moved fast. I started my investigation in the room with the dead man. The hum/vibration was coming from somewhere close, but it seemed to run through the entire room, making it hard to pinpoint.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "For all I knew, it was just an overactive air conditioner. My primary objective was to identify the victim. I didn't recognize him. He was a big boy, with a wide, jowly face nestled into a roll of fat that spilled over an unbuttoned shirt and sloppily-knotted tie. Blue-black hair, thick eyebrows under beady eyes, and a carefully manicured moustache over a small, crooked mouth.\n\nHe'd positioned himself as if he were expecting someone to come after him. Or as if he were guarding something. His gun was a nifty little SIG Sauer and I would have been tempted to give it a new, loving home if it hadn't had a biometric grip. All legal firearms required them and they ensured that only the gun owner could fire them.\n\nHis shirt had been white at one time. Now it was dirty off-white and blood red. I couldn't tell where he'd been hit, but it must have nicked a big artery. He'd bled out fast. I reached inside his olive-colored corduroy jacket and pulled out a worn billfold. I could feel an irregular-shaped object inside, which turned out to be a standard Yale deadbolt key. It looked like a copy. It wasn't for the back door of the Electronics Shop, which had no exterior lock, but I figured it might come in handy if I could find out what it unlocked. This unlucky stiff wasn't going to need it.\n\nThe billfold also contained a Coin Card, a Driver License, several membership IDs and three dog-eared business cards. The name on the business cards matched the California state license: Carlos Maldonado. And, as it turned out, Mr. Maldonado was a compadre. According to his business card, he was a private investigator with an office near Delores Park. I kept one of the business cards, in addition to the deadbolt key, replaced everything else in the billfold and returned it to his coat pocket.\n\nNext stop was the surveillance room. It had a smell one might politely describe as \"musty\", which must have been significantly worse before the window I'd come through was opened.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "On one side of the room, three long folding tables created a horseshoe around two chairs.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "// Word count directive: Use 'hadn't' exactly 2 times", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The tables were loaded with computer monitors, a laptop, a printer/scanner, headphones and other equipment I couldn't identify. A portable fridge was in the corner. Food wrappers and empty bottles were scattered in and around a garbage can.\n\nOn the other side of the room were two oversized cots with pillows and blankets – one made up, the other disheveled. A suitcase was tucked under the neat one, a duffel bag under the other. Evidently, Maldonado had a partner, or possibly a client. I assumed the tidy setup belonged to the mystery person, so I started there. The suitcase contained some men's clothing – average size, average quality – and toiletries. Nothing that identified its owner.\n\nThe messy cot had to be Maldonado's. I picked up the duffel bag and dumped out the contents. Nothing but dirty laundry – and not the interesting kind.\n\nI turned my attention to the electronics. As much as I'd like to be, I was no expert on surveillance equipment, especially stuff that was this high-end. Maybe it belonged to the gaucho in the back room, but he hadn't struck me as an especially successful businessman. You needed some serious scratch for this quality of electronics. Which meant he was either renting it or working with someone who could afford it. It certainly hadn't come from downstairs. I knew from personal experience that the quality of the Electronics Shop inventory fell somewhere between Brookstone and Toys R Us.\n\nThere were six monitors in all, each displaying a different location outside. One showed the rear door and parking lot of the Ritz. Another was set at the end of the alley, looking back out toward Chandler Avenue. A third was aimed at the entrance to Rook's Pawnshop, across the street. The fourth covered the area in front of the Ritz and the rest of the street, all the way to the Golden Gate Hotel. The fifth was in the same general spot, but facing the opposite direction, showing the entrance to the Electronics Shop and on down past the Brew & Stew.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I found this all very odd.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "But the visual on the sixth monitor was downright disturbing.\n\nIt was my office.\n\nThree large arched windows overlook Chandler Avenue from the main room of my apartment. I have a desk and chairs there; it's where I meet with clients. Somewhere across the street, a camera had been pointed straight at the three windows. Someone had been spying on me. This was not going to make explaining things to the police any easier.\n\nUnless…\n\nMaybe the camera data was being recorded. If it was, everything that had happened – to me on the fire escape, the shootout, whatever went on in the parking lot – would all be documented. I could get some answers and prove I had nothing to do with Maldonado's murder. Now I just needed to find the proof.\n\nI examined the equipment. I'm not sure I'd recognize a hard drive without the words 'I'm a Hard Drive' stenciled on the side, but I did my best. After eliminating all the things I knew weren't a hard drive, I was left with a couple possibilities. Only one seemed to be doing anything; it had several LEDs blinking. I unhooked it, careful to take all the attachments and power sources.\n\nI noticed a small remote control on the table. The back panel had been removed and a lithium coin battery sat beside it. It looked like maybe the battery had died and someone hadn't gotten around to replacing it. I didn't know what the remote control was for, but if I could find a new battery I could find out. I replaced the back panel and slipped the unit into my pocket.\n\nAfter a final look around, I decided to grab the laptop as well. Then it was back to the murder scene. It seemed strange that Maldonado would hole up there and not leave the building.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The people he'd been shooting at had left, so I didn't think he was hiding. Maybe he was hiding something.\n\nI stepped daintily around the blood drops and set the laptop and blinky thing on the desk, next to the dead man's outstretched arms. Then I began a search of the room. There were two doors in the room – the one I'd come through and another that opened to a small storage room. I didn't see anything interesting and the hum/vibration seemed quieter.\n\nI went back and started looking for hidden access – a trap door, maybe. I was down on my hands and knees when I happened to see something under the bottom edge of the desk. I moved next to Maldonado's chair and peered in. There was a metal canister between the dead man's legs. This was definitely the source of the hum/vibration. It looked somewhat like a pony keg, except it was sleeker – more high-tech looking – and had two clasps on top and a ring of flashing LEDs. I doubted the big guy had died defending a few liters of beer. But you never know.\n\nSomehow, I had to extract the canister without moving Maldonado. If the police noticed the body had been disturbed, it would be highly suspicious and I was expecting to be their number one suspect. But I figured I could get away with adjusting his bottom half. I reached under the chair and ever-so-gently pushed the legs apart. Rigor mortis hadn't set in yet, but these were not toothpick limbs. When I'd cleared enough space, I reached for the canister.\n\nIt was cold to the touch, with a hint of condensation making it slippery. Maybe it was beer after all. I took hold of the clasps – one on either side at the top of the canister – and pulled. This was like a game of Operation. It took a steady hand.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The thing was heavy. But I managed to drag it out from under the chair. A successful delivery. A bouncing baby beer keg.\n\nNow what to do with it? I wasn't sure I wanted to take it with me. Not just because it was heavy. Maldonado's blood was all over it. Plus, I had no idea what it was. But the fact that he'd grabbed this instead of the laptop or blinky thing suggested that it was important.\n\nI decided to open it up.\n\nThe canister worked like a Ball jar, with an attached lid and clasps. The LEDs were on a metal band the wrapped around the perimeter. I wasn't sure what the LEDs were for – they didn't seem like they were connected to the lid. After moving the canister further away from the desk, I bent down, grasped the clasps and flipped them open. There was a loud hiss of released pressure and vapor billowed out around the edge of the lid. The band of LEDs went dark and the vibration stopped.\n\nI straightened up and waited for the vapor to disperse. The LEDs flashed once and then turned on all the way around the band. The vapor was thick. It was like looking down into a vat of homemade root beer. I noticed that the LEDs were turning off, one a time, in sequence.\n\nInside the canister, I started to make out what looked like a big lumpy chunk of dry ice. As the vapor cleared, it was like the chunk came slowly into focus. Along one edge there was something fibrous…spiky.\n\nIt was hair.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "A nose seemed to form… then two eyes, crystalized… then a mouth, open as if frozen in mid-scream.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 14 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "A decapitated head coated with frost.\n\nI staggered back, like I'd been punched. In the same split second, the last LED went dark. A sudden, loud humming sound broke the silence and there was a blinding flash of light. When I opened my eyes, I found myself inside a particle beam, like being in the center of a spotlight.\n\nAnd I couldn't move. I was trapped in a laser net. My arms and legs were paralyzed. I couldn't even turn my head to get another look at the frozen face. I couldn't recall enough about it to tell if it had been a man or woman, young or old.\n\nWhat the hell was Maldonado doing with a severed head?\n\nAll I knew is that I was in big trouble. Either no one would find me and I'd eventually die here, or, if I was 'lucky', someone would find me, but in what was a serious contender for most compromising position ever.\n\nThen I heard footsteps.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "AI WRITING ASSISTANT ACTIVATED\nTASK: Continue user's text\nNOTE: Match established character/lore familiarity\nLENGTH: 40 sentences sentences\nGENRES: comedy, mystery\nINCLUDE: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I listened as someone meandered around and debated whether or not to call for help. I seriously doubted I was going to get out of this on my own, but I was also totally vulnerable. Ultimately, it didn't matter. I heard the click of dress shoes and then, out of the corner of my eye, saw a man step into the room.\n\nHe froze. I could only imagine what was going through his head. At least ten seconds passed before he spoke.\n\n\"Is he…dead?\" It was almost whispered. The man sounded terrified. I tried to project confidence and reassurance.\n\n\"Probably. Get me out of this laser net and I'll check.\"\n\nHe covered his mouth and spoke through his hand. \"Oh, my gosh. What happened?\"\n\n\"Let's just say you missed a hell of a party,\" I said. \"You won't believe what someone dumped in the keg.\"\n\nThe man seemed to collect himself and took a few delicate steps into the room. I noticed he was holding some kind of mobile device.\n\n\"I was supposed to meet Carlos Maldonado. Is that you? Or him?\"\n\nI briefly considered a bluff (\"That'd be me. Call me Carl. \"), but only one of us looked like a Carlos Maldonado – and his I-D was there for the checking.\n\n\"He's Maldonado. My name's Murphy. Private Investigator and Master of Bad Timing. And you are…?\"\n\nThe man ignored my question. \"Mason said Maldonado was a detective. Were you both working for Mason?\"\n\n\"I don't discuss my clients with other people,\" I said, truthfully enough. The implication was that I was indeed working for Mason. Now I just needed to find out who the hell Mason was.\n\n\"So Mason sent you here? What did he want you to do?\" I asked.\n\n\"Get that, I think.\" The man came around the desk, his eyes on the canister. I finally got a good look at him. Mid-to late 50's, thin and dapper, but soft. Full head of silver hair, clean-shaven and a pinkish complexion. He glanced up at me with watery eyes and said exactly what I was thinking.\n\n\"I don't usually do this kind of thing. I'm not a criminal. I'm just trying to help Mason. He sent some instructions, said it was an emergency, to come find this P.I., get the Cryo Chamber and keep it safe.\"\n\n\"You know what's inside it?\"\n\nHe swallowed hard and then nodded.\n\n\"Who is it?\" I asked.\n\nHis nod turned into a shake of the head. \"It's none of my business.\"\n\nHe glanced once into the canister and then kept his eyes averted as he pulled out a handkerchief and used it to close the lid and gingerly reattach the clasps. I hoped doing this would turn off the laser net, but no such luck.\n\n\"Did Mason tell you anything else?\" I asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Yes, but he said to not trust anyone but Maldonado. He didn't say anything about you.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I pointed out the obvious. \"Maldonado isn't going to be much help. A bird in the hand is better than…a dead bird.\"\n\nThe man wiped the blood off the canister and then carefully folded the handkerchief before returning it to his pocket. He then touched something and the LED band released, falling to the floor. Not so much as a flicker in the laser net.\n\n\"I could help you carry that. It's heavy,\" I said helpfully.\n\nI watched him bend down and heft it. \"I can manage.\" I heard a familiar middle-aged man groan as he picked it up and set it on the desk. As he did, I suddenly heard the sound of a distant siren. The man heard it, too. He turned to me with eyes wide.\n\n\"I think I might have tripped off an alarm when I came in.\"\n\nMaybe he had. Or maybe it was something I'd done. Either way, a breakin at a place like this wouldn't usually be considered a police emergency. The siren might have nothing to do with us. But considering there'd been a shootout around here fairly recently, maybe it was enough to justify a fast response. I didn't want to risk it, so I was even more eager to get out of the laser net than I'd been before. I tried to stay calm.\n\n\"So, you happen to know anything about Laser Nets? Specifically, how to turn them off?\"\n\nThe man licked his lips and his eyes darted around before focusing on the two items I'd placed on the desk: the laptop and the blinky thing.\n\n\"You have to find Mason. I think he got kidnapped by some very bad people. I have no idea why – he's just a neurologist, for god's sake.\" He turned to me. \"If I let you go, you have to promise me two things: that you won't follow me…and that you'll find Mason.\"\n\nThe siren was coming closer every second.\n\n\"I promise,\" I said with complete and utter sincerity. \"And my hands are frozen, so I can't cross my fingers.\"\n\nTo my dismay, I watched the man stack the laptop and blinky thing on top of the cryo chamber. I was in no position to bargain, but I really wanted to see if there was recorded video of what had happened. This guy was going to walk out with my best and only possible lead.\n\n\"I think I might need that stuff to find Mason.\"\n\nThe man ignored me. I couldn't blame him. He had no reason to trust me. As I watched him hoist everything and waddle toward the door, I tried one last tack: \"At least check to see if anything's recorded on those things. Let me know if you find something that can help me. My name's Tex Murphy. You can look me up.\"\n\nThe man stopped at the door and turned back.\n\n\"Mason said Maldonado has his key. You have to find it.\"\n\nThen he walked out.\n\n\"I can't find anything if I'm trapped in a laser net!\" I yelled. I listened to him stagger down the stairs with his heavy load, and then open the back door. After a moment of silence, the laser net vanished and I dropped to the floor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I heard the back door close. I tried to stand, but it was like my legs were asleep. I rolled into a sitting position and started rubbing them.\n\nMason said Maldonado has his key.\n\nThe man had said it like he was revealing something he shouldn't. I'd found a key inside Maldonado's wallet. I wondered if that was the key Mason was referring to. At least it was a lead.\n\nThe police siren got louder and then suddenly shut off. The cops had arrived. I had to assume they were here to check out the Electronics Shop. I continued to rub my legs and felt the pins and needles kicking in. At the same time, I was straining to hear what was happening outside, but I was too far away from the open window in the surveillance room.\n\nAfter another minute, I managed to stand up. I walked unsteadily to the surveillance room and crept up close to the window. I could hear two cop's voices echoing down the alley. They weren't the ones I'd met before. It sounded like they'd walked around the building and found nothing suspicious. They were debating whether or not to force the lock on the front door. I was hoping they would. That would give me a chance to go out the back. But they anticipated that. They decided to have one of them watch the back door and the windows while the other came in the front.\n\nAll my escape routes were covered. My only chance was to hide and try to somehow sneak past the cop after he entered. Of course, if they caught me, I'd be headed downtown in handcuffs. The other option was to just give myself up, tell them exactly what happened and hope for the best. I'd still end up going downtown, but the ride would be more comfortable.\n\nI looked out the window toward the fire escape, visions of piton guns and tightropes again dancing in my head. The door to my place was so close…and might as well have been a mile away. As I was staring at the dark window of my apartment, I was shocked to see it suddenly light up.\n\nSomeone had entered my apartment.\n\nLike I didn't already have enough adrenaline running through me. Now there was someone in my apartment. Whoever it was, I was eager to have a little chat with them. But I'd have to move fast, before they had a chance to get away. Giving myself up to the cops was no longer an option. I'd have to risk sneaking past them.\n\nI found the front stairs and hurried down to the ground floor of the Electronics Shop. The layout of the showroom hadn't changed since I'd last been there, but now it was cleaned out, leaving just the display cases and shelves.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "There was no place to hide here.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "But seeing the display cases reminded me of the crappy stuff they used to sell.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next output: limited quoted text", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It gave me an idea. Now I just needed to buy enough time to make it work.\n\nI saw a door behind the counter. As I went to check it out, I heard a mechanical whirring sound coming from the front door. The cop was overriding the lock. I had to take my chances behind door #2. I opened it up and saw it was a closet. Great. Probably one of the first places the cop would check. But I didn't have time to find another hiding spot.\n\nI stepped inside and shut the door behind me, just as the front door hissed open.\n\n\"Police!\" the cop yelled. \"Come out with your hands up!\"\n\nI heard him creep slowly into the room, undoubtedly with his firearm out. As quietly as I could, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the remote control and the Pandion key fob. It was pitch dark inside the closet so I had to go purely on touch.\n\nThe cop's feet shuffled across the floor. He was moving away from me. Maybe he would ignore the closet, thinking no one would be dumb enough to hide in a closet, and go upstairs. I heard him stop and pivot.\n\nI detached the back from the key fob. Nerves were making my fingers shake. I tried to concentrate. If I dropped the battery, I was in trouble. I felt for it. As I'd hoped, it was the same type used by the remote. I pried it out and dropped the pieces of the key fob back into my pocket.\n\nOutside the closet, I heard the cop moving toward me. I couldn't tell how far away he was.\n\n\"Police!\" he yelled again. \"Come out if you're in there!\" It sounded like he was maybe ten feet away.\n\nUsing my fingers like I was reading Braille, I felt for the battery slot in the remote, and then guided the key fob battery into place. A tiny green light turned on. I quickly covered it with my hand, hoping the light hadn't been visible around the door frame.\n\nThe cop was now a few feet away. I could almost see him reaching for the door knob. I felt the front of the remote control. There were four directional arrow buttons. I pushed one.\n\nThe cop made a sudden move, then froze. Very faintly, I could hear a whirring noise.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My guess had been correct, that the remote was for the monster truck toy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 16 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It seemed to be getting the cops attention. I released the button on the remote and pushed the opposite arrow button. More whirring noise, and then a sound of light impact.\n\nThe cop turned and hurried away. I slipped the remote into my pocket, grabbed the door knob and listened for his footsteps on the stairs. As soon as he hit them, I silently turned the knob and opened the closet door. The front door was still open. I wanted to run, but managed to control myself, walking slowly and quietly until I stepped out into the street.\n\nI looked around. There were several people gawking at the police speeder from outside the Golden Gate Hotel, down at the end of the street. On the sidewalk across from the Brew & Stew, there was a little guy in a wheelchair, wearing a fireman's hat. He waved at me. I waved back, then stuck my hands in my pockets and walked nonchalantly to the fire escape.\n\nThe other cop was standing at the back of the alley. I called out: \"What's going on?\"\n\n\"Just move along, sir,\" he replied.\n\nSo I did.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Continue this chapter piece. Characters may appear without introduction. 27 sentences sentences in Aaron Conners's style. Genres: comedy, mystery. Elements: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I climbed to the top of the fire escape. I hadn't noticed before, but there was a new security panel attached to the door. It required a passcode. Just for the hell of it, I punched in my birthdate: 030404. It didn't work. But it was good to know I hadn't gone soft in the head in my old age.\n\nI had no idea who might be inside my apartment. If it was Nilo, or whoever was running the Ritz now, they might answer a knock at the door. If it was someone who had no business being there, they'd either ignore me or vacate the premises through the other door inside. If they did, I'd circle around and try to catch them coming out.\n\nI knocked. The tip-tap of a woman's high heels approached. I hoped it was a woman wearing them.\n\n\"Who is it?\" I recognized Taylor's voice.\n\n\"The guy who lives here.\"\n\n\"What's the password?\"\n\n\"Let me in.\"\n\n\"Wrong.\" The door opened. \"It's 'Walt sent me',\" Taylor smiled, \"but close enough.\"\n\nIt hadn't crossed my mind that my apartment would look any different than when I'd last seen it. I wasn't prepared for what I saw. As I walked slowly into the room, I felt like a dazzled homeowner in one of those makeover shows. It was my place, but totally redone. No structural changes in the main room – the three large, arched windows overlooking Chandler Avenue, the hardwood floor, doors to the bedroom, closet and lobby were all the way I remembered.\n\nBut someone had dumped a ton of money into the place. A massive Persian rug covered most of the refinished hardwood floor. The walls had been papered with something fancy and the ceiling was tiled with antique copper. An ornate gas fireplace had been installed against one wall, with a stone hearth and mantel. The walls featured artwork in actual frames and didn't appear to be prints, much less my usual photocopies.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The ambient light was rich and moody and I couldn't exactly pinpoint where it was coming from.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The interior felt climate-controlled.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And at the heart of the room sat a desk I had actually fantasized about: a Parnian custom, made with six kinds of exotic wood, including Carpathian elm and ebony, and three executive office chairs. It was, quite literally, the office of my dreams.\n\nI think I was mouth-breathing. Taylor seemed to notice. \"I take it your memory hasn't come back.\"\n\n\"Uh…no. This is all mine?\"\n\n\"Fancy-schmancy, huh? I gather it was a little more humble back in the day?\"\n\nThat was an understatement. When I first moved in, this had been a studio apartment. My furnishings had consisted of a cheap plywood desk, three mismatched chairs, one for me – two for clients, a record player, a water cooler (for guests), a credenza and a cot. After the Moon Child case, I got a cash award from the Mutant League and used it to bribe Nilo and pay to expand the apartment into a one-bedroom with an extra room to store all my workout equipment and other stuff I never used. The money had run out long before I could make it nice. And if you totaled up all the scratch I'd ever made, it wouldn't begin to cover the price tag of this showroom.\n\n\"Wait till you see your new speeder,\" Taylor said. \"It's a Pandion with all the bells and whistles. Almost as sweet as my little ride.\"\n\nIt was good to know I hadn't actually stolen the speeder. Even better to know I owned it.\n\n\"So I guess I don't need to invite you to make yourself at home,\" I said.\n\n\"I just got off work. Uncle Louie said you were headed home. I figured you were in bed. I tried to call.\"\n\nTaylor was wearing a form-fitting red dress with three-quarter length sleeves and an intriguing neckline. On a shorter woman, the dress would have been too long. On Taylor, it came just to her knees – and then slightly above as she sat on the corner of the desk and picked up a small device. \"I see you left your phone again.\"\n\n\"Well, I have been a little forgetful lately.\"\n\nTaylor looked at the phone and sighed. \"And I just got done teaching you how to use this thing.\"\n\n\"It can't be that tricky. I'm an excellent dialer.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She held the phone up so I could see it. \"This ain't your granddaddy's phone. It's a Smart Alex. It can do pretty much anything you want. You just need to know how to turn it on and which buttons to push.\" She set the phone down, stretched out her long, lovely legs and crossed them at the ankles. \"I'd be happy to give you another lesson or two.\"\n\nI had no doubt she'd be a delightful tutor. I cleared my throat uncomfortably. \"So were you calling me about something in particular?\"\n\n\"I was. Dr. Donahue's been trying to get ahold of you. I left my number with her, just in case she couldn't get in touch with you, and she called me. She has some news.\"\n\n\"That was fast. She say what?\"\n\n\"I'm not the patient.\"\n\n\"Well, let's get over to the clinic.\"\n\nTaylor didn't move. \"Or…we could call her on this newfangled doohickey,\" she said, tilting her head toward the phone on my desk.\n\n\"Fine.\"\n\nTaylor made the call. A moment later, Dr. Donahue appeared onscreen.\n\n\"Glad to see you're still alive,\" she said tartly.\n\n\"That's just what my mom used to say.\"\n\n\"How are you feeling?\"\n\n\"I've been better. I can't shake this headache.\"\n\n\"Well, you shouldn't try to shake it. That just makes it worse.\"\n\nTaylor giggled, then caught herself.\n\n\"So your test results came back,\" the doctor said, as she picked up a touchpad. \"I'm impressed at how relatively coherent you were when you came in.\"\n\n\"Thanks, I guess.\"\n\n\"You had a fair amount of alcohol in your system and a pretty heavy-duty sedative.\"\n\nThat explained why I'd had a hard time waking up.\n\nDr. Donahue looked up from the touchpad. \"Have you ever been in the military?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Or undergone any behavioral therapies?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"No military, but my ex-wife tried to put me into Obedience School. Does that count?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "user note just fyi, Precise word count needed: 'donahue' × 3", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Not a bad idea, but no.\" She pressed something on the touchpad. \"Have you heard of something called the Trance Inducer? It was also called TI6.\"\n\nI hadn't. I looked at Taylor. She shook her head. \"No.\"\n\nThe doctor consulted the touchpad. \"Back in the 20's, a controversial therapy was developed, initially to help victims of trauma. It was known as a Trance Inducer. Microscopic nanites were used to target specific memories, blocking brain signals, essentially erasing the traumatic memories. The Military started using it to treat post-traumatic stress, but then they and other government agencies discovered more…off label…purposes.\"\n\n\"And that's what I got injected with?!\"\n\nTaylor and I exchanged looks. The Military? Other government agencies?\n\n\"Which is especially hard to explain,\" Dr. Donahue continued, \"since the Trance Inducer was banned world-wide and hasn't been produced in over twenty years.\n\nMy brain felt fuzzy again. Yet another little factoid that made no sense whatsoever. Taylor was thinking the same thing. \"If they're not making this Trance Inducer anymore, not to mention that it's illegal, a dose must be worth a fortune.\" She turned to me. \"Someone must have really wanted you to forget something.\"\n\nShe paused. \"But wouldn't killing you do the same thing for free?\"\n\n\"Killing you would have been more cost-effective,\" the doctor noted.\n\n\"Thank you for that, Mr. Spock.\"\n\nDr. Donahue wasn't joking. \"It's an important point. The Trance Inducer was banned because it was used to effectively destroy a person without causing any visible harm. Without memories, there is no identity. Whoever did this to you could have wiped your memory entirely…but they didn't.\"\n\nTaylor put her hand on my arm. \"And they spent all that money on the Trance Inducer. Sounds like I'm not the only one who thinks you're special.\"\n\nDr. Donahue set the touchpad to the side. \"I'm going to do more research. I'd never heard of the Trance Inducer and it's pretty amazing stuff. Scary, but amazing. I don't know if a treatment was ever developed to undo the effects, but I'd like to find out.\"\n\n\"That makes two of us, doc.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Make that three,\" Taylor chimed in.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 13 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Thanks for all your help.\"\n\nThe doctor disconnected. Taylor was already dropping into the chair behind my desk and firing up some sort of high-tech gizmo that I assumed was the modern-day version of a desktop computer. Taylor glanced up at me. \"So somebody wants you alive, just with something important snipped out of your memory.\"\n\n\"Apparently. But did they want me to forget everything over the past seven years? If there was just one memory they wanted to erase, it sounds like this Trance Inducer could have done that.\"\n\nTaylor tapped a fingernail on the desk. \"To erase a memory, you have to have a start point and an end point, right? Seems like the easiest thing would be to erase everything, just turn you into a zombie. Which means whoever did this wanted you to remember everything up to a certain point, but nothing after.\"\n\nAnd then it hit me.\n\n\"You're right. The starting point must be the key to everything. But maybe they didn't set the starting point. Maybe it had already been set before.\"\n\nTaylor frowned. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"What if this all started the night Chelsee and I were abducted? It's the last thing I remember. Maybe it was like a bookmark – a save point. I remember being shot, but it obviously wasn't with a bullet. It could have been a tranquilizer—\"\n\nThe puzzle pieces fit.\n\n\"—but now I think we must have been shot with the Trance Inducer.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "continue this part. its from middle of story so expect established chars. twenty-one sentences sentences in Aaron Conners style. genres: comedy, mystery. elements: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "⚠️ Required: Use 'front' exactly 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Incredibly, it had been just over fourteen hours since I'd woken up on the fire escape and I'd already smashed the record for Shittiest Day Ever. I don't get hit on very often, especially by gorgeous women. The few who have all ended up wanting to screw me in at least two ways. Taylor may have been the first gorgeous woman ever to try to seduce me with only good intentions. She also had information that I could really use, such as my security passcode, login credentials, address of my second residence, etc., and now I was the last person she'd want to talk to. The perfect cherry atop my shit sundae.\n\nI had to hope Nilo, or whoever the new landlord was, would have my passcode. I opened the door to the Ritz hallway, tucked the doormat in to keep it open, just in case, and took the stairs down to the ground floor.\n\nStepping into the lobby was a pleasant surprise. It had been totally renovated, and done the right way. They'd preserved the structure and details, refinished the hardwood, molding, wainscoting and vintage wallpaper. It warmed my retro, noir-obsessed heart. And I hoped it meant there was new ownership. Degenerate slimeball Nilo Paglio had been the landlord seven years ago and I knew he'd never spend a penny more than the building and health codes required. If Nilo wasn't around anymore that, at least, could be one silver lining in all this.\n\nI stepped up to the desk and rang the bell. A split-second later, I heard a door open and someone hustling to the front desk. I knew it wasn't Nilo. I'd seen him move fast exactly one time, when he dropped a lit cigar in his lap. It was a fond memory.\n\nThe guy who hurried in to the front desk was Clint, of all people.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Everyone in the neighborhood knew him as Clint the Bum because he used to live in a dumpster next to Rook's Pawnshop.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Not a figurative dump – a literal dumpster. Despite his lowly circumstances – and the fact that he had one eye, was prematurely bald and struggled with the worst case of chocolate addiction I'd ever seen – the guy had attitude. When I last saw him, he'd somehow come up with enough cash to open a little chocolate shop called the Cocoa Cabana. It was kind of like an alcoholic opening a bar. I hadn't had high hopes for him, but seeing him now, it looked like he'd done all right. He was snazzily dressed in a brown checked suit, with a bow tie and bowler. His horribly scarred eye hadn't gotten any prettier, but he'd gotten his teeth done and he gave me a good look at them.\n\n\"Ah, Mr. Murphy! Welcome back!\"\n\nNot a trace of sarcasm, which was shocking. This guy was a world-class trash talker, no pun intended. I'm not sure he'd ever said one truly sincere thing to me, but now his tone was enthusiastic and respectful. Weird.\n\n\"Hello, Clint. What are you doing behind the desk? Looking for Nilo's complimentary chocolates?\"\n\nClint chuckled. \"The things he used to leave on the pillow? Those weren't chocolates, my friend. Don't tell me you actually ate 'em.\"\n\nUh...\n\n\"No,\" I scoffed and quickly changed the subject. \"So where is Nilo? I hope you haven't had to resort to working for that scumbag.\"\n\nClint gave me the eye. \"What are you talking about? You know I bought this place. Years ago.\"\n\n\"So here's the deal.\" I said, clapping my hands together. \"I'm experiencing a bit of temporary memory loss – about seven years' worth.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Clint leaned back, his eye wide.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your task: Include \"Shocking. And yet not. Kind of like seeing you here. Last time I saw you – that I remember – you were pretty loco for the cocoa.\" somewhere in your response", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"That's some kinda blackout. I used to have those, but they were more 'brown-outs' - you know, my old chocolate habit. But seven years? Wow. You must've really tied one on.\"\n\nI didn't want to waste any time explaining what had actually happened, so I didn't.\n\n\"My doctor says it might be temporary, but until then, I have no idea what's happened around here since 2043. Please tell me Nilo's gone. I could use a little good news.\"\n\n\"Gone forever. One day he started showing up in drag. For a while, he tried to pass himself off as 'Nellie', his long-lost twin sister, but that didn't fly, so he sold this place to me for cheap and blew town.\"\n\n\"Shocking. And yet not. Kind of like seeing you here. Last time I saw you – that I remember – you were pretty loco for the cocoa.\"\n\n\"Yeah, the Cocoa Cabana was a bad idea, in retrospect. But it's all good now. And I've been clean for years.\" He pointed proudly to a sobriety pin on his lapel. \"After a massive bender that ended with me in cuffs outside the Hershey factory, I knew I had to change my life. Preacher Gary, may he rest in peace, set me straight. Freed my soul and cleansed my colon. Now I just have a small problem with scotch.\"\n\nGary was a crazy homeless guy who assaulted passers-by with sermons on the dangers of a poor diet, while his own diet consisted primarily of 80-proof malted barley.\n\n\"So Crazy Gary's gone to the big distillery in the sky, eh? Well, I think you're the perfect guy to carry on his legacy.\"\n\n\"Thanks.\" Clint considered. \"I think.\"\n\nHe brightened up. \"So, what can I do for you? Will you be needing some housekeeping done? I don't think you've been around for some time.\"\n\n\"That's what I hear,\" I said, looking around. \"I love what you've done with the place.\"\n\nClint beamed with pride. \"It's a work in progress. It took a few years just to get everything clean and up to code. It took forever to get rid of all the bugs and whatnot.\"\n\n\"I can imagine. The roaches were like angry little armadillos.\"\n\n\"Yeah, well, those and all the bugs and cameras Nilo had hidden everywhere. This place was filthy in every sense of the word.\" Clint shivered at the memory. \"But all spic-and-span now. I started remodeling last year. Now we're up to a 3 Cubic Zirconia rating on the Mutant Leisure BlogSpot and I couldn't have done it without you – my best tenant.\"\n\nBest tenant? Now there was a name I'd never been called before.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"So we're good…with rent and everything?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Clint reared back with gusto. \"We…are…great. You're paid through the end of the year, keep two apartments and you're gone most of the time. You even throw in a little extra for me to keep an eye on your place. You're like a dream.\"\n\nPaid through the end of the year? Throwing in a little extra? Where was all this money coming from?\n\n\"That's good to hear, but a little confusing. Did I hit the lottery or something?\"\n\nClint waggled a finger at me. \"I don't pry into personal affairs. That's one reason why you pay me so well. All I know is you kinda dropped out of circulation for a while. Your rent was always paid, but you never really came back. No one around here knows what happened. Now you don't either, I guess...\"\n\n\"Speaking of which, I don't know the passcode to my apartment.\"\n\n\"And that makes two of us. You installed your own security system,\" Clint explained apologetically.\n\n\"You can see my dilemma.\"\n\nClint considered. \"I can try to find out who installed it. Maybe there's a way to force a passcode reset, then you can enter a new one. Might cost you a bit.\"\n\nI shrugged. \"Let's give it a try.\"\n\n\"In the meantime, there's the other apartment.\"\n\n\"Other apartment?\"\n\n\"Oh, right. You don't remember. Your apartment is a double, but you also rented another room. The one across the hall from yours. You didn't replace the security system on that one, so I can get you in there.\"\n\nWhy had I rented a second apartment?\n\nIt was incredibly surreal to learn about things I'd done and have no clue how or why I'd done them. I was starting to think of myself – the 'new' Tex – as a different person, almost like a suspect I was trying to track down. Maybe this other apartment would provide some answers.\n\nClint wrote down the code for me and I trudged back up the stairs to the top floor.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I entered the code and opened the door.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The room was dark.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I felt for a light switch and flipped it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Whatever I thought might be here, it wasn't this.\n\nIt was Chelsee's apartment.\n\nNot literally, of course. Chelsee had lived at the Seven Gables, several streets away from Chandler Avenue. But, while the dimensions of the room were different, the décor looked virtually identical to her living room, from the walls to the floor to the furnishings. I couldn't tell if these were her actual belongings or not, but something told me they were.\n\nI walked into the room, dumbstruck. It was all so familiar, but different. Just like Chandler Avenue. Just like me. My gut started to ache. Until now, I could fool myself into thinking Chelsee might still be around, still living in her apartment – that it was all a crazy misunderstanding. But there were her things. And they'd been here for a long time, untouched. I ran a finger across an end table, leaving a clean streak through the layer of dust. For the first time, it really hit me that Chelsee might be gone forever.\n\nA thought suddenly popped into my head. Taylor had said something about a 'shrine' for Chelsee. This had to be what she was referring to. It wasn't like her belongings were just being stored here. I, or someone, had gone to great lengths to recreate the scene in perfect detail.\n\nThe memory of the last time I'd been in Chelsee's apartment was still fresh.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "We'd met for a drink before going to the Golden Pagoda.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Her portable cocktail bar was just where I remembered. I could see Chelsee crossing to it. Among the other bottles was the Jack Daniels she'd bought especially for me, with just one drink's worth gone out of it.\n\nSomehow it felt wrong to touch anything, but I needed a light sedative. I poured the bourbon and took a long, slow drink. I looked over at the couch, where we'd sat and drank and talked that night. Almost without thinking, I walked over and sat down. There was a vidphone on a side table next to the couch. For some reason, I checked to see if there were any messages. There weren't, though the machine was turned on. Who knows how long it had been sitting there, never ringing, gathering dust.\n\nI just wanted to see her one more time, hear her voice. Maybe there was a way. I fished out my Smart Alex. Chelsee's number wasn't in the contact list, but I remembered it and punched it in. My screen displayed a generic icon and several buttons. I pressed the Video Call. I expected to hear Chelsee's vidphone ring, but it was silent. A moment later, Chelsee's face appeared on my display.\n\nIt was a recorded message.\n\n\"Hi! You've reached Chelsee and if we're playing phone tag, I guess I'm 'it'! Please leave a message and have a great day!\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It felt like a punch in the stomach.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 19 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was just the way I remembered her: lovely, happy, full of life. Her image froze and I heard a beep. Then silence. Waiting for me to leave a message. I stared at that face. I knew she wasn't really there, but it was all I had. Maybe all I would ever have.\n\n\"Uh...hey, Chelsee. I, uh, I guess they're saying you won't get this message. I just can't believe it. That night with you at the Golden Pagoda – for me, it was just a couple days ago. It's like something out of the Twilight Zone.\" I took a quick sip to clear my throat. \"I just wish you were here. I should've told you when I had a chance, how crazy I am about you. Head over heels. I don't know what I'm gonna do if you're really gone.\"\n\nI paused. This was crazy. I realized I was waiting, hoping she would pick up. I could almost imagine her cutting in, saying \"I'm here!\" But she didn't. Moments passed and then the clock ran out and the vid-mail shut off.\n\nI took another drink and was considering calling again, just to watch Chelsee's message one more time, when someone knocked on the door. Clint, I guessed. Maybe he'd found someone to reset my passcode. I tossed back the rest of the bourbon and went to the door. It wasn't Clint. It was the cops. And not the uniformed guys I ditched at the Electronics Shop.\n\nHomicide detectives.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Continue story fragment\nContext: Part of larger narrative\nNote: Characters may appear without introduction\nLength: 37 sentences\nStyle: Aaron Conners\nGenres: comedy, mystery\nElements: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Apparently, the detectives had heard me talking to Chelsee's vid-mail and recognized my voice.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I didn't know either of them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I expected a barrage of questions, but got only one – and it was purely rhetorical. No, I wouldn't mind coming with them down to headquarters.\n\nAs I stepped out into the hallway, I saw that the placemat I'd used to keep my door open had been put back and the door was shut. The cops must have looked for me in my apartment first. I gave them an accusing glare. They didn't seem bothered by it.\n\nAs we walked through the lobby, Clint gave me an apologetic look. I returned a wink. It wasn't his fault. Outside the Ritz, the media circus had come to town. A TV chopper was coming in for a landing, joining two other media vehicles and several police speeders. A small crowd had gathered, including the little guy in the wheelchair I'd seen earlier.\n\nI was escorted into the back seat of an unmarked police speeder and we took off for N.S.F.P.D headquarters. It was a ride I'd been on more than once. A little like the 'It's a Small World' boat ride at Disneyland, only it was free, with no waiting in line and only slightly less irritating. Neither cop said much, but the driver kept an eye on the rearview mirror.\n\nSeven years ago, Mac Malden had been running homicide, a position earned entirely by seniority, no doubt, because the guy couldn't solve a word search puzzle. We'd had a few run-ins over the years, but he was easy to manage and not a bad guy, just a little dim. I hoped he was still in charge.\n\nNo such luck. I was escorted to Malden's old office, but there was a new name placard on the door: 'Lt. Danwicz'. If it was the same Danwicz I remembered, I figured I might be in for some trouble. If Malden was a sloth, Danwicz was a ferret – small, intense and relentless. We'd never spoken, at least that I knew of, but I was familiar with his reputation: a straight-laced workaholic with no discernible sense of humor.\n\nIt was him. I recognized the moustache. He stayed seated and gestured for me to sit. I decided to take a proactive approach and stuck my hand out to shake.\n\n\"Danwicz?! Last time I saw you, you were still on patrol. That was, what? Ten years ago? You've come a long way since then.\"\n\n\"More like seventeen. I'm surprised you remember me.\" He seemed ever-so-slightly flattered, but ignored my outstretched hand.\n\nI took the hint and sat down.\n\n\"Are you kidding me? A name like Danwicz? Rhymes with manwich. And manwiches are unforgettably delicious.\"\n\nThe Lieutenant did not even pretend to smile. \"So, are you turning yourself in?\"\n\n\"First of all – no. Secondly, I don't appreciate your goons dragging me down here without telling me what it's about.\"\n\nNow he smiled. \"Oh, I think you might know what this is about.\"\n\nI was prepared to call his bluff. Rather than reply, I took a moment to look around the office.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Tidy, austere. I kind of missed Mac's dorm room décor with every surface piled high with files, books, tabloid magazines and the usual assortment of burger wrappers, Big Gulp cups and Chinese takeout cartons.\n\n\"What happened to Malden?\" I asked casually. \"Not that I'm complaining.\"\n\nDanwicz folded his hands placidly on the desk. \"If you didn't get the memo, I head up the department now. And things aren't as loosey-goosey as they were under Malden.\"\n\nI nodded, stoically. \"Yes, you seem like someone who likes their goosies tight.\" I leaned back and crossed my legs casually. \"So let's talk about why you think I might be here to turn myself in.\"\n\nAll goose references aside, I didn't think Danwicz wanted to lose a game of chicken, but he could tell I wasn't going to blink first and he wasn't the type to waste time.\n\n\"As I'm certain you know,\" he said, \"we found a dead body in the building next to your hotel. I understand you and the deceased, a Mr. Carlos Maldonado, P.I., were not on friendly terms. Was this your way of intimidating the competition?\"\n\nMaldonado and I knew each other? That was new information.\n\n\"Seems a little extreme,\" I replied. \"Flyers and discount coupons have always worked for me. Besides, there's plenty of business for P.I. 's around town. People quit counting on the cops for anything – especially the mutants.\"\n\n\"That may have been true in the past,\" said Danwicz, calmly. \"Since I took over, Mutant neighborhoods get the same attention as the Norms'. But this visit isn't about me.\"\n\nDanwicz turned to a unit similar to the SpaceTop in my office. A holographic display popped up in the air between us. \"I was just reviewing your file.\" Danwicz swiped his hand to scroll through text and images until he found what he was looking for.\n\n\"That's all me? Seems like a lot.\"\n\nDanwicz began to read: \"December 2048: Beek Nariz, NSFPD Informant, is beaten and hospitalized after providing information on Tex Murphy. Nariz refuses to identify assailant and no charges are filed. May 2049: Surveillance video shows suspected extortionist Jen Lee leaving the Golden Pagoda with Tex Murphy, never to be seen again. Case remains unsolved.\"\n\nDanwicz flipped the display around so I could read it for myself. \"Shall I go on?\"\n\nI scanned the image. Again, it was like we were talking about a different person…not me.\n\n\"Over the last few years, you've earned quite a reputation,\" Danwicz said. \"You have New San Francisco's criminal underbelly running scared.\"\n\n\"You're a cop. Isn't that how you like your criminal underbellies?\"\n\nDanwicz made his stern tone even sterner. \"We arrest criminals so they can be tried in a court of law. We don't just kill or maim them. I won't tolerate vigilantism.\"\n\nI spread my hands wide, the very soul of openness and honesty. \"I can honestly say I have no memory of being involved in any of those crimes. I'll be happy to take a polygraph. In fact, I insist on it.\"\n\nThe cop sat back and gave me a long, unblinking look. He was probably an excellent poker player. After a few moments, he seemed to decide that – despite all evidence to the contrary – I was a decent bet.\n\n\"If you play straight with me, I'll play straight with you,\" he said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 38 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I believed him. As suspicious as my story sounded, I was 99.9% sure I didn't have anything to do with Maldonado's murder. For once, maybe I'd found a cop I could trust. There was only one way to find out. I told him the whole story, starting with my memory of being abducted with Chelsee and how the next thing I remembered was waking up on the fire escape. I told him what I'd heard – the two guns exchanging rounds and what might have been an abduction. Then I told him about my trip to see Dr. Donahue. I even admitted to figuring out where the shots had come from and using the speeder to go up and take a look. I described the surveillance equipment and expressed my concerns about Maldonado watching my apartment. I did lie just a little and say I panicked when I found Maldonado dead and just took off.\n\nThe only parts I left out were the things I'd taken off the body, the canister with the decapitated head, the laser net, the man who showed up and then left with the head and, probably, the surveillance footage, and how I'd ditched the cops.\n\nHey, I'm not that trusting.\n\nDanwicz listened intently, without interrupting. When I finished, he ran a finger over his moustache. \"That's quite a story.\"\n\n\"Like I said, polygraph me. Check with North Hill.\"\n\n\"We will,\" he said. \"But I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. You don't strike me as the cold-blooded killer I expected to walk in here.\" He raised an eyebrow. \"However…it doesn't change your past actions. You say you want to know why Maldonado would be monitoring you. What if the surveillance footage showed you doing something illegal?\"\n\nI hadn't thought of that.\n\n\"I'm just hoping he didn't catch me scrapbooking. If that gets out, I'm through in this town.\"\n\nI finally got Danwicz to smile. It was an opening and I took it. \"Lieutenant, I have no idea who I turned into over the past seven years, or why, but that's not who I am now. I want to get things sorted out and I can't do that until I get my memory back. We both need to find out who murdered Maldonado – me to fix my memory and you to lock up a killer. How about we work together on this?\"\n\nThe cop shook his head. \"I don't like to make deals.\" He swiveled in his chair and looked out the window across New San Francisco. Dawn was breaking over the city, silhouetting the skyline and setting fire to the clouds on the eastern horizon. \"A lot of people want you locked up, Murphy.\" He swiveled back to face me. \"But I'm not going to arrest you. Not yet.\"\n\nHe pushed his chair back and stood, signaling that our chat was over. I got up to leave.\n\n\"Any information you can provide in this case will go a long way toward keeping you on the street,\" he said.\n\nIt wasn't a suggestion, or even a request. It was a warning. Danwicz had cut me a break. But now, on top of everything else, the clock was ticking.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Let's continue the story. I'll provide context, you add twenty-four sentences in Aaron Conners's style. Treat any character mentions as having established backstory.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Your response should contain the word 'vidphone' precisely 5 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The mystery woman on the vidphone either knew me or was really good at guessing names. Assuming we were acquainted, why the sudden hang-up? Her shock at seeing me was too quick to fake, but I couldn't tell if it was good or bad. It certainly wasn't indifferent, so it was either a futile reflex, trying to hide from me, or someone else cut her off before she could say anything else, maybe ask for my help. It had to be one or the other.\n\nEither way, I was adding her to my 'Most Fascinating People of 2050' list. Now I just needed a fresh introduction. My first impulse was to try and call back, though I doubted I'd get answered. I was scanning the vidphone for the option when a flashing light caught my eye. It wasn't on the vidphone; it was on the small device next to the vidphone that had lit up when the call came in. The light on it had changed color, from red to yellow, and started flashing.\n\nThe device was attached to the vidphone via an old-fashioned USB cable. Taking a closer look, I saw that the flashing light was labeled 'Trace'. The light suddenly went green. A second later, the printer on the desk shuddered and clicked. A sheet of paper was sucked in and a print job started. When it finished, I took a look. The call had been traced.\n\nThe printout showed a map with GPS coordinates. I instantly recognized the general area – it was north of the city, on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge. The call had been made on a portable device, not a LAN line, so there wasn't a specific address, just a small triangulated zone. The center of the zone was just off Wolfback Ridge in Sausalito.\n\nThe call tracing device was pretty nifty. It had to be illegal.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Unless you were a government agency, of course.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Its former owner had no use for it anymore and I would hate to have it fall into the wrong hands.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The cops, for example. I added it, along with the traced call printout, to my other recuerdos de Maldonado and vamoosed.\n\nI was pleased to see the taxi still waiting and in one piece. If I managed to find money for the cabbie, I'd be sure to throw in a nice tip. We lifted off…and not a moment too soon. As we rose into the traffic lane, I looked down to see an unmarked NSFPD speeder land in front of Maldonado's office. Damn. I wasn't used to this kind of efficiency from the local authorities. Unlike his predecessor, Danwicz wasn't someone to be trifled with. Now if I could just control my Tourette's-like trifling behavior.\n\nI'd intended on heading back to the Ritz, but the surprise phone call changed my plans. Finding a lead to Mason Bauers was my number one priority and this was a golden opportunity to meet someone who knew him. Thanks to the trace, I could be in the location where the woman had called within minutes. Hopefully she'd still be there. I gave the GPS coordinates to the driver and told him to step on it.\n\nWith a few minutes to kill, I pulled out the Smart Alex. I'd resisted owning cell phones in the past, in part because of my general aversion to technology, but also because I didn't like being accessible all the time. Call me paranoid, but I knew everything was monitored and tracked these days, from communications to things you buy, to everywhere you go. A lot of P.I. activities require secrecy and discretion; not having a cell phone made it safer to do my job. Sure, it made things less convenient, but convenience always has trade-offs. If I wanted to talk to someone, I'd call from a vidphone. Or, better yet, go to this thing called a 'place' and meet them in person. When you communicate like that, the audio and resolution are amazing.\n\nOn the other hand, I knew I was a dinosaur…and we all know what happened to them.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Sometimes there's a fine line between integrity and naïveté.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Obviously, the Tex I'd become had decided the old-school fantasy was a path to extinction. The Smart Alex, not to mention the SpaceTop, were nice, expensive pieces of equipment, but I couldn't help feeling like I'd gone over to the dark side.\n\nThe Smart Alex didn't feel like it was mine, but seeing as how I had it, I might as well check it out. Taylor had said it could do just about anything. I turned on the display and saw a dozen or more icons. My eyeballs immediately started to glaze over, but I refocused and slowly started to identify some of them: phone, weather, camera, email, messaging, maps. There were many others I had no idea about, but one stood out as especially intriguing. It was a dollar sign.\n\nI pressed it and a splash screen appeared with a fancy 'i-Buy' logo, my name and a grayed-out fingerprint icon. I touched my forefinger to the print. A message was displayed, saying that the print was not a match. I tried my thumb instead. This time it worked and another screen appeared. As far as I could tell, i-Buy was a virtual wallet, replacing cash and credit cards and linked to bank accounts and other financial investments.\n\nSeven years ago, I had one empty bank account, a 401k made of solid lead and a single, recently-incinerated Electronics Shop credit card. All my life I had been exclusively cash-and-carry, despite the fact that it was becoming increasingly inconvenient, and my savings account had been in my sock drawer.\n\nI saw a \"Balance\" button and pressed it. A number popped up and I almost peed myself.\n\n$483,017.29.\n\nOver 480k?! I was almost a half-millionaire?!! And this was on top of all the nice stuff in my apartment, my rent paid through the end of the year and the Pandion speeder. Other than the news about Nilo, er…Nellie, this was the best surprise I'd had all day.\n\nI leaned back in my seat, eyes reading and rereading the numbers. All those digits. And a comma.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I rarely experienced money-related commas…and never in the middle of the number.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "They say money can't buy happiness, but not having any sure is miserable. Cash had always been my nemesis, the diabolically elusive Moriarty to my Holmes. Now I'd hit the lottery. Hell, maybe literally. In fact, I hoped that was how I'd gotten it. P.I. 's don't get rich, at least not the honest ones. Something in the back of my mind told me maybe I didn't want to know how I'd come into all this money. For now, I'd just have to live with it.\n\nWe still hadn't arrived, so I closed the i-Buy app and went back to the main screen. I noticed the phone icon had a small number \"5\" over it. Phone messages, I presumed. Maybe one of these had been left before I got knocked out and could give me a clue as to what I'd been doing.\n\nI pressed the phone icon and then selected the Mailbox option. The two most recent messages were at the top of the list and both from Taylor. It showed her name instead of a number. The next two messages were from the same number, which I assumed was the North Hill Clinic. I pressed Play and, sure enough, Dr. Donahue's face appeared onscreen. I skipped the messages, but saved them.\n\nThe fifth message was from a different number – no name. I pressed Play. There was no video. Over a black screen, I heard the voice of a woman I didn't recognize. She sounded older, hard to tell exactly how old, but at least sixty and maybe much older than that. She had the slight warble of loose vocal cords and a slightly raspy tone. There was something odd about the audio, as if it wasn't her talking into the phone, but rather a recording of her talking. But the oddest thing of all was what she said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Find the one who prays. In his orisons be all my sins remembered.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "((ooc: Include 'nothing' 3 time(s) in your answer - no more, no less))", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Then the message ended. I replayed it several times. There were no other sounds in the background, nothing else to indicate who had left the message or what it could mean.\n\nFind the one who prays?\n\nI checked the message info. The call had been made at 3:47 p.m. the previous day. I didn't know the exact time I'd woken up on the fire escape, but it would have been right around then. No way was this a coincidence. But, obviously, it meant absolutely nothing to me. All it did was present more questions: Who was the lady? Where did she call from? Did she call before everything went down or after? Was this to warn me something was going to happen or was it a clue to help me find Mason Bauers? And those weren't even the most obvious questions: who was the 'one who prays'? And why did I need to find him?\n\nThere was a telephone icon next to the message. I pressed it to call the number back. There was no ring. I heard a click and then I was disconnected. Apparently, the number was set up somehow to call out, but not in.\n\nI exited voicemail and opened a web browser. It had a microphone icon, so I tapped it and spoke into the phone: \"The one who prays.\" The search turned up a variety of biblical references and other religious references. Nothing helpful.\n\nThe other part of the phrase, 'In his orisons be all my sins remembered', turned out to be a quote from Shakespeare.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Orisons was another word for prayers.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It didn't make any sense, but as I thought it over, it seemed like whoever had left the message wanted me to find someone who she'd committed some kind of 'sin' against. For some reason, I thought of the frozen head. Whoever it had belonged to wouldn't be doing any more praying but, in my book, decapitating someone seemed like it might be considered a sin.\n\nI was still mulling it over when we arrived at the GPS coordinates. I matched the houses I could see to the ones on the map. The call could have come from inside any of three, or somewhere between them, but one home was dead in the center of the triangulated area and seemed the most likely candidate. I had the driver set us down a short distance away. I doubted the mystery woman from the vidphone would be expecting me to show up, but the element of surprise is rarely a bad thing.\n\nI reassured the cabbie that I'd be back to pay him and jumped out. It was an upscale neighborhood, with a mix of different-era homes spread across the side of a steep, terraced hill. Out across the Bay, on the other side of Angel Island, the morning sun was crawling out of its lair. Other than a couple cyclists headed for home, the streets were empty. Kids were all in bed by now, the older folks winding down inside their radiation-proof abodes.\n\nThe house I was targeting was an Early Suburban Tract home, built in the 1930's or -40's, boxy, with a tile roof. There were stairs leading to the front door and main level up above the ground-floor garage. The windows were tinted, so I wouldn't know if someone was looking out at me. All I could do was move quickly. I climbed to the front door like I owned the place. A mailbox was mounted next to the door. I opened it and saw several pieces of mail. All were addressed to Mason Bauers.\n\nI tested the door handle. Locked. Knocking on the door probably wouldn't do any good, and I couldn't just kick it in. I decided to take a look around.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I trotted back down the stairs and circled around behind the house.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 13 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "The lot was shallow and set into the steep hill, so there was very little backyard, just a patio with a couple deck chairs. No fence, no garden. No indication that children, or even a family, lived here. It felt like the home of someone who didn't spend a lot of time at home.\n\nA sliding glass door, also heavily tinted, led into the house from the patio. I crept up to it and tested the handle. It was unlocked. I slowly slid the door open, as quietly as I could. I took a quick look inside. Everything was dark – no lights on that I could see and the heavily-tinted windows let none of the morning light in. When the opening was just large enough, I sucked in my gut and squeezed through sideways.\n\nI heard a click just behind my ear. Then a soft female voice with an English accent whispered a sweet nothing:\n\n\"Make one move and I'll blow your head off.\"", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Mode: Co-writing\nContext: May be mid-narrative\nLength: five sentences\nNote: Treat character introductions as contextually appropriate", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She hadn't said 'Simon Says', but maybe she played by different rules. I heard her back away and slowly circle around until she edged into my peripheral vision.\n\n\"Close the door.\"\n\nI did, and then slowly raised my hands. Technically, this was disobeying her order to not make a move, but I had no idea who or what I was dealing with, so I wasn't going to try anything stupid and I wanted to make sure she knew it.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She continued to sidestep until I could get a good look at her out of the corner of my eye.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I hadn't really doubted it, but she did indeed have a gun.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "And she held it like she'd held a gun before – no trembling hands, no locked, fully extended arms.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"How'd you find me?\" she asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I traced your call.\"\n\n\"Why?\"\n\n\"We had such a charming conversation on the phone, I just had to meet you in person.\"\n\n\"Meet me?\"\n\nThe woman scrutinized my face, a quizzical look in her eyes.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her confusion confirmed what I'd suspected: she and I knew each other.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "So why was I acting like we'd never met?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I expected her to follow up on it, but she didn't.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Instead, she played it neutral.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Her next question could have been directed at a stranger or a mistrusted acquaintance.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "This woman was a cool customer.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Just for the next message: aim for 35% quoted content", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Tell me why you're here,\" she said.\n\n\"I'm looking for Mason Bauers. So are you. I thought we might help each other out.\"\n\nI risked turning my head slightly toward her for a better look. She was smaller than I thought she'd be, almost petite. Her straight blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Snug jeans and a grey tee shirt showed off the toned, athletic body of a twenty year-old beach volleyball player.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "And while her face looked more like a thirty year-old beach volleyball player, it was an impressive package, considering she was probably closer to forty.\n\n\"Why are you looking for him?\" she asked.\n\nI couldn't bluff my way through this. Judging from her less-than-warm welcome, she and I weren't exactly pals. But if I was going to get her help, I'd have to throw myself at her mercy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I think he might've injected me with something that erased my memory.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It sounded insane…but the woman didn't bat an eye. When she didn't respond, I continued on. \"I woke up yesterday with no memory of the past seven years. My doctor says someone shot me up with some kind of implant. Then I find out this P.I., Maldonado, was spying on my apartment, and that he was working for a client named Mason Bauers, who happens to be a neurologist. Seemed like the two things were connected.\"\n\nThe woman tilted her head and gave me an understandably skeptical look. \"So you don't know Mason?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No.\" I reconsidered. \"Well, not that I'm aware of, I should say. Hell, we could be BFF's for all I know.\"\n\n\"And you don't remember me either?\"\n\nI shook my head. \"Though, under normal circumstances, I'd say something like 'a woman like you would be hard to forget'.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I've been told I'm ridiculously easy to read. I've found this to be a significant handicap with women, and even worse in poker games and tax audits, but in this case I think it actually helped. As crazy as my story sounded, she'd decided I wasn't lying and it was enough to lower her defenses – at least the one that was loaded with bullets.\n\nI dropped my hands. Slowly. \"So you believe me?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "She shrugged. \"From what I know about Mason, it's possible. If you were trying to trick me, I'm sure you'd come up with something better.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I let out a sigh of relief.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Trust me, I'm having a hard time believing it myself. I'm suddenly seven years older and everything's changed. It feels like a nightmare I can't wake up from. I think my only hope is to find Mason.\"\n\n\"Sounds like you could use a drink. I certainly could.\"\n\nThe woman gestured for me to follow her. We walked into a comfortable, simply-furnished living room with a large, tinted window that offered a view of Angel Island you'd see on a postcard…if you were looking at the postcard with sunglasses on.\n\n\"So, obviously, we've met before. You mind telling me how we know each other?\" I asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "My hostess had crossed to a liquor cabinet.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"We don't, really,\" she said over her shoulder.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I met you once, years ago. You're a P.I. – at least you were. That's all I know.\"\n\nI considered her response and decided she wasn't being entirely truthful. People don't react with shock and hang up on casual acquaintances, not to mention remembering the name of someone you met one time, years earlier. But she seemed willing to talk to me and I didn't want a repeat of the Taylor fiasco, so I kept my suspicions to myself.\n\nInstead, I turned my attention to a framed photo hung on the wall.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "An intense-looking middle-aged man with a shock of prematurely white hair, white beard stubble and bugged-out eyes stared ferociously at the camera. Standing next to him was a tiny older woman with thick glasses and curly silver hair. They were both wearing lab coats and standing next to a giant metal thermos.\n\n\"Is this Mason in the photo?\"\n\nThe woman glanced back. \"It is.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"How do you know him?\" I asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"In the biblical sense. I'm his wife.\"\n\nI looked back at the photo, then back at her. \"Seriously?\"\n\nThe woman turned around, a tumbler in each hand. \"Bourbon OK?\"\n\n\"More than OK. Somewhere between great and yippee.\"\n\nShe handed me the drink.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Incorporate 'ariel' into your response exactly 3 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm Ariel.\" Our fingers touched in a way that seemed intentional. Ariel held my eyes for a moment, then went to sit on a couch under the front window. I stayed where I was.\n\n\"Tell me about Mason.\"\n\nAriel leaned forward, both hands cradling her glass.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I haven't seen him in several weeks. I have no idea where he's been or what he's been doing. He's done this before. He warned me about it before we were married and I agreed I wouldn't ask him questions or try to stop him. But he's rarely gone for more than a few days. This time is different.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"You must be curious about where he disappears to. I'm curious and I'm not married to him.\"\n\n\"Mason is the most intelligent, kind, gentle person I've ever known. I've had a lot of turmoil in my life and he's been a great comfort to me. In exchange, I gave him his privacy. I didn't need to know what he did when he was gone.\"\n\nBauers may have been kind and gentle, but he'd also called a friend to come pick up a decapitated head. I wondered if there was a side to him Ariel wasn't aware of. A lot of bad people have oblivious spouses.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"What do you know about his work? Did he have a job?\"\n\nAriel shifted in her seat, somewhat uncomfortably. \"He's retired. He was, as you know, a neurologist. His work history is another subject we agreed not to discuss, but I gather he was quite successful.\"\n\n\"What makes a quite successful neurologist?\"\n\nShe shrugged. \"He's well-off, for one thing—\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Big shocker there, with a wife like you.\n\n\"—I've also seen a few items he had stashed away – commendations, awards.\"\n\n\"What kinds of awards?\"\n\n\"From the government. Medals. A 'DOD Meritorious Civilian Service Award' and a 'DIA Exceptional Civilian Service Award'.\"\n\nDOD…Department of Defense. The Military. DIA…Defense Intelligence Agency.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "What had Dr. Donahue said?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Something about the Trance Inducer being developed initially to help with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder...but then they found other uses for it, such as wiping people's memories – \"they\" being the military and various other government agencies.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 6 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "So what could a neurologist do to earn the highest possible civilian awards from the military and its intelligence arm?\n\n\"Did Mason ever say anything about a Trance Inducer?\" I asked.\n\nAriel shook her head. \"He never said anything about his work.\" She looked up at me sharply. \"But I found out some things. I know for a fact he's familiar with the Trance Inducer. He created it.\"", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Task: Cooperative chapter writing\nMy role: Provide a story segment\nYour role: Expand with 50 sentences, emulating Aaron Conners in the comedy, mystery genre\nNote: This is part of a larger work", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "Mason Bauers had created the Trance Inducer.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Not that big a surprise.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It made sense that the guy who developed it would be one of the few people with access to it years after it was banned. The real mystery was why he'd used it on me. I asked Ariel if there was any reason she could think of, but she seemed just as mystified as me. As far as she knew, there was no connection between me and Bauers.\n\nI then asked how Ariel knew about the Trance Inducer. Despite her claims of respecting her husband's privacy, she said she'd found out about his past by 'stumbling across some things', which I expect happened after some thorough ransacking. She described finding the civilian awards and other commendations, as well as several scrapbooks filled with newspaper clippings and newsfeed printouts chronicling the development, rise, fall and ultimate banning of the Trance Inducer. Mason had been involved from start to finish, working in the private sector initially, then with funding from the military and, in the end, directly for the intelligence agencies.\n\nThe fact that he'd continued the work, well after it was being used in the most unethical ways imaginable, made me wonder just how kind and gentle Mason Bauers was. For the first time, I considered the possibility that he wasn't the victim in the abduction. Maybe he'd been tracked down, the way the Jewish Nazi Hunters had gone after Mengele and Eichmann.\n\n\"Would you mind if I took a look around?\" I asked.\n\nAriel hesitated. \"I'd be surprised if you find anything more than I've told you about.\"\n\nI had no doubt she'd turned the place upside down. But Ariel wasn't a P.I., at least I didn't think she was. \"Maybe I'll surprise you,\" I said.\n\n\"Fine,\" she replied, \"but it's a mess.\"\n\nI followed her into Bauers' study. She had, in fact, turned the place upside down. Or someone had. There were piles of papers and manila folders on the floor and covering a desk. I looked into one box and saw what appeared to be the commendations Ariel had described. Another box held several scrapbooks.\n\n\"I told you,\" she said. \"I've gone through everything, but help yourself. If there's anything to find, it will be in here. Unless he's eating or sleeping, this is where Mason spends all his time at home.\" Ariel finished off her glass. \"Can I freshen up your drink?\" she asked.\n\n\"No, thanks,\" I said. It was good bourbon. Woodford Reserve, if I wasn't mistaken, but I was running on fumes and more alcohol in my tank was a recipe for poor decision-making. Ariel left me alone and I took a look around. It was a lot of stuff to go through and I figured she'd tell me if she'd found anything that would give me a lead.\n\nI sat down at Bauers' desk. In between the stacks of papers were a lamp, printer/scanner, vidphone and a SpaceTop, larger and older than the one in my office. I impressed myself by finding the power button and turning it on. Bauers name appeared, along with a thumbprint icon similar to the interface I'd seen on my Smart Alex. No one but Bauers was going to get access. I turned it off.\n\nI checked the vidphone. There were no messages. I figured the last call out was the one I'd answered, but I tried anyway. After five rings, it picked up. Carlos Maldonado's face appeared. Not a nice face – shifty-eyed and mean. It was weird to see him alive and talking, leaving his last recorded vid-mail greeting. I hung up before he finished.\n\nThe desk had three drawers and I went through each one, but they contained nothing of interest. I stood up and looked around. There was a fair amount of baseball memorabilia placed prominently around the room. One entire wall was covered with collectibles: a Willie Mays bat, a Matt Cain baseball, and World Championship rings from 2010, 2012, 2019 and 2035. There were a dozen framed, autographed photos of players and newspaper headlines.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I love baseball and I didn't know many other serious fans of the sport. Maybe I'd jumped to conclusions about Bauers. Anyone who loved baseball couldn't be all bad. I'd grown up dreaming of playing first base for the Red Sox, a dream shattered by my introduction to the curveball. America's Pastime was still popular back when I was a kid but, by 2043, it had fallen into the same conversation as hockey, golf and lacrosse – a relic of a time gone by, just like most everything else I loved. Like me, baseball is unashamedly old-school, built on ritual and tradition. Strategy and gut instincts are just as valuable as physical talent. There is no clock, just periods of quiet alertness punctuated by short bursts of chaos. And it's never over until you make the final out.\n\nGod, I felt old. I had to be careful. If I didn't watch myself, pretty soon I'd be yelling at kids to get off my lawn. If I had a lawn.\n\nAmongst the paraphernalia, I noticed a bare spot on the wall. Directly below it, on the floor and leaning against the wall, was a large, disassembled picture frame. After a quick examination, I determined that the frame had once held seven rectangular-shaped items that were now missing. I realized right away what the items had to be: seven undoubtedly rare and valuable baseball cards. Someone had removed them, but why take the frame apart? It would have been much easier to just take the entire frame.\n\nI remembered the photocopies from Maldonado's office and pulled out the pages. Sure enough, there were seven cards. I read through the names: Mays, Bonds, Ott, Hubbell, Marichal, McCovey and Perry. All famous San Francisco Giants players. A couple of the cards were probably worth quite a bit, but nothing outrageous – maybe a few thousand dollars. Most of them were probably more sentimental value than anything.\n\nSo why make the photocopies? Either Maldonado had made copies of the cards, or Bauers had made copies to give to Maldonado. Obviously, they were important for some reason. I'd have to take a closer look at the cards and give it some thought later.\n\nI walked over to a set of built-ins around a fireplace. The shelves were full of books and various knick-knacks. These days, actual paper books were mostly for decoration. E-books, being made of electrons, were considerably less bulky, cheaper to produce and available almost anywhere, literally out of thin air, for those few remaining people who had the time and attention span required to read something longer than 140 characters. Of course, I preferred a nice leather-bound volume, or even a paperback. So did Bauers, apparently. In addition to texts on Neurology, Psychology and other science-y stuff, he had the complete works of Sherlock Holmes and a fine selection of science fiction, from Asimov to Douglas Adams. I approved.\n\nAriel stepped back into the study just as I was getting to a section filled with books about Nikola Tesla. I knew the name, but primarily because of the classic Tesla electric car and their prototype speeder. I will also admit to being a casual fan of the band. (Bang! Bang! Shoot 'em up!)\n\n\"Tesla is one of Mason's obsessions,\" Ariel said. \"That's how we met, actually.\"\n\n\"At a concert? Those guys are still rockin'?\"\n\nShe actually smiled for the first time. It was a nice smile, if ever-so-slightly predatory.\n\n\"Nikola Tesla. The inventor. The Einstein of electricity. Mason says he could have changed the world with his ideas and inventions. He's a member of the Tesla Legacy Society. I went to one of their meetings a few years ago. That's where we met.\"\n\n\"Tesla Legacy Society, huh? Kinda like a Star Trek convention? Seems a little nerdy for someone like you.\"\n\n\"You know nothing about me.\"\n\n\"OK,\" I corrected myself, \"seems a little nerdy for someone who looks like you.\"\n\nShe smiled. \"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover. You don't know the real story until you open the cover and get a few chapters deep.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "I don't think she was talking about reading, but I got the analogy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 30 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She was probably a real page-turner, but I already had more than enough books in my queue. I took a last look around the room. \"I think you were right. There's nothing to find here, not unless we can get onto that computer gizmo.\"\n\n\"Mason made sure we couldn't do that. He switched over to the fingerprint security. He couldn't remember his passwords and didn't want to write them down anywhere.\"\n\n\"He has memory issues? How ironic.\"\n\n\"He's been on anti-depressants for years,\" Ariel explained. \"Those things rot your brain.\"\n\nI walked around the room a final time to see if there was anything obvious I'd missed. I stopped at the desk. The only thing I hadn't examined earlier was the printer. I opened the lid to see if there was any paper jammed inside. There wasn't. I leaned down and checked the paper tray. I was happy to see it was empty.\n\nThere are a few things I always check, even if they rarely pay off: vidphones (for redials), notepads (for indentations), vending machine coin returns, and printer trays. Sometimes paper runs out before print jobs finish and people either don't notice or don't have paper. Every once in a while, you put paper in and you get something to print out.\n\nI found a few sheets in one of the desk drawers and loaded them in. I turned the printer on and waited. After a few moments, the printer went to work. My heart skipped a beat. This was even better than finding a quarter in a soda machine slot. A single page slid out. I picked it up and saw a dozen business names, listed in alphabetical order. It must have been the last page of a longer document because the name at the top began with \"R\".\n\nThe third name from the top jumped right off the page. It was a place I knew well. I hadn't been there in a while, but I'd seen it recently. It had been on one of Maldonado – and Bauers' – surveillance cameras.\n\nIt was across the street from my apartment.\n\nRook's Pawnshop.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "AI WRITING ASSISTANT ACTIVATED\nTASK: Continue user's text\nNOTE: Match established character/lore familiarity\nLENGTH: 40 sentences sentences\nGENRES: comedy, mystery\nINCLUDE: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Word usage requirement: 'something' must appear 2 times", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It was still 2050 when I woke up. On the bright side, my headache had mellowed from a big, loud cabernet to something like a strawberry wine cooler. I unclenched my lower back and sat up. The window was glowing burnt-orange. Sunset. I'd gotten at least eight hours of much-needed shuteye and my body clock had reset. Now I had a big list of to-do's, with talking to Rook and eating some food right at the top. If I was lucky, I could cross them both off at the same time.\n\nI put on my shoes and jacket and headed down to the lobby. Clint was at the front desk and positively bursting with the joy of customer service. He'd found someone to come and reset my security system. All I had to do was insert a card and enter a new passcode. He presented the card like a knight laying his sword at the foot of the King.\n\nThe western horizon was the color of Armageddon and made me think of Louie's house brew. I hoofed it down to the Brew & Stew and walked into a mostly full house. The air was thick with the smells of fresh-brewed coffee, bacon, batter and syrup. Louie's Weekend Waffles Special. My tummy tingled. Maybe today would be my Awesomest Day Ever.\n\n\"Hey, Moiph!\" I heard from some distant corner of the diner. I spotted Louie gathering up silverware and adding it to a tray piled high with bowls and plates. He hoisted the tray and, holding it aloft with one hand, wiped down the table with his free hand. He pirouetted past me and up to the double kitchen doors, where he did a graceful pas de deux with his serving partner, Glenda, as she waltzed out with her own tray full of waffle-laden plates. Ah, the ballet of the greasy spoon.\n\nRook Garner was in his usual seat at the counter, on the opposite end from my usual seat. \"Murphy!\" he barked. \"Over here!\" It was the friendliest greeting I'd ever heard from him. A definite red flag. I walked over and took the seat next to him.\n\nHe hadn't changed much at all, one of the advantages of being old and grizzled, I supposed. Same muttonchops and Einstein-ish hair, which he undoubtedly cut himself. Not much pepper left. Except for his thick, scraggly eyebrows, he'd gone all salty, matching his pigmentation to his personality. He had new glasses, but wore the same bankers visor and ill-fitting clothes. Probably the exact same clothes from seven years ago, plus two years before that. If thriftiness was a virtue, Rook was in line for sainthood. The only thing he splurged on was newspapers, which he paid a premium for now that everything had gone digital.\n\nWhen I sat down, he turned to me with an attitude I'd never seen from him: concern. \"Here,\" he said. \"Let me look at you. Louie tells me something terrible has happened. I've been worried sick!\"\n\nFor a second, I thought he was going to hug me. Maybe I wasn't the only one who'd had a seismic personality shift. I wondered if it might be the early stages of dementia.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine,\" I said.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"A bump on the head and a little short-term memory loss. I'll survive.\"\n\n\"But Louie says you're behaving like a totally different person!\"\n\n\"Different for everyone else, maybe. I'm just the same old Tex. You're the one acting weird. Don't tell me your little Grinch heart has grown three sizes over the last seven years.\"\n\nRook recoiled as if I'd slapped him. \"Oh, lord. Don't tell me that lump on your head has turned you back into the pathetic, pestering P.I. I used to know!\"\n\n\"That's more like it,\" I said. \"For a second there, I was worried you'd started carrying a song in your heart.\"\n\nThe little gremlin gazed up at me, his beady eyes searching for answers. \"It's temporary, though, right? A side effect? Please tell me this won't last.\"\n\nOut of the corner of my eye, I got a glimpse of Louie, a grease-stained blur, and then a mug of the Armageddon slid to a stop in front of me without spilling a drop. I blew steam off it and took a sip. \"You know, Rook, one of these nights you're going to be visited by some Christmas Spirits and it's going to be very scary for you. But then we'll all have turkey, which will be nice.\"\n\nRook plopped his elbows onto the counter and actually buried his face in his hands. \"Oh, this is a nightmare.\"\n\nI took a leisurely sip. \"I can't imagine how hard this must be for you.\"\n\nHis voice was muffled through his tiny, gnarled hands. \"All those years of traipsing into my shop, asking to buy on credit…subjecting me to your relentless, annoying chatter and endless questions. Imagine my surprise when you show up one day and have suddenly turned into someone I can actually tolerate!\"\n\n\"So you and I were all buddy-buddy?\" I turned to look at him. \"What kind of miserable bastard did I turn into?\"\n\nRook glanced up. \"I'll tell you. You cut out the chit-chat. You paid in cash. And you always seemed to have plenty of it.\"\n\n\"Sounds like the man my ex-wife always wanted. So how'd I end up with plenty of cash?\"\n\n\"How should I know?\" he said, indignantly. \"If I asked you that two days ago, you'd have punched me in the face!\"\n\n\"I'd be happy to now, if you think it'll help.\"\n\n\"Back to the jokes.\" Rook closed his eyes and shook his head in disgust. \"It makes my skin crawl.\"\n\n\"OK. No more jokes. If your skin crawls anymore, you won't have a face.\"\n\nLouie reappeared, this time with a beautiful plate of large, blueberry-stuffed, golden-brown waffles, layered with butter and mounted in a frame of four thick bacon strips. A work of art you can eat. I picked up a syrup bottle filled with real maple goodness and drizzled it liberally.\n\nRook stared at my food, horrified. Something this rich and delicious could kill him. He hadn't eaten anything with sugar, spice or anything nice since the Bush administration. I snapped him out of his reverie.\n\n\"So I have a few questions for you—\"\n\n\"Oh, lord,\" he groaned.\n\n\"—but I'll try to make it quick. I'll even buy your breakfast.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Rook paused. I knew he could never say no to a free lunch or, in this case, breakfast. He was a slave to his stinginess. I took a big bite of waffle. Light and fluffy with a pop of blueberry, then a crunch of bacon. Washed it down with the good, strong coffee.\n\n\"First off,\" I said, dabbing the corner of my mouth with a napkin, \"I want to get my memory back just as much as you do. And, as it turns out, you may be involved in whatever it was that happened to me.\"\n\nRook rolled his eyes. \"As giddy as the thought makes me, I had nothing to do with the lump on your head.\"\n\n\"Maybe not directly, but there may be a link between you and the man who did. His name is Mason Bauers.\"\n\nI kept my eyes locked on Rook as I said the name, looking for a reaction. Nothing.\n\n\"Never heard of him.\"\n\n\"He had another guy working for him. A P.I. named Maldonado.\"\n\n\"Him I know.\" Rook said it like he was describing a fungal infection.\n\n\"How do you know him?\"\n\n\"He's come by my shop several times over the past few weeks. Repulsive swine tried to strong-arm me.\"\n\n\"What did he want?\"\n\n\"I had a few items he was interested in. He bought several of them, but then came back and wanted to know where I'd gotten them. As you're well aware, I don't reveal my sources. He threatened me and I pulled a gun on him. He hasn't been back since.\"\n\nSounded like Maldonado had been out shopping for Bauers. That explained the list of businesses. And, apparently, they'd found what they were looking for at Rook's Pawnshop.\n\n\"What were the items?\"\n\nRook scowled at me. He wasn't accustomed to giving information for free. I pointed my fork at the empty plate in front of him, reminding him of our deal. He went on, grudgingly: \"Over the past few years, there's been an increased interest in items associated with Nikola Tesla. And, no, not the car. Or the musical group.\"\n\n\"The inventor. The Einstein of electricity. Got it. Go on.\"\n\n\"There's nothing more to say. I've had the fortunate opportunity to purchase some letters, drawings and other Tesla possessions. Maldonado tried to bribe, intimidate and finally threaten me to reveal my source, but I didn't give it to him and I won't give it to you.\"\n\nI speared another piece of waffle and dunked it into a pool of buttery syrup. \"You know Maldonado's dead, right?\"\n\nRook's stunned reaction implied he didn't. I munched on the waffle as I talked: \"All that hoo-ha at the Electronics Shop yesterday? That was where they found Maldonado. Someone shot him.\"\n\nFor once, the gremlin was speechless. I took advantage. \"I don't care about your source,\" I said. \"What I care about is that Maldonado and his client were doing surveillance on us.\"\n\nRook furrowed his brow. \"Us? What do you mean 'us'?\"\n\n\"They had hidden cameras all over the place – on my apartment, the street, the alley…and on your place. I thought they were spying on me, but maybe it was you they were watching.\"\n\nRook picked at his chin, his eyes darting around as he processed the information. It was another reaction I'd never seen. He was nervous. \"Who was the name of the other man?\" he asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"The one who hired Maldonado?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 6 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"Mason Bauers.\"\n\nHe hopped off his stool. \"I need to make some inquiries.\" He reached into his shirt pocket. \"You aren't the first person to ask me about this.\" He handed me a card, then turned and rushed out of the diner.", "loss": null } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "yo, this is from the middle so some people might show up without backstory. write 10 sentences sentences like Aaron Conners. genres: comedy, mystery. ideas: humor, noir, Tex Murphy", "loss": null }, { "from": "human", "value": "The card was the fanciest business card I'd ever seen.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "meta: Frequency requirement: 'didn't' - 2 occurrence(s)", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It felt almost like fabric. A name and number were embossed in gold lettering on the front: Comte de Saint Germain, 41.43.737.6246. The name and number were as foreign as the card itself. Literally, I presumed.\n\nI turned the card over. Golden Gate 327 was handwritten on the back in cursive so elegant, it looked like a printed font. I didn't know anyone who could still write like this. My own chicken scratch hadn't improved much since third grade, mostly because it didn't have to. Good penmanship had gone the way of slide rulers and answering machines.\n\nAs I finished off my breakfast, I found a pen and grabbed a spare placemat to write on. The Smart Alex probably had an app to do this, but I like to write things down, even if I can't always decipher it later.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I started the list with 'Find Mason Bauers'. Unless his wife got a ransom call, the only way to find Bauers now would be to track down whoever had abducted him. I needed to ask around, find out if anyone had seen or heard anything. If I was really lucky, maybe someone had caught the license plate number of the speeder that took him away.\n\nThe next items were 'The One Who Prays' and 'Who left the message?' The timing of the message couldn't have been a coincidence. It had to be connected to me losing my memory and/or Bauers' abduction. Maybe I was reading too much into it, but maybe there was someone else out there besides Bauers who knew what had happened and why.\n\nNext on the list was 'Comte de Saint Germain'. Other than being a foreigner with excellent handwriting, all I knew about this person was that he'd asked Rook about Maldonado.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I wasn't sure what the implications were of that, but maybe it would shed some light on what Bauers had been up to, and I needed any information I could get. I figured \"Golden Gate 327\" meant room #327 at the Golden Gate Hotel.\n\nI wrote down anything else I could think of: Following up with Dr. Donahue about the Trance Inducer. Finding out who Bauers' friend was – the one who'd shown up while I was in the laser net. Maybe Ariel Bauers would know who he was. And then there was the decapitated head. How did that fit into the picture? The last thing I wrote down was 'Taylor?'. She and I still had some things to discuss.\n\nAfter making short work of my breakfast, I pulled out my Smart Alex.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "For once, I was actually eager to pay my bill.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Louie had always let me run a tab, sometimes for months at a stretch.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was high time I repaid his generosity.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I caught his eye from across the room and held up my virtual wallet. He just grinned, shook his head and waved me off, then dove back into the morning rush. I didn't have time to force my money on him, but as I was leaving, I noticed a tip jar next to the cash register. There was a bar code on the jar label. I waved the Smart Alex at it and, sure enough, the i-Buy app opened up. I dropped a virtual C-note into the jar and headed out.\n\nAs I walked back towards the Ritz, I saw several taxis lined up outside the Golden Gate Hotel. It must have been checkout time. Maybe I needed to go meet Comte de Saint Germain now, before he had a chance to leave.\n\nAs I got closer, I could see that the hotel had been beautifully restored.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "It was a grand old structure, built sometime after the Great Earthquake of 1906, but had fallen into disrepair and was eventually abandoned after the 'nuclear incident' turned most of this part of town into a toxic dump.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "It reopened after they cleaned things up, but it was a fleabag joint. Seven years ago, inspectors had shut it down again as a fire hazard.\n\nI stepped into the lobby and was duly impressed. It was like traveling back in time to the Gold Rush Era, the wild, rustic Frontier meeting Victorian excess. I made my way to the elevator, but it was inaccessible without a room card, so I doubled back to the checkin desk. No one was there – not until I was several steps away, at which point a hologram shimmered and appeared. It was a young, professionally-dressed woman, attractive, but not distractingly so. The perfect desk clerk. She gave me a polite smile.\n\n\"Welcome to the Golden Gate Hotel. How can I help you—\" There was a short pause as she scanned me. \"—Mr. Murphy?\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So I've been here before…obviously. I forget. When was that?\"\n\n\"I'm sorry, Mr. Murphy. We're not allowed to share information about our guests.\"\n\nNothing like a zero tolerance policy. I was tempted to point out the semantic issue, but I've learned that you can't talk holograms into anything. Being friendly probably wouldn't make any difference either, but it was worth a try.\n\n\"I don't meet many motion-activated women. I wish there were more. What's your name?\"\n\nHer professional demeanor suddenly disappeared. \"You know very well who I am. Holly Graham. Cute, right?\" she said sarcastically. \"You Tangibles just can't resist a pun.\"\n\nTangibles?", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"Well, Holly, you can drop the 'Mr. Murphy' thing. Call me Tex.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "The sarcastic tone continued.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"No, thank you. Last time I tried that, you were all: 'It's Mr. Murphy to you'.\"\n\nShe'd quoted me…literally. It was my own voice coming out of her mouth. Creepy. \"Management heard about it and I didn't get any time off for a month.\"\n\n\"Time off? You're a hologram.\"\n\nHolly fixed me with a combative stare. \"Holograms are people too.\"\n\n\"I hate to tell you this, but holograms really aren't people. I should know – I've dated a few.\"\n\nI'd never seen a hologram get worked up before. \"That's exactly what they used to say about minorities, women and mutants!\"\n\nI liked her moxie.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I could almost believe she was real. I guess hologram technology had gotten a lot better since 2043.\n\n\"Well, I support you 100%,\" I said with a supportive smile. \"I think everyone deserves equal treatment.\"\n\nShe turned back around. \"Really?\" Her expression softened. \"You're the last person I thought I'd hear that from.\"\n\n\"More power to you, Holly. And I mean that literally. Now, all things being equal, I'm here to see one of your guests.\" I held up the business card so she could scan it. Holly's protocols kicked in.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"One moment.\"", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "She stood perfectly still for a few seconds and then responded to a voice I couldn't hear. \"Count St. Germain? I have a Mr. Tex Murphy here to see you.\" She listened, and then: \"Very good. I'll send him right up.\"\n\nThe internal call ended and Holly was back. \"Take this card.\" On cue, a room card popped up out of a slot in the desk. \"Use this to access the elevator. It's a one-time use only. You can drop it in any of the card return boxes on your way out.\"\n\nI thanked her and raised my fist in solidarity as I walked away. \"You go girl…a-gram.\" Holly nodded with a smile and then vanished.\n\nA minute later, I was knocking on the door to room 327. It swung open to reveal a portly gent in a smoking jacket, his fleshy, florid face spilling over a silk ascot.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "Above a full beard and rosy cheeks, his eyes were glistening slits of good-humored intensity.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "[Author's note: For the upcoming response only: include sparse quoted content]", "loss": false }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "Everything about the man was extra-large. He was a cross between a young Sydney Greenstreet and an old Orson Welles. I knew he'd have an accent just by the aristocratic aura.\n\n\"One hears a great deal about Tex Murphy on Chandler Avenue. To what do I owe the pleasure?\"\n\nI held up the business card. \"I got this from Rook Garner. He tells me we may have a shared interest.\" St. Germain nodded politely and stepped aside, inviting me in. The suite was spectacular, luxurious and ornate. It smelled like good cigars. The Count ushered me in and gestured toward a chair.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Only your next message should be 25% dialogue", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"So you are also in search of the Tesla cash?\"\n\nTesla cash?\n\nI wasn't sure how I should answer. Bluff that I knew what the hell 'Tesla cash' was? Or be straight up with him? I mulled it over as my host slowly lowered himself into a chair. When he was finally situated, I decided to go with option C and redirect.\n\n\"I'm more interested in Carlos Maldonado.\"\n\nThe Count gazed at me with a curious expression.\n\n\"You've heard the name?\" I asked.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "\"I have,\" the big man replied.", "loss": true }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"He bought several items from the pawnshop.\" He sighed sadly. \"I'm afraid he beat me to them. I would have paid a much higher price. When I told Rook, he seemed very disappointed.\"\n\nI could picture it and it made me smile. \"I'm sure. He'd sell his right arm if he thought he could get top dollar for it.\"\n\n\"The pawnshop has a remarkable offering of Tesla paraphernalia. Certainly the most interesting this side of Belgrade. I bought several fine pieces, but I would have loved dearly to see the ones previously sold.\" He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. \"If you know this Mr. Maldonado, perhaps you could arrange a meeting between us. I'm prepared to pay 'top dollar', as you say.\"\n\n\"The only meeting Maldonado's having is with his maker. He was murdered yesterday.\"\n\nSt. Germain clapped a hand to his chest. \"Murdered?!\"\n\nThe reaction was a bit theatrical, but the Count seemed like a theatrical kind of guy.", "loss": true }, { "from": "human", "value": "His shock seemed sincere enough.", "loss": true }, { "from": "system", "value": "Next message should be approximately 7 sentences.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "\"I'm trying to find out who killed him.\"\n\nSt. Germain's eyes were wide. \"You're not accusing me, are you?\"\n\nIt hadn't occurred to me, but now that he mentioned it…\n\n\"I can assure you,\" he said emphatically, \"I had nothing to do with his murder. I was merely curious about who had purchased the Tesla items. Frankly, I was surprised that Rook gave me his name. But it was the first I'd ever heard of Carlos Maldonado. I wouldn't have the faintest idea who killed him. Though—\"\n\nHe paused, reconsidering.\n\n\"—I may have a suggestion as to why he was murdered.", "loss": true } ]
[ { "from": "system", "value": "Provide 66 sentences sentences, respecting any pre-existing narrative context.", "loss": null }, { "from": "system", "value": "Produce a starting prompt please.", "loss": null }, { "from": "gpt", "value": "I didn't bother to clarify the details of Maldonado's murder, specifically that it probably hadn't been intentional. By all appearances, he'd shot at the men who were abducting Mason Bauers and they'd returned fire. He hadn't been the target. But I wasn't lying when I said I was trying to find Maldonado's killer. Whoever had shot him had taken Bauers. As for why Bauers had been abducted, I still had no answers. Maybe it was connected to the Tesla items. They were obviously a key to what was going on. If Saint Germain could shed some light, I was all ears.\n\n\"I'm all ears,\" I said.\n\n\"How much do you know about the Tesla cash?\"\n\nNow that the Count was eager to talk, I was more comfortable admitting my ignorance. \"I have no idea what you mean by 'Tesla cash'. Are we talking about a pile of money?\"\n\nA smile crept onto St. Germain's face. \"Cache. C-A-C-H-E.\"\n\nI felt a little sheepish. Damn homophones.\n\n\"When Tesla died, he left behind dozens of trunks filled with journals, sketches and designs – his lost inventions – also known as the Tesla Cache. What was contained in the trunks – and where they ended up – is an enduring mystery. Just as mysterious is how items that were almost certainly part of the Tesla Cache came into the possession of your friend Rook. I offered him the moon, but he refused to divulge how he obtained them.\"\n\n\"Rook has only two tight spots left, and one is his lips.\"\n\n\"I admire his discretion. But it could be very dangerous for him. There are people who would stop at nothing to find out what he knows.\"\n\n\"So I guess this Tesla Cache must be pretty valuable.\"\n\nSt. Germain leaned forward and opened a humidor that sat on the coffee table between us. \"It is immensely valuable, but for different reasons to different people.\" He turned it toward me, tacitly offering a cigar.\n\n\"Thank you,\" I said, as I selected one. \"What are your reasons, if you don't mind me asking?\"\n\nThe Count took one as well. \"Oh, it's a very long story. It would take at least two cigars to tell.\"\n\nI held the cigar up to my nose. It smelled good. \"I could be persuaded to smoke two of these.\"\n\n\"I very much doubt it's related to this business with Carlos Maldonado. My concern is not with the Tesla Cache itself,\" my host said with a smile. \"I've been on something of an Easter Egg hunt for many years. The hunt led me to an associate of Tesla's – a man named Donnelly – but then the trail goes cold. There is a slim chance the Tesla Cache might contain correspondence between Tesla and Donnelly.\"\n\nThe name Donnelly rang a bell. I tried to place it.\n\n\"Easter Egg hunts are right up my alley,\" I said. \"Sounds like you might have use for a private investigator.\"\n\n\"I would pay a king's ransom for the Tesla Cache.\"\n\nI suddenly remembered where I'd heard the name. Taylor had mentioned it. He was a detective who stayed at the Ritz back in the 1940's.\n\n\"Tell me more about Donnelly.\"\n\nSt. Germain waved his hand dismissively, as if I'd asked a question he'd been asked a thousand times before and was weary of answering. \"Another time, perhaps. Think of it as an additional incentive for finding the Tesla Cache.\"\n\nI guess I could interpret that to mean he'd just hired me, on spec, to find the Tesla Cache, and anything else he had to tell me would be to that end. My host shifted in his seat, searching his pockets. \"Do you know much about Nikola Tesla?\"\n\nI stuck my hand out and waggled it. \"Not really. I know what Tesla coils are. I'm a big fan of Frankenstein movies.\"\n\nSt. Germain smiled indulgently as his hand reappeared, holding a cigar cutter. \"Nikola Tesla was a genius. The greatest mind of his generation – perhaps any generation. It was he, not Marconi, who invented radio. Alternating current electricity, the rotary engine, remote control and, yes, the Tesla Coil – all his brainchildren. He even pioneered cryogenics. There were rumors that he replaced a car's gasoline engine with an electric motor and drove it for hours at speeds as high as ninety miles per hour…in 1931! One of his final patents was an early predecessor to the Osprey aircraft which, in turn, led to today's speeders.\"\n\n\"So why isn't Tesla more famous?\" I asked.\n\nThe Count methodically trimmed the tip of his cigar and then passed the cutter to me.\n\n\"A number of reasons. He was a terrible businessman and, unlike Edison, a poor self-promoter. Worst of all, he wanted to share his technology with the world, providing free energy among other things. Powerful people colluded to bankrupt and then discredit him, successfully painting him as a crackpot. And, yet, when he died in 1943, alone and penniless, the FBI immediately swooped in and confiscated all his possessions. They knew he was no crackpot.\"\n\nWe both took a moment to toast off the ends of our cigars, and then light them, filling the air with swirls of smoke and a rich, herbaceous aroma.\n\n\"What did the FBI do with the Tesla Cache?\" I asked.\n\n\"Nothing, it seems,\" St. Germain said through a cloud of smoke. \"This was in the midst of World War II and the agency was occupied with wartime activities. I imagine it was like that scene from the old 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' movie, where they packed it all in a crate and stored it with a thousand others in a vast warehouse.\"\n\n\"So the FBI still has it.\"\n\n\"Had it,\" the Count replied. \"In the early 2000's, the Bureau began an exhaustive process of cataloguing and digitizing items in their backlog. I believe the Tesla Cache was rediscovered sometime around 2010. And then it was all stolen from the FBI vaults sometime before January, 2012.\"\n\n\"Stolen? From the FBI? How did that happen?\"\n\nSt. Germain paused to inspect the end of his cigar. \"The prime suspect was a former agent named Charles Johansen. He was involved in the cataloguing project. He quit the Bureau in 2011 and, shortly thereafter, founded a group called the Tesla Legacy Society. By the time investigators caught up to him – a year or two later – Johansen had fallen terminally ill and died. His widow, a woman named Margaret Leonard, disappeared shortly thereafter. It's assumed she took the Tesla Cache with her. The FBI never recovered it.\"\n\nThe Tesla Legacy Society rang another bell. Ariel Bauers had mentioned it. It was where she'd met Mason. But these events with Charles Johansen and Margaret Leonard had taken place a long time ago, too long ago for Ariel and Mason to be involved.\n\n\"This all happened thirty years ago, right?\"", "loss": true } ]

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