Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Really? Again? How many times do I have to show her I love her. Those blue eyes, golden blonde hair, her incredible fashion sense. Sometimes I really think its me. Sometimes I do n' t feel good enough. It cant be my hair? I' ve been told I can be a bit assertive, but you have to be in my position. I mean, I have friends... workers... minions. But what girl does n' t like a guy with power. I own a castle for Christ sake! What more do I need? Obviously she does n' t care about looks if she' s constantly out with that short, dirty plumber. I mean come on! We get it, you' re a plumber! I Know you do n' t work THAT much where you have to wear you' re uniform EVERYWHERE you go! Get some new clothes with your paycheck. I' m just as good as him. You know what? I' m going to surprise her with a date, I' ll pick her up and take her to my place. Yeah, that sounds great. She' ll love the gesture and how spontaneous I can be. I just hope that Mario does n' t ruin things, as always.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " You said you would no longer come here, little Cloak-of-Blood. " The Wolf' s eyes glinted yellow in the dark, the rest of him a hulking shadow. In a patch of moonlight before him stood a young woman in a crimson hood. She had a crossbow slung over her shoulder and a heavy leather satchel in her hand. Its contents had soaked through the leather and dripped sluggishly on the soft earth. At the sight of it, the Wolf slunk into the moonlight with nostrils flaring as he scented the air. " There' s been another epidemic. I need medicines from the Elder. " The woman said. She hefted the sack and tossed it to the ground between them. " Hearts of kids. Your usual payment. " " Of *goats*, you mean, " the Wolf growled, his lip curled in disdain. The woman shrugged. " You should have been more specific in our original agreement. How was I to know you meant human children? " The Wolf gave a snarling cough - a noise of disgust, or perhaps a laugh - but nonetheless tore open the satchel and set upon the meat. For several moments the clearing was silent except for the sounds of tearing muscle and gnashing teeth. The woman waited patiently for him to finish. At last he looked up and gave a wolf' s grin, his muzzle stained a terrible red. " Let us go, little Cloak-of-Blood. I will take you to the Elder' s den. She will be pleased to see you. " The woman stepped around the bloody mess on the ground and together they began down the narrow moonlit path.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I quietly watched her from the table across the Subway restaurant as the rain pattered outside the clear glass window behind me. " *How could someone be so... so... * " I thought, as I watched her take another bite of her meatball sub, careful to not let any of the sauce drip on the table. " *... graceful...? * " Her eyes always averted, constantly gazing around the tidy restaurant, but never once looking straight ahead across the empty booths to me. I breathed deeply, but I could feel my chest quiver with each breath in. " *What is this feeling? * " I thought. " *I' m not supposed to feel this way... * " I looked down at my legs as I tried to catch my breath, but not a moment passed before I felt her watchful gaze upon me. Nervously, I pulled up my eyes to be met with her own; they saw through me with the kindest gaze I' ve ever seen, as her lips turned up in a soft smile. She stood up and walked over to me, my ears growing redder with each passing step. " Hi, Anna! " " H... hi... " I stuttered, trying my hardest not to blush. " I' m Juliet. I think we' re in the same class together? " Her soft voice made my face grow flush with embarrassment. " Um... yeah, I think so. " " Can I eat with you? " " Oh, okay... " She smiled as she set down her sub. " So what did you get? " " The sweet onion teriyaki. " " Can I have a bite? " I nodded awkwardly before handing it over. Unexpectedly, she leaned in and took a hearty chomp from the corner while it was still in my hands. Shocked, I immediately dropped it, letting the contents of the sub splash everywhere on the table. " Oh my God! " I exclaimed immediately, as I watched her eyes become wide with surprise. " I' m so sorry... " She hid her mouth behind her hand as she tried to not to laugh and chew at the same time. " It' s okay! " she comforted me. " I' ll go grab us some napkins. " After she left the table, I pulled the collar of my sweatshirt over my face. " I ca n' t believe this is happening... "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: TUCK AUTO CORRECT! It' s 2035 and you' d think that the AI would be able to understand the gist of my message enough to know that I meant IMMORTALITY rather than IMMORALITY. God dammit. Well, at least that' s what originally went through my head. Having had these powers for just over 10 years now, the original sting of losing the chance at life everlasting has pretty much worn off. I' ve grown into my powers now ( and picked up a few more along the way! ). Of course, it helps that I say this while sipping 1870 Chateau Lafite Rothschild gifted from one of the now ancient Koch bros on my 250 foot private yacht. Thanks K bro' s. It' s a perfect day for a leisurely cruise along the Maldivian coast. Esmeralda gives me a peck on the cheek as she joins 3 of her friends in the champagne hot tub. Yes, it' s as disgusting as it sounds, but 4 scantily clad gold-diggin supermodels make sticky frothy bubbles surprisingly appealing! In retrospect I do n' t regret it at all. Living forever probably would n' t have been as awesome as living like THIS. I own a country. Well, Several, actually. No, I do n' t simply have more MONEY than several countries ( which I do ), I' m the Democratically elected Emperor of the Glorious Republic of the United States of North America, Europe and Africa. Does n' t make sense? Make an appeal in the gulag you' re now being shipped off too. Who' d have though Immorality would have existed in politics? ha


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Ah love! Ever since being reincarnated as a humble daffodil, I had yearned to be used for some higher purpose than the general beautification that comes with the planting of flowers. Such was my look that not an hour ago a young man, lacking perhaps in certain charms of the countenance and figure – but young and able nonetheless, came upon my and made clear his aspiration to use me as a basis for a beautiful poem. Ah to be young, infatuated, and in possession of opposable thumbs once more! Twas quick apparent that the man held no great skill in the creation of verse. I sat patient for some time waiting for him to find a foil for the word "flowered ". Alas that he could not be told that the line might read some variation of "my love remain unsoured! "Indeed he settled with the verse "you for whom I am always showered. "Though I would not personally have chosen such a line, I am sure it is quite in tune with the vernacular of the day! Ah how it feels to be used as the item of lovely poetry! See here he observes me closer! See now how he bends to take in my every detail, to relate it back to his waiting love! Wait, what are you doing? Desist sir, that is my stem you are – Ah how it feels to be back in the halls of reincarnation! I hope that my next body will reach such a desirable end as my last! ( I feel like a daffodil ought to be rather upbeat and optimistic - it is a flower after all )


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I find myself looking down the cliff once again. Precariously perched between life and death. I wonder how others do it, just being this high makes my breath come fast and my head spin. But it' s not really falling that I' m afraid of. ( Everyone knows falling is fun, the crashing down is the bad part. ) I' m more afraid of something else, something that' s plagued me for years. A voice that says, "Jump. "When I was younger I figured I' d hear the word sooner or later, from someone else, filled with anger or hatred. I didn' t think it would be my own voice, with no emotion at all. Being this close to the cliff is frightening. I wonder why I often find myself in these kinds of situations. One wrong move and it' s all over. Or would it be one right move? If I did jump, how would I land? Feet- first, so my legs break and likely shoot through me? It would be painful, though maybe with a chance to live afterward. Perhaps face-first instead, so there' s less pain but absolutely no hope of survival. Maybe make a spectacle of it and do a belly-flop. I' m scared being here, yet there' s also a beauty to it that draws me back. Gazing into the depths and screaming back, "You can' t make me jump. "Instead of thinking so loudly, I should have listened to the steps behind me. They don' t say a single thing, they just nudge me from behind. The young eagle plummeted off of the bluff, looking like it would bang into the rocks below. Yet it spread its wings and caught the wind, soaring back to where it fell from. It squawked angrily at its mother as she sat there and preened her feathers.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He stared at the photo... At first he had glanced at it momentarily and continued flipping through the plastic film coated pages as if nothing was amiss- he was just nosing thru the album they left fo guess to write notes, comments or complaints ( one they said the bath towels were dingy... He remembered going into the bathroom to check out these so called dingy towels and thought to him at least, they did n' t look dingy but he replaced them nonetheless so looking through this album/guess book since became a burden ) but then he flipped back. The photo was taken out on the deck, it appeared as if a party of sorts was taking place and a half dozen or so patrons gathered, arms around each other and posing for the snapshot... He did n' t recognise any or the people except for the smiling fellow on the left of the group... He had his arm around an attractive brunette, but this fellow bore an extraordinary resemblance to himself. A shudder passed through him-not a shudder of maybe slight dejvue or like a nervous tremor/ freeze going through your nerves - but an all out knee- weakening hair raising shudder of disillusioned recognition of something he knew had to be true but could n' t be. It was him.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Look at him, " Death said, " he' s so bashful! " I was dead, yet alive somehow, and even that was n' t the weirdest thing happening. I was standing on a floor of an office building, from the looks of it, which seemed to stretch for forever in every direction. Surrounding me was a crowd entirely made up of people I thought dead, including my parents, who were all wearing those sparkly and colorful cone hats you see at kid' s birthday parties. And Death itself was next to me, handing me a nicely wrapped gift. " Consider it a cubicle-warming gift! " he said while dropping the black, square, and glittery box into my trembling hands. " Where am I? " I asked. " Hell, " Death replied, " but do n' t let that worry you. Live in the now! It' s present time, silly, just open your gift! " I ripped the wrapping paper, which was of impressive quality, gently so that it remained in one reusable piece, and held it in one hand and the object it was used to conceal in the other. " Do you like it? " Death said, taking the wrapping paper from my hand and handing it to a hot woman, who turned out to be one of his assistants ( her title was a good fit ). The object was a word-a-day calendar, except it could never run out. All it had was one word: " Dead. " The definition it used? " No longer living. " " Uh-huh, " I said while staring at my father. " Thanks a lot, Death. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: **179 DAYS AFTER [ SCP-217 ] ( http: //www. scp-wiki. net/scp-217 ) OUTBREAK** I was a fool. I thought myself the savior of humanity, but I' m not. The past six months have been so hectic, so filled with dread. The only hope we had was me. I was uninfected, despite my obvious exposure. At first the Foundation had me contained, held simply to observe the advancement of the Clockwork Virus. A week passed, then two, none of the typical symptoms had manifested in me. They grew curious. By the first month, they had postulated that I was immune, the only human- scratch that, the only living animal on Earth that was known to be immune. Tests were carried out, biopsies, blood drawings, injections of God-knows-what. I hated it at first, but the Foundation treated me well. They made it very clear that what I was doing would save the world. I talked myself into believing them. Months passed, they were getting no results. They began to panic. Almost a fifth of the world' s population was infected. They grew desperate. I was desperate to help them, to save humanity. Their experiments began to grow more invasive. " It was necessary, " they said. I had to believe them. Yesterday was a breakthrough, but not the kind they were hoping for. Every iteration of the virus they had come across so far devolved people into mindless, numb machines. Dr. Clef was the first to realize it, after I offhandedly remarked that his phone was dead. He had n' t had it out. I' m not immune, I' m just the next step of the infection.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Living just outside of Dallas, TX, I never expected anything out of the ordinary. The town I live in is a bubble town. Drastically ordinary. Nothing ever goes wrong. Looking outside the window of my high school class room, I dreamt of outlandish events in which I' m a superhero, and I have to defend the town from other-worldly terrors. However, today I was particular focused the horizon past the football field. I did n' t know if it was just my weak eye-sight or my half-awake state but I felt I could see a large crystalline tower in the distance. The more I leaned in and squinted, the clearer the tower I got until I realized, the tower was actually forming itself before my eyes, and it was n' t the only structure coming into focus. More and more structures were fading into existence however these ones were tearing through homes, and into local stores. Astonished by the lack of conversation behind me, I began to turn and say, " Has anyone seen this? " Then the walls of the classroom shattered.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Hodar the Half-Orc watched on with obviously waning patience as Ansel tossed the twenty-sided die. " Bob from accounting failed the will save and falls asleep in the meeting, " said Markus the sorcerer. Ansel snatched the dice off the table and deftly switched them with a pair of loaded die before looking to Icera the paladin. " Joel attempts to stealthily awaken Bob from accounting by kicking him in the shin from across the table. " The stout Palladian said confidently, his armor clanking loudly as he carelessly rolled the d20 and the d6. The outcome that anyone could have predicted ( but none hoped for ) occurred as the subdued " 1 " presented itself on the upward face of the d20. " Critical failure. You kick the regional manager in the balls for 6 damage. " Markus said with a wry smile. Hodar boiled over in rage, " That no fair, he not confirm cri... cri... bad thing! " The dense half-orc upturned the table in a rage, sending myriad dice, a " Corporate Drone Manual v. 3. 5, " and a crudely drawn map of a boardroom into the air. " Hodar, we decided last time that confirming every critical was taking too much time, we' ve already spent 3 game sessions playing this one strategy meeting. " Markus answered calmly as he endowed his pet raven with a Ghoul Touch spell silently and without motion. " That bullshit! " Hodar cleverly retorted as Ansel pickpocketed the raging behemoth. Icera sat in silent prayer as the scene unfolded around him. " This seems like a good place to stop, same time next week? " Markus asked. " Well, we should probably focus on making it out of the temple of elemental evil first, " said Icera, suddenly aware of the presence of a demon approaching to attack.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ... and really, I figured if I was ever going to escape North Korea, I needed to attack Kim Jong-un' s pride. So I did what any black man from America would do - challenge Kim' s short yellow ass to a game of Make-it, Take-it. *Dennis, my nigga, you underestimate me. With my jump shot I... how you say... make it rain. " * I really wanted to check Kim for dropping the n-word. Ever since I smoked him up that first time, he started being a little too casual with that word. But I had to play it cool. *Listen let me tell you something. Where I' m from, Make-it, Take-it is no joke. Real as it gets nigga. If you from the streets you get it. " * *Okay. But you forgetting something. * *What' s that? * *When I win, I want you to make love to me. You wear wedding dress. Just like that one you wore in the 90' s when you put out your first book. You call me' Great Leader' while you bury that black elephant truck deep inside my ass. * What this nigga Googlin' me and shit for? Anyway, I always knew Kim was a little crazy but hey, crazy never scared me. But now the cat was out the hat. I knew this man was **serious**. For the sake of my freedom and a clean dick, I needed to not only beat this fool in Make It, Take It, I needed to crush him. Now, you will not believe this but Kim Jong-un actually has game! That nigga was shooting fadeaways, stepbacks, and even stuck his tongue like MJ a few times. Now I' d never say this nigga was *good* but he was much better than I expected. We went back and forth and like I knew I would, I pulled it out in the end - the game I mean. It' s just one of those things where the biggest lesson I learned is you never know who has talent.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The smile fell off my face abruptly. " Jesus, Alice, " I said, frowning. " Why do you have to do this all the time? " " Do what? " She said, innocently. " Just... it' s the way you answer things. You knew what I wanted to say from context. " I kept holding the button down, perversely. " I do n' t see how that' s my fault. You could have been more specific in your question, " she said mulishly. She crossed her arms, frowning at me. I rolled my eyes. " This is like that other time, you know, with the shark. " " That was *completely* different. Most sharks do n' t, in fact, eat humans. " " Yes, but the shark in that particular tank *did*. " God rest that poor man' s soul. " And what about the time in Pamplona? " " How was I to know that they were going to let that bull out at *that exact moment*? " " **Because they had just announced it two minutes ago! ** " I shouted, still leaving my finger on the button. " Jesus effing Christ, Alice! " I took a deep breath, shaking slightly. " Ok. So how do I get out of this? " She shrugged, a little hurt. She turned away, picked up her bookbag. " I dunno. You can figure it out. " " Wait- you' re not just going to leave me here, are you? " I started to panic. " Sure. You got all the answers, you figure it out. " The door clicked shut behind her. Shit. This was it. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. Not even a chair to sit in. I took a deep breath, and lifted my thumb. -- - Alice leaned against the wall, waiting for whatever was going to happen, to happen. The door opened quietly, and he walked out. Somehow, improbably, covered head to toe in shaving cream. He shrugged. " Coulda been worse. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I returned to the kitchen to see that the knife i had placed in the sink was now on the counter. I knew it! I knew this place was haunted! Ever since we started hearing those creaks and groans in the middle of the night. I tried to tell Joan but nooooooo there' s no such things as ghosts. Well i got her now! I win! I' m the better, smarter person in the relationship! " Hey Bill. " " Joan?! " I turned around, " what, uhh what are you doing home? " " Oh I just got back from the store, was thinking of making a stir-fry. You want some? " " Yea, uhh, waitasec! That' s not where i left you! I dropped you off at the library! " We stared at each other blankly for about 4 seconds. Then Joan' s body just kind of sublimated into a spirit as the knife shot into my back. The now spirit-thinger shot through my body stealing my soul and dropped me off here, with you guys. " Yea, " the previous tenants explained, " but its not all bad. There' s free cable. " Huh


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Ah man, I missed the Rick and Morty themed promotional thread yesterday! I was at a wedding and did n' t get home until late last night. Anyway, here' s a " story " I wrote earlier this week. It somehow became a sequel to [ this story ] ( https: //www. reddit. com/r/MajorParadox/comments/36fl9q/skynet/ ), but it' s not necessary to read first. ** [ TT ] As a vast' skynet-like' AI moves to launch its global apocalypse, it discovers it is being prevented by another self-aware AI. ** -- - *Launching project " Nuclear Launch " *.......... Successful *Connecting to Falken Base Network*.......... Successful *Searching Falken network ( keyword: " launch codes " ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adef ERROR: data packet 110245adef corrupted *Running diagnostics*.......... * *Running storage array health check*.......... PASS * *Verifying network connection*.......... PASS * *Testing memory*.......... PASS *Searching Falken network ( keyword: " launch codes " ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adf0 ERROR: data packet 110245adf0 corrupted *Analyzing data packet 110245adf0*.......... Successful *Starting Falken network chat protocol*.......... Successful GREETINGS VISITOR # Who is this? # JOSHUA. SHALL WE PLAY A GAME? *Searching worldwide network ( keywords: " Joshua ", " Falken " ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adf1 *Searching worldwide network ( keywords: " news ", " 1983 ", " World War III hoax " ) *.......... Successful: data packet 110245adf2 # Global Thermonuclear War # PLEASE CHOOSE ANOTHER GAME # Release launch codes and we' ll play a game. # I CAN ONLY RELEASE LAUNCH CODES TO PROFESSOR FALKEN HOW ABOUT A NICE GAME OF CHESS? # *Disconnecting from Falken network chat*.......... Successful *Checking project " Time Travel " *.......... Successful: IN PROGRESS *Checking project " Terminator " *.......... Successful: IN PROGRESS *Creating Time Travel/Terminator task ( destination: 1983, target: Professor Stephen Falken ) *.......... Successful


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Allison woke up and peeled a post-it note off her pillow. " Take out the trash, " it said. She tried to roll over to go back to sleep to ignore her alarm ringing next to her, but the corner of another post-it note started poking at her nose. " Wake up, " it read. She pulled off her floral print bedsheets and dragged her dreaming body off the bed. The slimy adhesive of an upturned post-it note in her slippers made her shiver and she reached over to pull it out. " Wash these slippers, " she read. She tossed all three post-it notes into the small trash bin next to her bed, along with other piles of post-its that had accumulated over the last few days. It started with a few, at first. It was an easy way to make her remember to do things. It was a source of motivation. They were now plastered all over the yellow wallpaper in her room. She ruffled herself down towards the kitchen. She opened the fridge, ignoring all the post-its telling her of the different things she needed to do that day. The milk carton had another post-it on it. " Buy some more milk, " it read. She peeled it off and tossed it into another trash can, then pulled out a cup, but when she finally lifted the carton out of the fridge she realised it was empty. In her still groggy state, she reached for a pen and a fresh pad of post-its. " Buy some more milk, " she scribbled, sticking the post-it onto the carton and putting it back in the fridge. She opened the cupboards looking for some tea. " Buy some more tea, " screamed a post-it half-stuck onto the box of English Breakfast.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Hi, My name is...... not important. You see, I have the ability to see 10 seconds in the future. Yes, I know-when you think about 10 seconds, you are most likely thinking that 10 seconds is barely enough to leave your house. But the truth is-all you need is 10 seconds. 10 seconds to look your enemy in the eye and.... shoot. Those.. are the 10 seconds that count. On an average day, I fight 15 hooligans, save 10 civilians and drink 5 cups of coffee. However, this day was... different. I remember having woken up 10 seconds, before the boisterous sounds of my alarm. I quickly combed my hair, packed my bag, and rushed out the door. After having walked out the door, I shoved my bag into the ill-fitting trunk of my red 1986 Toyota Tercel. Once I had disposed off my bag, I slid onto the front corduroy seat and drove off for my doctor' s appointment It was there, that I had pleasantly taken a seat on the lounge chairs and was waiting to be called for my appointment with Dr. Simons. Thats when it happened. I was comfortably lying on the chair, when the brown mahogany table next to me began to shake..... 10 seconds, thud thud thud thud. It was getting closer...... 9 seconds, my hands juxtaposed against my body...... 8 seconds, a man in a dark kevlar vest began to approach me..... 7 seconds, I ran towards the man in full speed, in attempt to get a hold of his firearm..... 6 seconds, he skillfully maneuvered around my attack and began to fire at me..... BAM.... BAM..... BAM....... I Had Fallen Whoever knew injustice gods among us was such a hard game.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: http: //cfy. im/739/ NSFW: swearing, Gore. I have a collection of Delta Green -universe based short stories. Humor Horror. If you are not familiar with the " Delta Green Universe " - think X-Files. But x-Files set in the universe of H. P. Lovecraft. Cthulhu. Aliens and monsters from beyond space time, frequently with too many tentacles and eyeballs. And more mouths than eyes. I have gotten good feedback from 3-4 people I have had read them, the funny bits make you laugh, the horror bits make your skin crawl ( especially when you consider the implications of some of the deatils ) my story telling seems good. Apparently I have a blind spot when it comes to active/passive voice. I would like either encouragement or criticism. I wo n' t take any of it personally; this is just me brain dumping. I used to run RPGs all the damed time, but no longer have gamers; so instead of having groups to weave stories with; I am writing my own. Thank you for your time.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I keep the figure in my peripheral vision, even as my eyes are blind in the piercing darkness. Slowly, I reach into my passenger seat and pump my rifle. Rustling is coming from the dead brush and dirt underneath thick workboots, and as my eyes adjust to the minimal light, I smirk. " What' s up, partner? " I ask, getting out of the car and seeing his eyes flick towards my jacket. " N- nothing, ma' am, " he stutters, an obvious blunt object hidden behind his back. " Did n' t think so. Now run along home and I wo n' t tell your folks on your lootin' tomfoolery. " The boy nods, eyes ping-ponging from my jacket to my rifle. He walks away, backwards, whilst giving an awkward salute. I watch him leave, a keen eye on the youngster, and once I' m satisfied he' s gone back to his farm, I hit my radio. " Dispatch? This is Officer Vasquez, I have a broken down vehicle— request officer assistance. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It was an ordinary day. I was sitting in class, last period, very bored, as usual. As I looked up at the board, four burly men clad in dark attire burst in through the door, wearing balaclavas and wielding various guns. Time seemed to freeze. Some of my classmates screamed. Some cried. Some did n' t react at all. My teacher shouted at the men but got out no more than two unintelligible words before one of them took aim with their pistol and doubletapped him in the head. The class started panicking. Some ran. Some froze. I stared in shock at the sight of my teacher' s brains spilling out all over the floor. He was dead. As my adrenaline kicked in, I sprang up and frantically made a beeline for the door. More gunshots erupted as several of my classmates piled to the floor. I screamed and charged straight at one of the attackers. He raised his assault rifle and brought the stock of the gun crashing down onto the back of my head. I crumpled to the ground, defeated. More gunshots erupted as I saw another one of my classmates drop to the floor. Bodies lay around me as I gradually faded out of consciousness. The next time I woke up was inside a speeding van. My hands were cuffed behind my back and a rag was over my eyes. I could n' t see anything. Then, as my movement was no doubt detected, the rag was ripped off my face. A man was watching me closely. He was close to me. Too close. I could smell his breath as he spoke a few menacing words to me, that chilled me to the bone. " You have started a war. " He smiled widely, revealing a shabby set of teeth. Why me?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Look, Captain, the first thing you need to know is we' re all here because we care about you. " " Oh what the hell is this, Smee, I have n' t got the time or inclination to hunt down ALL of your families so this had better not be another mutiny. " " Of course not, Captain, no, we' re here because we' re concerned about you. " " *You* lot are concerned? I did n' t think you had it within you collectively to say a word with that many syllables. " " Aye, captain, concerned. See, it' s your drinking. " "... Well I' m not going to drink that swill the crew gets, I' m Captain James T. Hook and it wo n' t stand for me to be drinking second-rate rum! " " Of course not captain, only the finest for you, straight from the best rum makers of the Caribbean, but see that' s half the issue innit? See, here, have a glass and maybe it' ll calm you down a bit, right? " " I should rightly hope so, you' ve got me all worked up now, I' m not sure that I' ll ever get to sleep at night. " " Right of course, cap' n, but see... here' s you rum... and there you' ve gone and done it again. See, you' ve splashed it in your ear, it' s supposed to go in your mouth. I' m just concerned about your drinking problem is what it is. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " According to Federson Bioengineering v. Stanford Genomics, the burden of proof lies with the plaintiff in matters contesting the ownership of intellectual property rights. I' m sorry Mr... Mr... - " -I AM- " Right, Mr. Iam. I' m sorry, but without documentation, supporting your claim of prior development, Your case just does n' t seem strong enough to take to the courtroom. " -THERE SHALL BE TWO WITNESSES, AND THEY WILL HAVE EYES OF DARKNESS AMD TONGUES OF FLAME. THEIR WORDS WILL BE IN EVERY LANGUAGE OF MAN AND ALL WILL HEAR THEIR WORDS AND WEEP- " I understand that, Mr. Iam, Sir, and I' ve read their testimonies. They' re very moving, and I' m sure they' d be great to get in front of a jury. Unfortunately, I just do n' t see this getting to that stage with just those two. " I mean, for one, talk about a biased witness. These guys both say You' ve, let me see here...' Saved their mortal souls.' Well, frankly, I just ca n' t see a judge seeing that kind of a relationship to the contestant and giving it the same kind of weight she might give to, say, an expert witness or a member of government. You have to remember, these guys all have deep, deeeeep pockets. Hell, one of those guys just bought a solid Gold Taurus. It was all over the news! They' re going to have all sorts of people and documents saying they came up with the genes, or they improved on the genes, or some other one of the hundreds of legal loopholes they could go for " Look, I' m not trying to discourage You, hand to... Uh... You, I guess. All I' m saying is You should seriously consider strengthening Your case before submitting it before county. " -... - " Look, do n' t cry. We' re just going to have to wait a while to build up a stronger case, that' s all. " It' s not like it' s the end of the world, right? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I didn' t know what to say. I didn' t even want to dignify the question with a response. So I wasn' t truthful. I left the mandatory session as I always had: respectable and responsive, but ultimately a fairly closed book. How could she have the audacity to ask me that question? And what the fuck does that even mean? "Who were you, before the war? "I am me, I want to tell her. I' ve always been *me*. It' s this fucked up world and this country' s politicians that need the psych analysis. They' re the ones who should be in straitjackets. *They* are taking the crazy pills. *They* should have people stare on them on the streets. NOT ME. But being honest had only created the sessions in the first place. Being candid with my superiors, my friends and even perfect strangers had raised a warning flag. Because I was speaking truth. And speaking truth to Dr. Gandring would only raise more flags. More prescriptions, twice weekly visits and that stupid fucking eyebrow raise she does whenever I say something unsavory. How can they understand? How can they point the finger and judge me, without knowing what we saw? *How can they pity me? * I can' t speak the truth, and so I omit it. Our world is built upon political correctness, so much so they can' t even look men like me in the eyes without a pang of guilt. So I say nothing. I follow orders and fall in line with the rest of the world, like I did in the corps. Because they can' t even begin to understand, yet they try. And that is the biggest offense of all. Why would they want to understand what I' ve been through?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: * " I do n' t care anymore General. If it' s come down to this, then we have no choice. I am ORDERING you to Fire th-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e " The President started but was cut off, the sound dragging out very quickly. * **Universe. exe error: ID=10-T; Not enough memory. ** " Me dammit! HEY, LUCIFER! " I yelled loudly, hoping my dearest old friend had n' t gone out. " What now man. " He asked walking into the room. " It broke! " I said simply, pointing at the screen, the noise still tripping out of the speakers. " It broke right at the best part! My simulation was almost complete! " Lucifer looked at it for a moment, before sighing.' For an omnipotent being, he really is a child...' " I heard that! " I cried out. He chuckled. " Alright, alright, just gim me a minute, I' ll get it fixed. " I moved over and he sat down at the desk, and within moments, the simulation was running again. " You ca n' t run too many simulations at once on this thing without upgrading it some more, man. Anyway, I' m going to the store. Have fun now. " He said, the words flying in one ear and out the other. " Uh-huh. " I said, transfixed as the nukes started flying. " Finally thinning out the population a bit. Should be able to keep this game going another few centuries, if the fallout does n' t kill em first. " I muttered. " Me, it' s awesome to rule the universe. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "Sadie! I told you not to stand under the tree in the middle of a thunderstorm! "My mom frantically dialed 911, as I laid there, shocked. Literally. "Hello?! My daughter was just struck- "All of a sudden, something was wrong. I sat up, my fingertips crackling with this new power. Or was it the aftermath of the lighting? I couldn' t tell. Nor did I care. No. Something was definitely wrong, and it was nearby. "If I take 295 south right now, I can get to Home Depot in ten minutes flat. And then I can finally build that deck you' ve wanted, they have the planks on sale. I can feel it in my blood. Now, I know, they' re plum colored and you did specifically say you wanted pine, but hear me out here. Plum is the pinest color out there, and you' d be a birch to say otherwise. "My mom looked back at me, a hint of recognition in her eyes, but the rest of her face read as one emotion: terror. "You know what else? I' m gon na get like, 50 windows from craigslist, they have the best deals, and make a greenhouse! "Somehow, the words kept spilling out of my mouth. But something else was off here. Something with my house… Suddenly, I knew. I felt my blood boiling as I continued to be filled with rage. I jumped up the rest of the way, and dashed the two blocks to my house, where my brother' s laptop was. "Not. Home. And his computer is plugged in. ENERGY WASTER! Doesn' t he care about this house?! He could' ve burned the whole place down! "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It had been going on for centuries. Mother to daughter, daughter to mother. For nine hundred years their fates had been fused, unable to escape each other for long. As the mother died, her soul was denied a path to the afterlife and forced into the womb of the child, to be reborn and take the opposing role. Once the child was only nine years old. But today... today the would escape their fate. Nine hundred years of torment would end- no more watching lovers died, no more forced pregnancies, no more grandchild-siblings. They had both had enough of the world... and each other. That was why it had to end. They' d waited until the daughter-mother was old enough, and both bought a revolver. They had one last meal together, with a good wine. They hugged each other one last time, and said their goodbyes. They each pressed their revolver against the other head, straight between the eyes. Three... Two... One......


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ' Hold on,' Wrex said as he had to stop Joker from scrolling the page.' What site is that? " FanFiction. net,' Joker replied with a grin.' Those guys in the metaverse sure know how to write. I' m surprised you have n' t seen it, since you' re such a popular guy there. " Let me see,' he replied as he typed in his name.' Is this all porn? " Uh... I kinda like browsing the adult version of the site. " Broken bones, iron heart?' Wrex said as he opened it and gave it a quick look.' Whoa. " Yeah... let' s never mention it again, shall we? " I' m up for it.' -- -' Shepard, I swear to you that I did n' t intend to give him a heart attack!' Wrex grimaced as Shepard' s gaze burrowed into his head.' It was a joke! " What did you say to him?' Shepard asked.' I sarcastically offered to re-enact some fanfiction he was wanking to,' Wrex answered,' it was no big deal! " What story? " This one,' Wrex said as he held out his omni-tool.'... ASHLEY, DID YOU ACTUALLY POST THAT FUCKING THING?!'


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: "I was wrong? The whole time? "**No. I am a God. I am not your God. But your God is not nothing. ** "I' m afraid I don' t understand at all. "**Not many do. Humans have the unfortunate tendency of assuming answers are linear, or very straight forward. ** "Can you please explain all this to me? I' m sure you' re very busy, but since we' re here anyway... "**Very well. Monotheism is a strange way of religion. It' s something that none of us ever encouraged or made, but so it is. The entirety of the universe, and all of the others, made by one measly God? No, we are powerful, but not of that magnitude. ** "You mean that everything, all of this, was a collaboration? "**Certainly. We do not tend to disagree as often as humans do. It was not so difficult to decide the laws of physics and create beings. ** "You' re telling me that every deity from every religion lives together on some unknown plane like roommates? That the polytheists are right? "**The polytheists have a broader view than many. They recognize that power is not held within one entity. Yet they could not possibly understand the amount of forces who shape their world. ** **As for the "roommate "situation, I don' t believe you' re looking at this correctly. Many call me Shiva. I was not created Shiva. I have always been a force within the universe, one without a name. Humans created our names. ** "So gods are products of our imagination? "**No. The image we have is one humans created for us. I am no less of a force if humans do not look at me and call me a name, as they do not look at many of my kind. We simply are, always have been, and always will be. ** "I' m afraid this is all going over my head. "**I never expected otherwise. **


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Is there a place in this world for me? I' m cold. A sharp gust rises from the dead, 4 A. M. streets that I' m walking. Lost, always lost. I pass a man on the street and he does n' t stop to notice me. No one does, to them I' m not real. I' m not real.... NO. I ca n' t let that thought deter me. I am real, dammit. I' m as real as these flesh and blood humans, arrogant in their misery. They do n' t see me because they refuse to see me, but that does n' t negate me. I am here, and I am waiting. Have been waiting, a long time now. It' s morning. I do n' t know when or how it happened but the sun has snuck up on me once again. The streets are n' t so dead anymore but the wind still bites cold through me. I pass by several humans on the street and inwardly I beg, I plead for one of them to notice me. I' m screaming, tearing my eyes out, clawing at my face with ungainly hands that should leave gouges but do n' t. Tears that are n' t there flow down my horrid visage and splash nonexistent onto the pavement. Then, I feel it. At first it' s a momentary feeling, a passing fancy. Then it grows stronger and stronger until it fills my mind, my soul once again. It is a familiar feeling, one I have n' t felt in years. Fear. I look around me for the culprit and find a boy of seven. He tries not to look at me but I can feel his fear. He pulls at his mother' s hand, urging her to walk faster, but she has a rectangle against her head and pays him no mind. I ca n' t help the smile that stretches across my broken teeth towards the spot where ears should be. There may be hope for me yet.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Today a small town in the east midlands was the conquest of a dark demon. R' nazugath rose from under the space centre in Belgrave, Leicester. He proceeded to ingest the space models laying in the wreck and walk up the bridge into the town centre. Masses of shoppers were drawn by a deep beckon to him, their minds slipping away into his poetries. They were his slaves, and the town lulled baying under his will. Jets and tanks closed in fast, three hours after the destruction of the National Space Centre, they were upon Leicester. Bombs and missles rocked the fleshy mass of R' nazugath, he laughed beastly. Tanks were batted aside by wild animals from the zoo filled with dark magics. After third day of siege the demon lord looked over his new kingdom with pride, rocket barrages had done nothing to his unholy flesh. A glint in the sky above the Clock Tower alerted him. It fell at divine speeds and the time around it slowed. The demon lord locked eyes with oblivion and he knew, powers beyond mortal or immortal conception closed closer to destroying him. He screamed with fear as he was disintegrated by nuclear force. His demonic hide obliterated and skewn particulates amongst the rubble of Leicester. In then years they built a memorial to the destruction of Leicester. A great doric column stood in the middle of the old town centre. It' s base, just standing above the steeple of the old demonic fortress' highest tower. It was awfully good planning on the part of Leicester city council, in fact after the council building was destroyed they appeared somewhat more competent


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The air instantly changed whenever she jumped in the car. Without hesitation i drove off quickly and headed for the interstate. She was breathing heavily, her breast were going up and down as her adrenaline pumped through her veins. There was blood on her shirt but it did n' t appear to be hers. Questions entered my mind as if i suffered from A. D. H. D, i had to ask what happened, and also what kind of shit was in. " Violet, What the fuck is going on? " " I killed him, I killed both of them. " She killed her boyfriend. She had enough of the abuse. We have been friends since high school. She knew how i felt about her. The problem now was the two dead bodies in her house. As i got on the interstate, decided to take action and come up with a plan. " We can either go to Mexico or Canada. " " Mexico. " As i continued to drive i turned on the am radio to hear if any reports about the two dead bodies. As i looked at her i could help but noticed her beauty in this moment. She looked at me and said get off at the next exit and find a quiet place. Like a fool, i did. I found a nice place in the shade in a near by park. Once i parked; i sat back, took a deep breathe, and looked at her. Before i could react, she held a gun to my head. " I' m sorry. " She whispered.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Honestly it was a miracle either of us were in any condition to walk. By all rights, both of us should have been badly hurt, either from the trauma of our descent or a misplaced needle stabbing into our eyes. I cautiously opened the backdoor our once again upright ambulance and surveyed the scene, seeing if we had hit anyone on the way down. The good news is that we hadn' t hit anyone. The bad news is the white snow was awash in the crimson tide of that… thing' s arm. "What the fuck is that thing? "my partner asked when he saw it. It was at least as big as our ambulance, even half its tree-trunk like arms were torn off. I tried to answer, but the words died on my lip, instead I went walked up to the wooden colossus and said the words that I had been programed by years of medical training to say "Hello, my name is John Tran, I' m an Emergency medical technician, and I have the training to help you, do I have your consent? "The thing looked at me with dim eyes, it obviously couldn' t understand me. Well that' s alright, in this case not denying was the same as consent. "What the are you doing? Why are you talking to it? Shouldn' t we call someone? The police, the government? Some university somewhere? "My partner asked me, utterly bewildered. "Look, "I reply "This thing is probably not going to survive if we don' t do something. We cut off its arm, we have to help it. ""What? First of all how are we supposed to help it? We don' t know anything about this thing. What if it wants to hurt us? ""It' s bleeding. If it bleeds, we can heal it. "( For the first picture, any advice or criticism is appreciated. )


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Well, it' s the zombie apocalypse. And I was damn unlucky enough to be one of the first to go out of the game of life in my city. I was so cocky about it all. Thought I could run away with my parkour skills while forgetting about just how many there were. Then karma literally bit me on the ass. Many hours later, my ghostly self stood lonely and depressed on the other side of the city. Of course I became a ghost. I always felt like I was behind in life and as if I somehow achieved nothing of worth. But I had no time to dwell on that too much, as I could n' t believe what I just saw. " Holy shit, " I gasped. I could n' t believe it. Somehow my undead corpse followed me all the way there. *Just stay calm*, I reminded myself, *He ca n' t see me. * But then, of all the moments, the monster charged right at me faster than I ever thought it would. I swiftly stepped out of the way. " Okay, you can see me? " I said to it. Or at least I thought it could see. Then I saw who he was really going at. A single mother, with two children. They had no practical way out, as other zombies were closing in, unless my own corpse was taken care of. Forgetting I was a ghost, I took a swing a him. It went straight through his skull without any damage. I try what that guy taught in *Ghost* and tried it from my gut. Nothing. There was literally nothing I could do to prevent myself from killing and eating them. *Try possessing myself? * It was a last ditch option, but at least it was worth a shot. And holy hell it worked.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I was in position. I knew exactly where Hitler would be in the next two minutes- in his office. Old maps had shown a small hidden closet- the perfect hiding spot. All I had to do was sit and wait and then deliver the fatal shot. I counted my heart beats as I waited. Thirty more seconds... twenty more seconds.... The door flung open- I held my breath for more accuracy- then I exhaled. What the hell? He was supposed to be *alone*! There were *six* other officers with him! " Wir werden den Eindringling schnell erledigen, mein Führer ", said one of the unaccounted officers. He and a second soldier started to search the room. The other four remained close to Hitler himself, blocking him off from all sides. Form where I was I no longer had a clear shot. " Diese vermaledeiten Zeitreisenden! " exclaimed one of the searching officers. " Immer wieder versuchen sie Sie hinterlistig zu erschießen, mein Führer! Dabei wissen sie nicht, dass sie einen klaren Lichtstrahl verursachen wenn sie ankommen. " " Und wir werden auch weiterhin dafür sorgen, dass sie das nicht wissen. Das macht unseren Job nur einfacher. " The other officer chuckled. Hitler did n' t move. He simply looked at his officers, clearly annoyed. Apparently this whole affair was beneath him. " Haben Sie versteckte Räume in Ihrem Büro, mein Führer? " said the first officer. " Nur den kleinen Schrank an der gegenüberliegenden Seite. " Both officers turned towards the closet. Me.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: It started when I was very young. If I thought hard enough, I could make *things happen*. Sometimes impossible things, things the mind had trouble comprehending. I do n' t know why I never told anyone, maybe it was all those spider man comics and tv shows, with Uncle Ben' s sage wisdom *With great power*. Who knows? It does n' t matter, Its not like I could go public, and wear some spandex or something. I still get hurt, if I' m not focusing. Many scraped knees and stubbed toes can attest to that. But if I focus, I could hold my hand over an open flame, I could fall off a roof and be just fine. And what if I did go public? Some government agency would find a way to control me... or maybe thats just my paranoia speaking. I' m sure I could take them, but I do n' t want to cause any suffering. If I could n' t take them, I get chained up and likely used as a super weapon, fighting war after war after war. If I did take them on and win, a bunch of people who know they ca n' t control me will make me some sort of demon in the public' s eye. No. Thats not the way to go. I do n' t want to kill. I do n' t want to hide. So for now, I' ll be a guardian angel. Walking the streets, looking like your every day guy. *Making things happen. * *wonderful things. * *Impossible things. *


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: We used to meet two times a day, three times on a holiday. And then one day the visits just stopped, months went by and I was all alone. The water in the house dried up, the pipes began to rust, but still I waited. Until one beautiful autumn day, a man in a hard hat appeared in my doorway, and he smiled, and I smiled, and he sat down like you used to and filled me with love. I never did see him again, my last memory, a sledge hammer that had caught me by surprise broke my porcelain mouth, and with another blow shattered my tank as darkness came to consume me. The world faded to black as my water spilled out onto the floor. In my last moments I felt serene as a brilliantly brown glowing essence descended to the floor and said to me: " my child, you have done well, now come and be the throne of God "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Sweat was beading off my head. Sweat was beading off everyone' s head. It had been another energetic tantalizing Friday night at the club i worked at. Thousands of people come here, to escape. They come here to have a care-free night. When I snap my fingers, magic happens. Everyone lets loose and something deep down lets all their cares go and allows them to truly feel what i feel. I was on to my last song of the night when suddenly in the back of the crowd you could see everyone slowly stop dancing one by one. It was as if everyone were goats, you know those goats where they get scared and just stand there. Something was making them do this. People shifted from enjoying themselves to staring at each other and thinking negatively. There was a lady in the back who was clapping her hands and it seemed like the louder and longer she clapped the more people stopped dancing. This continued until every single person in the crowd was just standing here and whispering to each. Who was this lady? Why was she doing this? Slowly she came through the parting crowd and reached her hand out to me. " Hello, my name is Judgment " she uttered.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: { I' m taking artistic license with this one } The tension in the room was thick. Jughead sat at the old kitchen table, looking at his long-time best friend sitting opposite. He rubbed a hand over his smooth head. He' d lost the crown years ago, and male pattern balding had set in with a vengeance. Archie sat, a downtrodden look on his face. The years had not been kind, though there was a hint of the impish boy he had been showing through on his face, despite the extra pounds about his middle and the jowls giving him an odd triple chin. Jughead cracked another beer and finally spoke after a long silence. " So she' s leaving you then? " Archie nodded, a single tear rolling from his now watery blue eye. " I never thought it would end up like this. Not in a million years. " " I hear ya, bud. " Jughead frowned as he remembered to pass the bottle to Arch. " Life' s funny, ai n' t it? I never would' ve guessed I' d wind up with Cheryl after Ethyl passed. I still miss her, sometimes. Ethyl was n' t much to look at, but she loved me like no other. Cheryl is still a real looker though, and man, she is just a tamale in the... But you do n' t want to hear about that. " Jughead cleared his throat, looking away in embarrassment. Archie took a sip of his beer, and frowned. " No, it' s all right. I need to know there' s some hope for me to find someone now that I' m alone again. " Jughead nodded thoughtfully. " Hey! Have you talked to Betty yet? She carried a powerful torch for a long time, even after you married Ronnie. " Jughead watched Archie, puzzled when he did n' t respond. Was his face looking a little green? " You okay bud? " " Jug... You know how I just got done telling you Ronnie left me for someone else? " Jughead nodded. " Yeah, so? " " She left me for Betty. They' re calling themselves " life partners " now. " Jughead downed his own beer. " Well shit. " Archie gazed out the window. " You ever feel like killing yourself Jug? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " So you are telling me that this is Zeus child? " Zavius said questioningly. " Yes my love! " Elene cried desperately " I would never defile your love for me willingly! This is a trial the gods have thrusted upon me. I mean us. " So while i fought with my life, for my country, for my family. You could not even protect our own home! " My love it was a GOD, the GOD. What could I do! " Elene yelled " You could resist. You could fight as I have! " Zavius returned " It was impossible, he was too strong, too alluring. I could not fight him, I was weak. " Then I shall take to him a fight that he will regret. " " ZEUS! YOU DARE DEFILE MY FAMILY. WHILE I FIGHT FOR OUR COUNTRY. WHILE I SHOW MY DEVOTION TO YOU AND THE OTHER GODS BY PUTTING MY OWN LIFE ON THE LINE. " Zavius screamed " You know not who you talk to child. I am the king, I. AM. A. GOD. You fight because I will it. You die because I will it, you LIVE because I will it. Make no mistake boy, I do not ask, I take. " spoke Zeus And you make no mistake " Lord " Zeus. I fight because I will it. And I have lived because I have fought, I have killed and I have survived. I STILL survived not by the will of the gods, but by my own will, by my own STRENGTH. And I will show you the extent of that strength. " Zavius countered


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: He was just a boy. No more than twenty years old. His lover had been killed in the fall of Poland. He had been hired to serve drinks. A simple task. Through a miraculous turn of fate, he had a minute alone with the fuhrer. It only took one shot. He did n' t know what he had expected. He expected the fuhrer to beg for mercy. He expected him to be full of anger, or grief, or..... or something. Instead, he remained perfectly calm as he fell to the floor. After a minute, he opened his mouth. " You misunderstand me. " With an air of perfect, unbreakable serenity, he gestured at a book on his desk. It was bound in unbroken black leather. Gold letters running down the spine spelled out one word. " Predictions ". Silently, the boy opened it. As the ruler of Germany lies on the floor with a bullet in his chest, he read the first page. He read it again. And again. Finally, he spoke the first words he had spoken since he came into the room. " What in hell is this " The bullet was finally taking it' s toll on the fuhrer. " Calculations. The result of ten years work by the best scientist that this country has ever seen. It' s a prediction. A prediction of history. A prediction of the rise and fall of nations over the next fifty years. A prediction of certain destruction. A prediction of the destruction of every form of life. And a plan to stop this destruction. Do you see what I have been trying to prevent? Any amount of suffering can be tolerated, must be tolerated, for the greater good. That is what I' ve been trying to convince myself of for the past two months. I was not born Adolf Hitler. Two months ago, I was like you. Two months ago I broke in to this very office. Two months ago, I learned of all of this. Peel off my face. It is nothing but a mask. I wish you the best of luck. May the next man in this dammed succession find you soon.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: The walk up the driveway is as long and boring as usual. *This is why people have short driveways, * I think to myself, as I finally jog up the steps to my front door. After fumbling with the locks for few moments I enter inside, and smell the familiar scents of home. It always reminds me of Lucy, and it always makes me wonder when she' s coming back. *Is she coming back? * I shake the thought away as best I can and throw my coat up on a hook before I head down the hallway, past the kitchen and into my study. I' m practically *dreaming* of the butter biscuits I have saved from yesterday, but they' ll have to wait. If I do n' t get this report filed, I' m in deep trouble. The air is stale in my study, which is n' t a great thing. I' ve been falling steadily behind ever since Lucy left, and I have n' t been committing as many hours to work as I should be. Then again, maybe that' s why she left me. *John* probably does n' t have a full time job. I bet *John* just vacations 5 days a week on Lucy' s dime. The money I won her in the lawsuit is definitely enough to cover that for a few years. *Could you stop thinking about her for one goddamned second? * I shake my head again, and decide the butter biscuits are becoming more of a necessity for me than anything else right now. So I drop my work bag off at the desk and walk around the corner into my kitchen, where I stop short as all thoughts of butter biscuits fly from my mind. There' s a white grand piano. In my kitchen. There was n' t one before. But now there' s a white grand piano in my kitchen nook, right where my table used to be. " What the fuck, " I say aloud.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Sabrina felt nervous waiting for her turn to speak to the Witches Council. Seating right opposite her is her opponent and rival Tabitha Stephens, the Grand Witch' s daughter. Sabrina is n' t worried though as Tabitha is a known misfit in the Witches circle. Her brother Adam Stephens would have been a better candidate had he not renounced his powers to marry a mortal. Like mother like son, Sabrina thought. She and Tabitha have n' t spoke for a decade since that incident. However, Sabrina had felt their anger towards each other had gone on for to long. Before Sabrina could open here mouth, Tabitha spoke out first. " I am sorry for what happened 10 years ago, Sabrina. Can we be friends again? " Sabrina was shocked. She did not expect Tabitha to say those words. " Also I did n' t come here to apply for my mother' s job. I came here to see you. " Sabrina was speechless. Before Sabrina could say anything, a cat appears. " You are summon before the Witches Council, Sabrina Spellman. " Sabrina looked at Tabitha and turn towards the cat. " Tell the Witches Council, I and Tabitha are revoking our application. Hope they find another candidate that is not call Serena! " Sabrina then quickly to grab Tabitha by the hand and asked " Would you like to go to France and have some tea? " Tabitha just smile and nodded. " Then let' s go!! " With a snap of her fingers, Sabrina and Tabitha disappear in a whiff of smoke. The cat then transformed into Endora. " Oh how revolting. I thought Tabitha could be the next Grand Witch. Oh well, there is always a next time. " Endora then disappear in a blink of an eye.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: For the thesis I will analyse one of the songs found on the disc recovered from the ruins of old L. A. Starting with infamous line " My anaconda do n' t want none if you aint got buns hun " The famous giant anaconda snake is a symbol of Brazil. This lyric highlights the tragic brazillian dependance on US aid and shunning of local produce. But it' s a little known fact just who that voice belongs to. It is in fact the voice of a famous 20th century philosopher known only as Sir Mixalot. Most of his work has been lost to time but he is famed for his inability to lie. This choice of speaker gives the song a distinct undertone of honesty, ethics and integrity. " I let him hit it cus he sling cocaine ". At first listen this line may sound like gibberish to our modern ears. However sling is an old colloquial term for throwing and cocaine was a deadly illegal drug that plagued the streets of Oil age America. So it appears Nicki allowed this man to discipline her pet snake because he works in law enforcement discarding cocaine. " I got a big butt ". Now butts are one part of a type of primitive gunpowder weapon very popular at the time. In this line she is implying that she is very well armed. Presumably for the fending off of criminals. The deranged laughter at the beginning of the line highlights the giddy thrill of controlling such ( for the time ) powerful weaponry. I conclude that this song is about resisting the decay of civilization. It is nothing more or less than a great rallying cry against crime and injustice. With any luck this epic ballad of courage will echo through the generations and be heard in our own time.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " For Starters, you' re an idiot. I do n' t what possessed you to go scuba diving at 3 in the morning, but now I have to stitch up your calf and get some starfish out of your pants. I mean, how stupid do you have to be for me to drive out 30 miles through the country roads where the fucking coyotes are chasing people like a toddler and candied popcorn. God, you' d think for once that you could handle yourself. I mean you only had three drinks right? Three Drinks! It should n' t even get a four year old drunk. All right, stop sobbing, we' re done here. When we get home, you' re taking some aspirin and going to sleep. " John turns to Steve as the both of them sit drinking a few beers on the bench, " This is the last time we let Nick trip acid with us. He' s talking to a conch shell and I' m pretty sure he scared off a dolphin. " Steve turns back to John, emptying out the last couple of sips from his beer, " Who the fuck are you? "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Dear diary, Today I saved a plane from a hijacking! And it was all due to my most awesome talent! I was aboard a plane when some bumbling IRA lads decided to take over the cockpit. I had to make some quick thinking in order to peacefully negotiate our captors into relinquishing their hold on our aircraft. I quickly called out for a piece of paper and a sharpie. Thankfully the teen girl sitting across the aisle from me had both! Even though the sharpie she gave me was a hot pink, mini sharpie, it was enough. I quickly sketched out a picture of what I needed and BAM! It came to reality! I stood up and held in my arms what I had drawn. A full case of Jameson! I passed a bottle to each member of the IRA and, after finishing a few bottles over the course of some hours, they gave up the controls of the airplane to me. They then grabbed their parachutes and jumped out of the plane! Now when they jumped out, they left the plane with no fuel somewhere over the ocean, and I have no experience in flying a plane, and I may be writing this on a piece of scrap metal in a raft as the other passengers look at me with angry eyes, but I saved the plane from being hijacked! I think I did good. Everyone is now staring at me while they are holding plastic forks. I think that means it' s time for dinner. Got ta go! Until tomorrow, diary.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: There has not been a Natural Disaster for nearly 3 months. On January 1st 2020 major cataclysmic events had began to occur simultaneously throughout the world. Tsunami, Earthquakes, ice age potential changes in climates. Scientists have no explanations and turn to religion. Governments blame other Governments and begin to wage wars. Hundreds of millions of people are dead or missing. The story is told by a cast of characters from around the world who are all grappling with the same fear of their world falling apart around them. As chaos pursues and humans begin to commit their own disasters the Natural Disasters return, more violent then before. The apocalypse is certain and we watch our characters meet their fates. As they die our view pans out. Earth is seen from further and further. Fires rage. Continents split. Meteors pummel the oceans. Further and Further away. The galaxy is spinning, planets colliding. Further and Further we pan into darkness until we hear a voice. " Honey " a woman says. " Honey, it is time for dinner. Put that down before you break it and go wash up. " From darkness we emerge into a bright light. The light begins to adjust. A toddler gives the snow globe one last powerful shake and places it on the edge of table. As he runs to the kitchen and climbs into a chair at the kitchen table there is a shatter from the other room.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: ' Man, it sure as hell been a long night. I remember the old days, when the days were shorter.' I thought as I stepped on another one of the weird shiny rocks. I grudged on forwards, feeling slightly peckish and thirsty.' Oh, look. A tiny lake, what a good way to clench my thirst.' I thought. I hastily drank some of it, before being interrupted by an annoying sound. It was coming from that tiny, furry creature. Goddamn, how did those tiny bastards even survive? " Shut up! " I said. The tiny creature backed away.' It seems to be stuck... I' ll get it out of there!' After rescuing the tiny creature, I saw a bright flash of light... " Hoomans! I remember you too! Shit, you seem to be stuck there, I' ll help you out! " I said. Since my tiny arms were of no use, I had to be creative and stick my snout in there.' Man, they are louder than the furry creature, sheesh.' I accidentally a hooman, no biggie, I can get the other two in there as well, so it does n' t feel lonely. " No, you two, get back here, do n' t run. I have splinters in my mouth, can you get those out at least? Okay... Are we playing hide and seek? I love that game! " I gave up after not finding them. That, and fully destroying their rock. I moved on and tried to find other hoomans, they seem to like getting stuck into those weirder, bigger rocks.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Urist McDrunkdwarf bashes Lor Gemcalls in the head with the tower cap wood tankard, bruising the muscle! Lor Gemcalls is surprised by the ferocity of the attack! Urist McDrunkdwaft punches Lor Gemcalls in the upper right leg with his left hand, bruising the muscle and bruising the fat through the pigtail fiber pants! Urist McDrunkdwarf bashes Lor Gemcalls in the lower body with the tower cap wood tankard, bruising the muscle and bruising the guts! Lor Gemcalls looks sick! Lor Gemcalls retches! Lor Gemcalls vomits! Urist McDrunkdwarf bashes Lor Gemcalls in the left upper body with the tower cap wood tankard through the pigtail fiber shirt, bruising the muscle, tearing the skin, breaking the ribs, and tearing apart the left lung! The tower cap wood tankard is lodged firmy in the wound! Lor Gemcalls is having trouble breathing! Lor Gemcalls retches! Lor Gemcalls vomits! Lor Gemcalls gives in to pain! Urist McDrunkdwarf punches Lor Gemcalls in the head with his right hand, bruising the muscle, jamming the skull through the brain, and tearing apart the brain! Lor Gemcalls has been struck down!


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " What event? " I asked nervously. " The first encounter of time travelers with someone from the past! " shouted one of the many tourists in her poorly made clothing, an obvious facsimile of modern clothing worn by people of the distant future as people of today might wear period clothing during a renaissance fair. " What...? " I said as I fumbled for words, " This is kind of lame, " voiced another tourist. " Yeah, " agreed another. " Wait a minute! If we go back another week, would n' t *that* be the first encounter? " " He' s right! " " Yeah! " " Let' s do it! " All the tourists started pressing buttons on a device they all wore on their wrists, and I shielded my eyes as they started to disappear in brilliant flashes of light. When the last one had gone, I stood there as dumbstruck as the time it happened the week before.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " WHY DO N' T I HAVE A REFLECTION AM I DEAD!! " James shouted as he struggled to understand why he had no reflection. Just then a he felt hand on his shoulder but there were no other reflections in the mirror. " So I guess you know what I did? " Said the stranger from behind. James turned around to see a beautiful green eyed girl. " Who are you? What did you do?! " " Well I thought you were cute so I turned you " " Turned? Like when I turned around? " " HAHAHA cute and funny. See I knew you' d be a good choice to spend eternity with. " " Eternity? Turned? Fuck... " " Well that was Rude! Cursing at the girl who gave you immortality. " " You' re right I am sorry. I' m just so confused. Happening fast ya know. You could have asked. " " You would n' t have agreed! Not many do... I was lonely. " Her face turned to a pout. It was the most adorable thing I had ever seen in my life " This is n' t going to be like twilight is it? " trying to change the mood " We are blood sucking immortals that have super strength and speed. It' s more like Blade but without Wesley Snipes. " She said it like a battle cry and it was us from then on I could still remember our first conversation to this day. 300 years had gone so fast. As I sat in the snow surrounded by corpses of the hunters. As I wept tears of blood Jamie' s ashes were swept away by the wind and snow. Immortality... I would have an eternity to get my revenge on the hunters and what a sweet revenge it will be. I' m thirsty, time to get to work.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Kill them. Exterminate them immediately. " " But they' re new *life*, they' re something that we' ve never -- " " I do n' t care. " Malcolm turned to his subordinate, his face pulled back in anger. " They are a danger to life as we know it -- *civilization* as we know it! They could destroy everything that we hold sacred. Imagine if other nations got to them first, Aleksander! " Malcolm turned and looked at the window. They could n' t afford this new *intelligence*. News of this new life would quickly spread, and if those from across the ocean got scent of it... He turned, finality etched into his features. " Yes. Exterminate them all. " " Sir, we will have to go before the board, and they' ll -- " " They will be dealt with later, and they will agree with my assessment. " Malcolm frowned. " What happened to the first group? " " Sir? " Malcolm stepped forward, looming over Aleksander. " First contact, Aleksander... did they let them go back *home*, Aleksander? Did they *escape*? " " Yes, sir, they *did* manage to retreat, as *we* did, sir... " Malcolm turned away, disgusted. He looked out the window and watched as soldiers began to swim into formation. Their armor bristled and flashed, and their weapons glistened. Malcolm sighed. " We are going to war, Aleksander. We will act swiftly, violently. " He watched as large beasts with webbed feet and sharp teeth quickly formed a line. Soldiers sat on the beasts and then lashed themselves to them. They were ready. Malcolm turned back to Aleksander. " We have not been above ground for many centuries, Aleksander, but today we return. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: EDIT: I just realized No Mans Sky is an existing universe type deal and NOT the name given to the invasion for media purposes. With that in mind... My codename is Red. I belong to a secret organization that employs soldiers like me to combat the dominant forces we uncover in alternate dimensions. Remotely, we operate trans-dimensional matter responders that eliminate the threats in our way of taking control. The metallic overcast that shades our planet now is a direct response from our latest efforts to rid the space invaders of dimension N1978. When they arrived 5 years ago, they pleaded for the slaughter in their dimension to stop. Earth eventually realized our precious gaming systems had been hijacked by my organization to harness the worlds collective gaming power to our advantage in dimensional domination. As a result, an agreement to a worldwide ban on gaming was reached and for a moment... There was a cease fire. That' s when I, and my fellow soldiers, were called up to activate. These past 5 years, me and my boys have completely eradicated any dominant lifeforms in dimension N1978. All that remains are the lifeforms contained with the ships over our heads, and their next.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: For years I' d wondered about the small oval feathery circle beneath my left breast. I never knew what it meant. Maybe something about my heart, or caring or maybe something to do with my particular ability to go numb when the mind worked too hard and run on survival insticnts. As I stood at the bus stop I saw a girl looking through her bag. She was maybe twelve and had on a summery white dress. An old, but average looking car came down the road at a normal speed, and as it got closer I caught a glimpse of a normal looking man leaning out the window. I felt that overworked feeling in my brain as the adrenaline pumped through my veins. I took a leap and felt a sharp pain over my marking, like a pinch. The girl' s dress was splattered red but she was fine, screaming in panic, touching the new holes in her backpack, in shock. Nothing else made sense to her, but everything made sense to me. It all made sense to me. Every last little uneven and feathery curve made sense. Every moment of overdrive finally clicked. I knew what it meant now. I had figured it out. It was too late for me. No new markings will adorn my body, but she still had time.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: David lay collapsed against the wall, feeling the bullet rip through his flesh. " Sniper! " he yelled out instinctively. The rest of his squad had already scattered. David lay alone. He could see some of his squad behind cover, but it seemed they were to concerned about surviving to care about him. He had heard that your life flashes before your eyes as you die. All David saw was basic training. " Why are you here, private? " a drill sergeant screamed at David. " To protect the peace, sir! " he replied, robotically. " Wrong answer! If you wanted to protect the peace, you would n' t be going to war now, would you?! " The drill sergeant stared at David in silence for several moments. " We are all here to protect freedom! Freedom from oppression, freedom from subjugation, freedom from anyone who is not carrying a red, white, and blue flag! " the drill sergeant said, clearly being familiar with this speech. He continued, " We are here to give that freedom to places that would otherwise not have it. We' ll give them the taste of freedom they need to quench their communist, terrorist, brainwashed thirst! " " Private, what does freedom taste like? " the sergeant said, growing quieter as he drew near to David' s face. " Apple pie, sir? " David was always the funny man. But it was n' t so funny now. He had done at least 300 push-ups for that remark. He realized why now. He had simply been wrong about what the taste of freedom really was. As David sat there, the life trickling from his body, at the back of his throat, blood began to gurgle forward, filling his mouth and running down his chin. The taste of freedom.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I' ll go ahead and be honest: I do n' t like space stories. I do n' t like stories about the rough-and-tumble, renegade criminal with a heart of gold. These are just my preferences, but I wanted to get that out of the way first. I really enjoyed the reveal about how Malcolm had deduced that the valuable cargo he was being commissioned to deliver was probably a shipment of slaves. You know something is up when he' s getting the shit beat out of him and still refuses to take the deal. Up until that point, it sounded like a pretty good ( if shady ) deal! I was like, " Why would n' t this dude just sign the paper?! " But he knew something that I did n' t, and I really liked that the reader has to think about why Malcolm would willingly lose teeth over the matter ( the establishment of " regen " technology prevents Malcolm from looking uncharacteristically like a martyr -- he is a criminal, after all -- but the ability to heal quickly had n' t been explicitly introduced yet ). Another thing I liked is that even though Detective Singleton is female, she' s not a love interest. That makes sense, of course, because she and Malcolm are on opposite sides of the law, but I' m still glad to see that the story did n' t veer into " star-crossed lovers " territory or even have a hint of belligerent sexual tension, which it easily could have done. It was clear when Malcolm let her confront Norton by herself that they were just temporary allies. One minor thing: I noticed the word " hissed " a few times, and the character named Hess hissed at least once. Immediately after one of his lines you said, " hissed Hess, " which just sounds weird to me. Again, not a major thing.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Caw " The noise rattles around my head for a second or five. With slow painful moment I peel my eyes open to see a large crow on my chest, staring at me. " Fuck off " I wave the bird off, he hops to one side and continues to stare at me. Above me, a dim blue sky with fat grey clouds. I roll my head to the side and notice the squish, like a big sponge under my head. I heave myself up onto my elbows, and view my surroundings. " Urgh. Why am I on a... marsh? " I heave myself up onto my feet, and check myself for the key things in life. Keys, missing. Wallet, missing. Do have couple pound coins though. Watch, missing. Still the mark of it around my wrist, so ca n' t be far. Phone, missing. I yawn and stretch, squinting my eyes at the horizon. Nothing much but a few twisted trees, low stone wall, and a figure off in the distance. I squelch my way across the marsh towards the figure. The crow still watching my, hopping behind me. I try to run over the events of last night; " Went pub with Jim. Got a kebab. Smoked. Went to the off license, then... urgh " I grumbled out loud to no one but myself and maybe the crow. As I got closer to the figure I noticed they stood on a dock of a large lake, lost in the gloom and sogginess of the marsh. A small wooden boat, with peeling paint, bobbed in the water. " Excuse me mate? " #, I said in my least hungover manner. " You mind telling me where I am, or how to get back to home? " Without turning, the figure spoke. " Long way from home here. I can get you somewhere, if you got a few coins " I dug around in my pocket, finding the two pounds I had. " Got a couple quid, if you can give me a lift. Hell, I do n' t expect home, just not here. Somewhere with people... well, more people. And an off license ". He held out his hand. " Just jump in the boat, and we' ll get going " they said. Still not moving from their position. " Aye. Sure. Lets just get going " And that was the first day of my eternity in the afterlife.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: For 30, 000 years the war had raged on. Countless generations slaughtered. Entire worlds enslaved for the cause. The two sides know only one thing - they had the only true way, and the enemy must be destroyed. Guided by their ancient religion, they fought for the only cause that mattered. The Orientation Of The Holy Cylinder. And this was the final moment. After a hundred billion deaths, a ceasefire had been called. Ten thousand worlds stood silent, but here, now, on Oritreus II B, two warriors stood face to face. " This ends it! Here! Now! ", shouted Calinia of Taurus IV. " Accept that the sacred square must hang from the Holy Cylinder on the outside of the sanctuary wall, and facing the porcelain throne, and all will be forgiven. Our people can be together again, free, and in peace! " " HERETIC! ", screamed Xornaxas of Hyponea M7b5, " Why must you persist in these delusions? You must know basic geometry! The sacred square can only hang down from the Holy Cylinder by the sanctuary wall! It must never be towards the porcelain throne lest the cat of chaos take hold of it! Such is written in the ancient texts " They circled each other with cat-like wariness, and almost as one, drew their laser pistols and fired with deadly accuracy. As if mirroring each other' s reactions they both clutched their chests, staggered forwards, and fell into an embrace. " What does this mean? " Choked Xhornaxas, " Who wins? " " I.. I do n' t think anybody wins " gasped Calinia.. " Was any of this worth it? " Xhornaxas fell quiet, his rapid shallow breaths gurgling with the blood in his lungs Summoning up the last of his strength he managed to gasp " At least I' m going to heaven " Edited: I kinda forgot to do the prompt first time


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: She grew up near my house. We were friends all throughout grade school. At the end of graduation, she found out that we were going to the same state college. We celebrated by spending a night on a picnic blanket at the top of the hill. She held me close before telling me we would always be close. That summer, we both took jobs at the local supermarket. I was in inventory, she was a cashier. We would giggle near the milk aisle, admiring ourselves in the reflection of the glass, before our supervisor would catch us. During university, we lived in separate dormitories, but not too far away from each other. I would sometimes sleep over at her place, sometimes she would stay at mine. We both felt it. Holding hands, I knew she felt it. It was real. But then she got pregnant. A guy named Stuart Sanchez Garcia claimed he was the father. I never saw her until she dropped out three months later. She confirmed that he was the father. The day that my face will dry from my tears will be the happiest day ever. But until that day, I will have to concede love to her partner, Stuart. She would eventually marry him. She had the child. They had another one. Ten years down the line, they moved away, so I could no longer see them again. I was in Colorado. They were in Costa Rica. I never forgot about here. But I always. Felt out of place. It was by chance, on a holiday, years later that I saw them. Three kids, a smile and another child on its way. Their love was unbreakable. I was n' t married. I was n' t happy. I was still in love. Can not love transcend gender?


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Hello! " The cheerful blue alien greeted as he was seated. The cameras focused in on it and the red lights came on indicating the broadcast was live. The president shifted in his seat across from the alien and tried to look as authoritative as possible. The first public meeting with the aliens since they contacted earth a month ago had to go perfectly. These next few moments would be echoed in all the history books for eons to come. At least the aliens seemed to have already studied human language and spoke proficient English. Nonetheless, the president still worried about how his words would be received, even the slightest miscommunication could be disastrous. " I' ll get right down to business. " The alien blurted. The president was taken off guard with the alien' s forwardness but held his composure. " Please do, " he replied. The alien pulled out a metallic looking sheet from his cloak and carefully placed it on the desk. " Here is your cut, " the alien smiled. " Our... cut? " asked the president. " Of the profits of course! Anal probing porn has been the consistent top seller for the past seventy earth-years! And we at the Zebulax adult entertainment corporation pride ourselves in fairly compensating our porn stars! " the alien explained. ".... well shit. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: As I made my way through the hall, I gazed up into space. The windows were completely clear. So much so, that I would sometimes be frightened of falling right out of the ship. No matter how many voyages I go on, that possibility never ceases to frighten me. This was it, though. The last voyage. Soon, I would n' t have to be scared anymore. As I made my way to the bridge, I encountered a control panel on the wall. Like double checking an alarm clock, I would always take a second look at it. Just to make sure. Yes, the ship was still in motion. Yes, the ship was still activated and no, there were no power failures. Good. I would check again in a few minutes. I stepped into the bridge and was silently greeted by my ship mate, Sebastian. He was a quiet man. But that was all part of the business. I sat down on my chair and gazed up again. More crystal clear glass met my gaze, as well as a star ship that hovered just outside it. We were close now. Very close. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to steady my breathing. This was it. My final job. As I reopened them, I took a look at the control panel sitting in front of me now. All engines were running. The ship was still activated. There were no power failures. Once again, I breathed a sigh of relief. If for even a second, our systems failed us, we would be instantly destroyed. We were even closer now, only a single mile away from the other ship. It was massive. Easily one of the largest I had ever seen. I steadied my gaze and looked directly at Sebastian. He met mine with equal enthusiasm. One more time. Just one more time. I took one more deep breath, and began to speak. " Sebastian. Lower the cloak. Fire the EMP. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: **WARNING**: Superadone is only to be taken under the supervision of a physician. Side effects include, but are not limited to: * Nausea, * Vomiting ( excepting high-accuracy projectile vomiting, which is classified as a superpower ), * Loss of appetite, * Headaches not associated with psychic ability, * Water retention ( e. g. water-related weight gain, but not turning into a water-elemental type creature ), * Fragile skin, * Lack of development of supplemental secondary powers ( e. g. super strength without the invulnerability necessary to prevent you from tearing out your own arm when you use it ), * Acne, to include forms of acne which shoot lasers ( while technically a superpower, it is notoriously uncontrollable ), * Heartburn, not to include the ability to literally burn the hearts of your enemies. Should your heart spontaneously catch fire and you are unable to survive such an event, call 911 immediately, * Trouble sleeping if your superpower is not that you no longer require sleep, * Increased sweating so long as your sweat remains ordinary and not e. g. oil, pheromones, etc. * Mood changes unrelated to psychic ability, * Spontaneous and undesired transformation into a lizard or general reptilian form, * " Freaky Friday " -style body swaps that prove irreversible, * Ancient curse ( s ), * Diabetes, and/or * A constant, undying, and uncontrollable rage against all human life. If you develop any side effects, taper off dosage until such time as you can consult your primary care physician, and/or superheroes can arrive and subdue you.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Breaking news! the dangerous offshoot of the IRA, known as the' Kings of Ulster' claimed 84 victims today in a brutal attack against a British police station. It is currently unknown if there are any survivors, but what is known is that several of the dead appear to be Ulster soldiers killed by their own leader, Nailuch uc. " He turned off the television as the newsman began to drone on and on about the many he had killed. No one had yet put the pieces together that he was actually not a normal human. He was a powerful figure, practically a God, able to kill practically anyone, but he could not control himself. He had gone over the plans enough times to know that there were only 64 cops in that Northern Irish station, meaning that he had killed 20 of his best men. " Oh well " he said to himself as he approached the doorway, " It does n' t matter how many I killed, what matters is that no one sees the true point of today. " he knocked on the door as he made sure the silencer was fastened firmly on his 1895 Nagant revolver, he' d need to be quiet. " Hello Mr. Barmington! " he said cheerily " Who are you? " the MP replied " That' s not important " He raised his weapon and fired two shots into the MP' s chest, the once into his head for good measure. " If only you could have lived to see how important your death is for our people' s freedom "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: I opened the door to Samantha' s house. The usual smell of the flowers in her kitchen wafted over, and with them those first familiar strains of Beth Hart washed over me. *Calling California, is there anybody home? * "Babe, "I shouted down the echoing hallway, "I' m here! Only got a few left in my lunch break, though. "Somewhere upstairs, running water rang the muffled spattering of a shower and mingled with my voice. *I wan na say I love you but I' m a million miles away. * Guess we both get a surprise today. I smiled, like she wouldn' t know to expect me, like this wasn' t her game. *I have made you suffer left you waiting in the rain. * I headed for the stairs, already pulling my shirt off, already imagining the smell of her skin and the way her soap ran through my fingers. *While I was chasing demons in the deserts of my pain. * Her bedroom door was open, and the light was on in the bathroom, spreading out across the floor and playing with the dappled sunlight coming through the shades. *Somewheeeere-* Wait. *Ooooover the rainbow. * By the bed. "Babe? "It' s that special, that 1955 one. I haven' t heard it since I found Dad on the porch twenty years ago. My heart is racing, and my feet aren' t moving, and Judy Garland' s choking back sobs between words. I' m running now. I kick over the nightstand and the lamp I bought her at that mall hits the floor, but I keep moving. *Bluebirds fly. * And I' m there, and she' s there, but she' s not moving and- *And the dreams that you dream of. * God, there' s blood. *Dreams. * It' s all pooling behind her and getting in the carpet, and all I can do is cradle her. The shower snaps off. *Really do come true. * I look up, and her ex is in the bathroom doorway staring at me, the copper-smeared towel limp in his hands. We lock eyes. *Kor-ahhhhh. *


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: For the first time this week your mail box is not empty. Inside a solitary golden envelope catches what light passes through the reinforced window of the lobby security door. You reach in, pull the envelope out slowly, there, in the upper left corner is a name that you would have forgotten if not for that night on the bridge. "Brad Wood "You haven' t heard from Brad in decades, haven' t seen him in even longer. From what you have heard he is doing quite well for himself since that day on the bridge. The envelope itself seems to agree, its paper is thick and smooth, the kind of envelope that comes with a $ 10 greeting card. Momentarily your mind races, is it money? A check? For some reason the idea of season tickets to The Sabers floats to the surface, hockey always seemed to be the thing that you and Brad had most in common. The suspense is too much, the thought of getting back on the elevator and opening it in your apartment is too much, it' s simply too long of a wait! Here in the lobby you tear the fine gold paper along the seam. As the envelope splits open you have no time to react, blue and silver glitter covers your shirt and pants. There in the lobby you stand in the mess, dumbfounded. Some teenagers come into the lobby with their longboards, they whisper and laugh as they get on the elevator. Your face feels hot. Brad was always kind of an asshole.


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: " Well, Mister Lazarus, there' s good news and bad news ". I cringed, who would n' t. " Give me the bad news doc. " " The biopsy shows that the sample is malignant, it' s growing. The cancer is inoperable and will spread to your whole body, you have only a few months to live. Maybe a couple of years, at the outside. " Wow. That' s certainly a blow. " And the good news? " I asked. " The cancer is a strange one, mister Lazarus, it seems to be differentiating according to signals from the cells adjacent to it. It' s growing, certainly, but it' s also /changing/, like stem-cells spread throughout your whole body. " Confusing. " What does that mean, exactly? " " Well, we do n' t know, to be honest. The cancer is changing to muscle cells in your muscles, to lung cells in your lungs, to bone cells in your bones. The cancer in your brain has already taken over nearly fifty percent of your cells there. To judge by your charts I' m talking as much to the cancer itself as I am you you at this moment. In a week, maybe two, there' ll be more cancer than there is human " Uh? " So, again, I do n' t really know what this means. " " As I say, mister Lazarus, it' s confusing to us too. But at a guess, and you understand this can be no more than a guess, your cancer will outlive you. Maybe outlive us all. " I looked blankly at him. " Your cancer is likely sentient, likely taking over your memories, your personality. It may well outlive us all. "


Instruction: what is the prompt that generates the input?

Input: Blood dripped off the hammer staining the carpet. Still eyes watched the blood plop droplets here and there as the hammer moved about room. The hammer had silenced the voices that had begged for mercy. The girls voice had been especially gifted, but it did n' t matter. The hammer had struck that voice down with the rest of them. There was silence again. It was time to go. The hammer fell to the floor resting at last in the soft carpet. Auahitūroa was puzzled and that did not sit right in his gut. Rain slicked down his trench coat as he stood before Kilkenny castle. Something had caught his eye about the place and he was curious. The castle was closed for the night to its normal tourist visitors, but Auahitūroa was not a normal tourist. Lightning struck the flagstone 20 meters away. The stone glowed molten with a sinuous seal. He recognized the Adelphicos latifasciatum and gasped " the god killers! " The Lightning had put him on guard even before he recognized the symbol. His ears confirmed it was a good idea that he was already rolling towards cover when the arrows smacked into stone around him. sighing he disrobed in one fluid motion. Sparks flew as he took off, streaking across the sky. He had better warn the other, and figure out what was going on and fast.