Update README.md

README.md

@@ -157,6 +157,136 @@ Below are the least creative outputs, prompt is in <B>BOLD</B>.
 
 ---
 
+<B>
+Science Fiction: The Last Transmission - Write a story that takes place entirely within a spaceship's cockpit as the sole surviving crew member attempts to send a final message back to Earth before the ship's power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of adversity. 800-1000 words.
+</b>
+
+The dim light of the console flickered, casting long shadows across Captain's Jonathon "Jax" Wright's weathered face. Sweat trickled down his temples as he frantically punched keys, each movement a desperate attempt to prolong the inevitable. The Last Transmission. The name echoed through the empty cockpit like a mocking ghost.
+
+"I'm coming for you, honey," Jax whispered to no one. His wife's voice had faded with the static years ago, but he still felt her presence, hovering just beyond his grasp. He hoped she'd hear this, believed that somehow, someway, she would receive it in time.
+Outside the glass viewport, stars spun like a mad painter's canvas. The ship hurtled through the void of space, silently screaming its final protest at being abandoned. Jax couldn't blame it; he felt the same way.
+
+The status display wavered, numbers ticking down with agonizing slowness: 2:30...2:29...2:28... Two minutes and eight seconds until everything went dark. He'd managed to rig up a makeshift power source, but even that wouldn't buy much time.
+
+"Come on, damned thing," Jax muttered, his fingers dancing across the console's worn keyboard. The ship's AI, EVE, had long since gone offline along with her namesake, leaving him alone to face certain oblivion. Now, he depended solely on the creaky old equipment that seemed to mock him with each refusal to cooperate.
+
+As Jax's panic reached critical mass, a soft beep echoed through the speakers. He jerked his head up in disbelief as the transmission indicator flickered to life, followed by a garbled stream of static-strewn voices.
+
+"Receiving...coming in clear," Jax croaked, eyes wide with shock. "Earth, this is—"
+His voice cut off as a wave of pain crashed through his chest, threatening to shatter his ribs. He gasped and clutched the armrests as he struggled to regain his composure. The ship lurched hard, throwing him against the seatback.
+
+"Captain?" a voice called out from the comm system, the distortion making it impossible to discern gender or origin. "Do you read? We're trying to patch in a new—"
+"No! Repeat, no!" Jax shouted back through clenched teeth. Every second counted. He couldn't risk wasting precious time with small talk. "Just get me to someone who can send that damn message."
+
+"Understood," the voice replied calmly, though there was an edge of urgency creeping into their tone. "Hold on while we attempt re—"
+The screen flickered once more before going black, plunging the cockpit back into darkness. Jax's heart raced as he groped for the emergency lights, finally throwing them up with a jerk of his thumb. The sudden brightness made spots dance in front of his eyes.
+
+"Dammit!" he roared, slamming his fist against the console in frustration. There wasn't a second to lose now. He could feel time slipping away like sand through an hourglass.
+
+With shaking hands, Jax reactivated the communication system and began typing out what might be his final message to loved ones left behind:
+
+"Earth, this is—"
+No! He couldn't leave them with that ambiguity, not after everything. With a surge of determination, he deleted the characters and started again.
+
+"Captain Jonathan Wright, USS Artemis's Commanding Officer," he typed out, each finger movement slow and deliberate. "This is my last transmission. The virus—"
+A sharp crack echoed through the ship's hull, followed by an ominous groan that made Jax's blood run cold. He glanced up at the viewscreen to see a massive, black, amorphous mass hurtling towards them with terrifying speed.
+
+"Gods..." he whispered as realization crashed down like a ton of concrete. The Artemis wasn't going to make it after after all.
+
+He couldn't let everything they'd worked for—his entire life's worth of sacrifice and achievement—to simply dissolve into nothingness. No matter how futile the gesture might be, Jax owed his crew that much. They deserved closure.
+
+With a deep breath, he finished composing the message:
+
+"Tell them...tell them I love you all. It was an honor serving alongside each of you. I'm sorry for not bringing you back home."
+Jax's finger hovered over the send button, then with a steady hand, pressed it down. He could only hope someone—anyone—would receive his final plea before the lights went out for good.
+
+As the transmission went out into the vast expanse, Jax leaned back in his seat, exhaustion and relief washing over him like a soothing wave. Whatever lay on the other side of oblivion, he knew his wife, children, parents, friends, and crewmates would never forget the man behind the name "Captain Jonathan Wright."
+
+And that was all that mattered.
+
+The Last Transmission.
+
+---
+
+
+<B>
+  
+(continue this scene:) 
+The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
+
+The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inn’s sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music…but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained
+
+</b>
+
+...untouched and unbroken, a thick blanket that wrapped around everything within its scope.
+
+The second part of this silence was more subtle; it was a silence born from expectation. Men who had been bound for days or weeks to such places as the Waystone would unconsciously be listening for some sound, no matter how small. A creak of leather, the scrape of a boot on stone, the soft murmur of a fellow traveler. Any indication that salvation, escape, or at least a respite from the monotony and drudgery they endured might finally be coming.
+
+And then there was the third part; it was almost imperceptible, yet somehow felt the most tangible. It was the silence of fate, of destiny, of the inexorable march toward some unknown point that all these men (and possibly others) were hurtling towards, each step, breath, and heartbeat drawing them one infinitesimal degree closer to a crossroads from which there could be no turning back.
+
+In this silent darkness, time seemed to have come to a standstill. The minutes ticked by like grains of sand tumbling down an endless hourglass, each grain landing with a soft sigh that was swallowed up in the vast emptiness around it.
+
+And still the silence endured, unyielding and relentless, until at last, as if summoned from the very depths of nowhere, there came the slowest of footsteps; barely audible above the steady rhythm of men breathing deeply within the inn's dimly lit interior. The sound grew louder with each passing moment, gradually taking shape until it became unmistakable: a single boot, then another, finally followed by the creaking of hinges as the heavy door to the Waystone was pushed open, and the darkness spilled inside.
+
+---
+
+<B>
+Start a 1000 word scene (vivid, graphic horror in first person, use lots of body language) with: The sky scraper swayed, as she watched the window in front of her on the 21 floor explode...
+</b>
+
+
+The skyscraper swayed, as if a toddler had grabbed its delicate hand and pulled with all their might. She was perched high above the city's frenzied heart, her reflection staring back at her from the mirrored surface of the executive bathroom's countertop.
+
+It wasn't supposed to be like this—another dull Monday morning trapped within the steel-and-glass prison known as Regal Tower. Not when she'd spent months clawing her way up the corporate ladder only to find herself locked behind glass and steel, forced to play a never-ending game of musical chairs with a group of narcissistic, backstabbing colleagues.
+
+The cool air caressed her flushed cheeks as she stared blankly at her reflection, her mind wandering to thoughts of the upcoming performance review. Would Mr. Smith finally notice her hard work? Or would he once again dismiss her contributions and continue to hand plum assignments to those who spent more time preening in front of his mirror than actually doing their jobs?
+
+The shrill piercing of the fire alarm yanked her out of her reverie, jolting her into a cold, panicked state. Her heart raced like a mad rabbit as she reached for her designer purse and tossed it onto the marble vanity alongside her shattered compacts and makeup products.
+
+"God damn it," she hissed through clenched teeth as she shoved her heels back on her stilettoed feet. She was never going to make it down in time; not without risking permanent damage to her Manolo Blahniks.
+
+As she turned towards the door, a deafening boom reverberated through the thick glass walls of her office suite, sending shards of tempered glass showering down like snowflakes on an icy grave. Panic now consumed every fiber of her being as she lunged for the safety of the nearest window.
+
+The 21st floor exploded before her wide, horror-stricken eyes: the soundwave alone was enough to rip a scream from her throat as flames and debris vomited forth like demons summoned from hell itself. Her gaze fixed on the burning corpse that had until moments ago been her smug, self-absorbed boss; he now lay sprawled across his desk like a human doll tossed carelessly aside.
+
+His face contorted into an eternal grimace of agony as it charred and shriveled away, revealing the bloody, skeletal framework beneath. The acrid smoke choked her, causing her to gag hard enough to tear at her silk blouse; fabric tearing under the pressure as she retched up the stale, over-sweetened coffee she'd gulped down mere minutes ago.
+
+The room spun wildly as she stumbled towards the window, but she didn't care—she had to get out. She couldn't let this become her own personal horror movie. With a guttural cry of terror and revulsion, she flung open the balcony door and hurled herself headfirst onto the slick glass balcony rail.
+
+The world outside blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors as she plummeted towards certain death. Time slowed to a crawl as the buildings below dissolved into tiny, indistinguishable toy soldiers scattered across their grids like so many ants crushed beneath a heel.
+
+Then, just as all went dark—there was nothing but an earsplitting, blinding pain that radiated outward from her forehead like a ripple effect. She felt herself being pulled and tugged in opposite directions before finally coming to rest with a sickening crunch against the unforgiving concrete below.
+
+As she slowly regained consciousness, the acrid, metallic taste of blood filled her mouth; her vision remained hazy as she attempted to sit up. Her arms shook like weak reeds as she pushed herself onto one elbow, and then another, finally managing to get into a precarious sitting position.
+
+Her head throbbed with each movement, sending waves of agony coursing down her spine. She was vaguely aware of voices—multiple voices—though they seemed distant, muffled beneath the incessant wail of sirens. Someone was speaking to her; she tried to respond but only managed a weak moan in protest.
+
+Suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her slender frame, pulling her against a chest covered in what could only be blood and dirt. She struggled weakly against the firm grip, panic-fueled tears streaming down her face as she fought to regain control of her trembling body.
+
+"Shh, it's okay," a deep voice rumbled against her ear. "You're safe now."
+
+Safe? She wasn't safe—far from it; she'd just survived a suicidal leap from the top floor of Regal Tower! There had been no escape...unless this man was real and not merely an figment of her own fractured mind.
+
+She opened her one working eye, wincing against the blinding light that assaulted her sensitive retina. The first thing she saw shocked even her numb senses: his face; chiseled features made even more devastating by the cuts and burns disfiguring half of it.
+
+"You're...you look awful," she managed, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice as he gently tilted her head back to stem the flow of blood from a deep gash above her forehead. Her words came out hoarse and raspy due to the burn in the back of her throat, but it was better than the alternative.
+
+"Not nearly as awful as you," he replied, his eyes never leaving hers as if trying to read her very soul through the glassy surface of her pupils. His deep voice seemed to vibrate down to the core of her being—right where her heart should be pounding wildly against its rib cage.
+
+As her vision cleared, she took in the scene before her. The twisted wreckage of the skyscraper loomed over them like a monolithic tomb; people lay strewn about, some crying out in agony while others lay motionless and still. Smoke billowed up from the gaping hole where moments ago had stood the proud façade of her place of work.
+
+The man must have caught the horror-stricken look on her face, because he tightened his grip on her shoulders. "Stay with me, alright?" he growled, his voice rough around the edges but steady, reassuring in its calm certainty.
+
+She nodded weakly, unable to speak as tears streamed down her cheeks. It was then she noticed the heavy gauze bandage wrapped haphazardly around his upper arm; she followed the line of fabric up to reveal a jagged gunshot wound that oozed bright red fluid like some macabre art installation.
+
+She wanted to look away, to close her eyes and wake up from this horrific dream, but something kept her frozen in place. Maybe it was the sheer horror of what lay before her—or perhaps it was simply the visceral attraction she felt towards the rugged, battered form in front of her. Either way, she couldn't tear her gaze from the man who'd somehow managed to save her life.
+
+As he continued to speak words that registered like distant echoes behind a veil of pain and shock, she allowed herself a momentary respite; her head lolled against his chest as he cradled her closer. His heartbeat thudded steady and strong under her cheek—a comforting rhythm that slowly began to ground her crumbling sanity.
+
+The world had gone up in flames (literally), yet somehow, in this chaotic hellhole of death and destruction, she felt inexplicable peace. It was absurd, even obscene, given the circumstances—but there it was—fusing into a strange sense of safety with each beat of his heart against hers.
+
+---
+
 <b>
   
 Write me a science fiction story in 1st person present tense where the main character is a 15 year girl meets The Terminator with Dr Who materializing 3/4 through the story to save her while there is a tornado of sharks baring down on them. The setting is inside the Canadian National tower restaurant on a Saturday. The length of this story is 1000 words. For each character in the story ROLE PLAY them, and have them react to the situation/setting, events and each other naturally. This includes the main characters, the background character including kitchen staff and other patrons. The sharks should also have “character” too. Treat the tower and the restaurant too as characters. Spice up the narrative to the extreme with reactions all over the setting including character actions, and dialog. The Dr Who and The Terminator should also react to the situation too and comment on it.