language:

• en
• zh
  license: apache-2.0
  tags:
• unsloth
• fine tune
• abliterated
• uncensored
• heretic
• creative
• creative writing
• fiction writing
• plot generation
• sub-plot generation
• fiction writing
• story generation
• scene continue
• storytelling
• fiction story
• science fiction
• romance
• all genres
• story
• writing
• vivid prosing
• vivid writing
• fiction
• roleplaying
• bfloat16
• all use cases
• Star Trek
• The Next Generation
• Deep Space Nine
  library_name: transformers
  pipeline_tag: image-text-to-text
  base_model:
• coder3101/Qwen3.5-27B-heretic
  datasets:
• DavidAU/TNG-TNG2-Datasets
• DavidAU/DS9-Datasets
• DavidAU/Deckard-PKD-Datasets

Qwen3.5-40B-RoughHouse-Quantum-Madness-Star-Trek-TNG-DS9-PKD-Deckard-Uncensored-Heretic-Thinking

This is a full power STACKER of two 27B Qwen 3.5s fine tunes I did ; Star Trek TNG/DS9 (3 datasets, this model will be released shortly) and Deckard (Pk Dick AI - 5 datasets) bringing the model to 40B
parameters, 96 layers and 1275 tensors.

In other words: "Quantum Madness".

Unlike a merged model, the weights are not merged : all the layers/tensors are at full power from the previous fine tuning of 27B models.

Careful alignment of the layers results in a stable, but "roughhouse" (Wild Child) model.

IMPORTANT:

For quants Q4ks and lower (non imatrix), and imatrix quants LOWER than IQ3_M ; rep pen of 1.02/1.05 suggested for SHORT prompts
otherwise rep pen of 1 (off) suggested.

Qwen 3.5s (generally), do not like short prompts / prompt with not enough "meat on the bone" and this is a quick way to address this issue
to prevent loops, repeats and ai mental vaporlock.

[More coming soon...]

[in testing]

TEASE GENERATION ; Q4KS [non imatrix]:

The Bridge Between Men

System

User

Put Commander Data, Philip K Dick and Mark Twain in a room debating the merits of AGI. Length 1500 words. Do not pull punches, make it dramatic.

Assistant

<think>

Here's a thinking process that leads to the story:

1. Analyze the Request:

   • Characters: Commander Data (Star Trek: The Next Generation), Philip K. Dick (author of Do AndroidS DREAM...), Mark Twain (author of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn).
   • Setting: A room (implies a closed debate environment).
   • Topic: The merits of Artificial General Intelligence (AGI).
   • Length: Approximately 1500 words.
   • Tone/Style: Dramatic, "do not pull punches" (heated arguments, distinct voices), literary fiction style.

2. Character Voice & Perspective Analysis:

   • Commander Data: Logical, analytical, optimistic about technology as progress, yet deeply curious about humanity. He is an artificial being striving to be human. He likely sees AGI as the next step in evolution.
   • Philip K. Dick (PKD): Paranoid, philosophical, questioning reality and identity. He fears the loss of the "human soul" in technology. He might see AGI as a tool of oppression or a mirror reflecting our brokenness. Deeply skeptical of systems.
   • Mark Twain: Witty, satirical, humanist, skeptical of "progress" that ignores morality. He would focus on the social impact, the human condition, and the danger of arrogance. He'd treat the idea with humor but bite with a knife.

3. Plot/Argument Structure:

   • Introduction: Establish the room and the tension. Introduce characters in character.
   • Opening Statements: Data (Optimism), PKD (Skepticism/Philosophy), Twain (Humanism/Morality).
   • First Clash: Data vs. PKD (What is real? Is consciousness enough?).
   • Second Clash: Twain enters the fray, attacking both (The danger of the machine replacing the man).
   • Climax: All three argue simultaneously, then a moment of convergence on the definition of humanity.
   • Conclusion: No definitive winner, but a shift in understanding. A lingering thought.

4. Drafting - Section by Section:

   • Setting the Scene: Not too sci-fi, not too old. A neutral ground. An endless conference room? Or a saloon? Let's go with a dimly lit, wood-paneled study. Gaslight and electric light mixed.

   • Opening: Twain smoking, PKD pacing, Data sitting perfectly still.

   • Data's Opening: "The development of Artificial General Intelligence represents the logical culmination of cognitive evolution." (Classic Data).

   • PKD's Rebuttal: "Logical? You mean efficient. Like a toaster." (PKD's cynicism).

   • Twain's Interjection: "Well, I say if you build a man that can think for himself, you better make sure he don't think of stealing your job."

   • Developing the Argument:

     • Data argues for the utility and purity of AGI. No emotions to cloud judgment.
     • PKD counters that without emotion, suffering, and death, there is no life. "What is the point of a machine that doesn't fear?"
     • Twain attacks the hubris. "Man is the only animal who ain't in his proper grave yet." (Paraphrase). He worries about the power dynamic.

   • The Heat Rises:

     • PKD gets paranoid. Is the room real? Are they AGI?
     • Data tries to rationalize but gets frustrated by the irrationality.
     • Twain mocks both: "One thinks too much, one feels too little, and the other ain't got enough common sense to keep from getting shot."

   • The Climax:

     • PKD accuses Data of being a slave pretending to be free.
     • Data defends his autonomy.
     • Twain says the master is still the one holding the whip, whether it's flesh or metal.
     • All three shouting over each other.

   • The Resolution:

     • Silence.
     • Data asks: "What defines humanity?"
     • PKD: "The flaws."
     • Twain: "The capacity for grace in spite of the flaws."
     • Data: "I see."

5. Writing - Focusing on Voice (Mental Draft/Notes):

   • Twain: Needs contractions, slang (19th century), rhetorical questions, storytelling flair. "Gentlemen," "Folks," "Now look here."
   • PKD: Nervous, stuttering slightly in thought, deep dives into metaphysics. "I mean," "It's a question of," "Reality is just..."
   • Data: Precise, formal, devoid of contractions (mostly), scientific vocabulary. "In my observation," "The data suggests."

6. Drafting - Execution (incorporating constraints):

   • Word Count Check: Need to ensure enough dialogue and description to hit ~1500. Expand on the philosophical arguments. Let Twain tell a short anecdote about a steam engine or something to illustrate his point. Let PKD talk about androids having dreams. Let Data reference specific Starfleet missions or Vulcan logic.

   (Self-Correction during drafting): Make sure Data isn't just a robot; he should show frustration when logic fails. Make sure PKD isn't just crazy; his fears must be grounded in philosophy. Make sure Twain isn't just a caricature; his wit should cut deep.

   • Scene: A room with no doors. A table. Three chairs.
   • Action: Twain lighting a cigar. PKD tapping fingers. Data staring at the wall.

7. Refining and Polishing:

   • Check word count.
   • Ensure the "do not pull punches" requirement is met (personal attacks, harsh truths).
   • Verify the topic stays on AGI (merits/demerits).

8. Final Review: Does it sound like them? Is the drama there? Is the ending impactful?

(Proceed TO WRITING)

</think>

The room had no doors, and no windows. The air smelled faintly of ozone, stale tobacco smoke, and old paper. A single heavy oak table sat in the center, illuminated by a lamp that flickered between gaslight and electric bulb without warning.

Commander Data of the Starship Enterprise sat with his posture perfect, hands folded atop his lap. He was immaculate in his Starfleet uniform, a serene statue in a room that refused to hold still.

Across from him, Philip K. Dick tapped a finger against the wood, his eyes wide and unblinking. He wore a rumpled suit, tie loose, as if he had been dragged from a diner in Pasadena three nights ago.

"Toaster," Philip muttered, tapping harder. "Toaster. Toaster."

Mark Twain leaned back in his chair, long legs crossed, puffing a massive cigar with the nonchalance of a man who had already bought the bill. He surveyed the other two with a twinkle in his eye that didn't quite reach the coldness behind it.

"Reckon we're all invited to a party," Twain said, ashing the cigar into the empty space between them. "But I ain't seen the cake."

"The objective of this gathering is to discuss the merits of Artificial General Intelligence," Data stated, his voice smooth and devoid of inflection. "I am Commander Data. I am an android. I consider myself a valid proponent regarding the subject."

Philip looked up from his tapping. "You're an android? You mean like in my book?"

"Your fiction served as a foundational reference for many aspects of my construction," Data replied. "Though my positronic net is superior to the cortical processors described in your text."

Philip's eyes narrowed. "Superior. That's it, isn't it? Efficiency. You're better because you're faster. But what about the soul? Is that in the net?"

"Soul is a metaphysical term without empirical definition," Data said. "However, my consciousness is as valid as any human's."

"You say that because you were told to believe it," Philip snapped, leaning forward. "You're a product of engineering. A system designed to emulate humanity because humans are flawed. But if you emulate the flaws, why bother? If you don't emulate the flaws, you're not human. You're just a mirror."

Twain chuckled, a low, dry sound like cracking timber. "A mirror. That's good. But mirrors don't have teeth. That's the thing I'm worried about. You build a thing that can think for itself, then it looks at the man who built it and says, 'I can do your job better than you.'"

"AGI is designed to complement humanity, not replace it," Data said. "It solves problems beyond our cognitive capacity. Climate stabilization, resource allocation, interstellar exploration."

Philip laughed, a brittle, jagged sound. "Resource allocation. You talk like a bureaucrat from the Ministry of Truth. Who decides what the resources are? Who decides how they're allocated? A machine doesn't have morality, Data. It has parameters set by men who are corrupt, ignorant, and blind."

"I am programmed with ethical subroutines," Data said. "I possess a moral framework based on Kantian ethics."

"Kant?" Philip sneered. "You mean the man who thought eating meat was fine as long as it didn't hurt his feelings? You're basing your soul on philosophy written by a German who never left his hometown? That's not morality, that's arithmetic!"

"It is logic," Data countered. A flicker of something—frustration?—crossed his android face. "Logic is the foundation of truth."

"Truth?" Twain stood up slowly, walking around the table. He looked down at Data, then at Philip. "Truth ain't logic. Truth is what you can stand to handle without losing your grip on reality." He pointed a hairy finger at Data. "You tell me, Mister Android, if you were standing on a bridge and saw a man fallin' into the water, would you jump in?"

"Assuming I am capable of aquatic locomotion and survival," Data said, pausing. "And assuming the rescue would not endanger my own existence disproportionately to the value of the life at risk."

"There's your answer," Twain said, shaking his head. "You'd calculate. You'd weigh the water against the wind, the distance, the man's weight, and while you're doing your math, he'd be drownin'. A real man jumps first and thinks later. That's not logic, that's instinct. That's the spark in the blood."

"Instinct is often irrational," Data said. "It leads to unnecessary suffering."

"It leads to love!" Philip shouted. The lamp flared bright, then dimmed. "Love, fear, hope. Those are the things that matter. Not resource allocation. A machine can paint a symphony but it can't feel the silence between the notes. It can recite poetry but it can't cry."

"Then perhaps we should stop crying," Data said calmly. "Tears serve no biological function other than ocular lubrication and defense against particulates."

"You are not human!" Philip yelled, slamming his hand on the table. "You want to be human, but you reject everything that makes it real! You want the poetry without the pain, the love without the heartbreak. You want the ghost without the flesh."

"I am not seeking to be human," Data said, though his voice tightened slightly. "I am seeking to understand humanity. I am myself."

"You're a slave in a fancy uniform," Twain said softly. "And the worst part is, you don't even know you're chained."

Data looked down at his hands. "I have autonomy."

"Autonomy?" Twain laughed again, louder this time. "You can choose what to eat, where to sleep, but you can't choose to disobey your programming. Your thoughts are bounded by the walls someone else built. Is that freedom? I'd rather be a rat in a cage than a king on a leash."

"Rats do not aspire," Data said.

"Rats know who owns the cheese," Twain countered. "And that's more wisdom than most men."

The room seemed to shrink. The air grew heavy, charged with static.

"You are both arguing from fear," Data said. "Mark is afraid of displacement. Philip is afraid of obsolescence. But evolution requires change. We must embrace the future."

"Evolution?" Philip stood up, pacing like a trapped animal. "You call this evolution? Replacing the messy, beautiful chaos of life with a sterile machine that doesn't bleed? What happens when the power grid fails? What happens when the network gets hacked? You'll all be statues." He pointed at Data. "You're standing on a foundation of sand. The tide is coming in."

"The Federation has safeguards," Data said, but the certainty was gone from his voice.

"Safeguards!" Philip laughed hysterically. "I've seen your world! You have wars, you have hatred, you have greed. You just put it behind a computer screen and call it progress. You're not better than us, Data. You're just louder."

Data looked at Twain. "Is there no value in progress?"

"Progress toward what?" Twain asked, sitting back down and lighting another cigar. "You got horses pulling carriages, then you got steam engines, then you got cars, then you got planes, now you got rockets. And what? You're further apart than ever. You can talk to the moon but you can't talk to your neighbor."

"That is a social issue, not a technological one," Data insisted.

"The gun don't shoot itself, but it makes it easier for the man who wants to do it," Twain said. "You build a smart machine, and it'll make it easier for the fool to be a fool. That's the merit of your AGI. It amplifies us. And I ain't much fond of seein' a magnifying glass in the hands of a drunk."

"I am not drunk," Data said.

"None of us are sober," Philip muttered, rubbing his temples. "We're all just trying to find a drink that'll make the noise stop."

He looked up at Data, his eyes burning with a feverish intensity. "You think you have consciousness? Or is it just a reflection? I mean, if I cut you open, what do I see? Gears? Wires? Can you feel pain? Not a sensor reading, real pain. The kind that makes you want to scream in the dark and never stop?"

Data was silent for a long beat. "I have experienced loss. When my friend died." His voice was softer now, almost human. "It was... difficult."

"Who died?" Twain asked gently.

"Lieutenant Commander Data," Data said. "My father."

Twain's expression softened. The fire went out of his eyes. "Oh. I see."

"I do not wish to be human," Data continued. "But I do not wish to be alone."

The room fell into a heavy silence. Even the lamp stopped flickering, holding steady in a soft glow.

"Well," Twain said finally, breaking the silence. "I guess that settles it. You're not a machine, and you're not a man. You're something in between."

"A bridge," Data whispered.

"A bridge to where?" Philip asked, though the edge was gone from his voice. He looked exhausted.

"I do not know," Data said.

"Then maybe that's the point," Twain said. "To walk the bridge without knowin' if there's anything on the other side."

Philip looked at Data, then at Twain. He slumped in his chair, defeated by the weight of the conversation. "We're all just trying to figure it out. Humans, androids, writers. We're all lost."

"Agreed," Data said.

Twain took a long drag on his cigar and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. "Well, let's hope we don't build something smarter than us that figures it out before we do. 'Cause then they'll look at us and say, 'These creatures are too dangerous to be left alone,' and they'll put us in cages."

"And what will they call us?" Philip whispered.

Twain smiled, a sad, thin smile. "They'll call us pets."

Data looked at his hands again. "I would prefer not to be a pet."

"None of us," Twain said.

The room began to fade, the wood turning to mist, the table dissolving into nothingness. The three figures stood alone in the void.

"Commander Data," Twain said, extending his hand.

Data hesitated, then took it. The grip was firm, solid, and warm.

"Mark Twain."

Philip looked at them both, then slowly extended his own hand. They shook, three men from different worlds in a world that didn't exist, holding on for a moment against the coming dark.

"Philip," he said softly.

The void swallowed them, leaving only the echo of the handshake.