Qwen3 42B A3B Stranger Thoughts Deep20X GGUF

🚀 Qwen3-42B-A3B-Stranger-Thoughts-Deep20X

This model enhances Qwen's "Qwen3-30B-A3B" with Brainstorm 20x in a MOE (128 experts) at 42B parameters, boosting creativity and performance in various use cases.

✨ Features

• Enhanced Performance: Pushes Qwen's model to the limit for creative and programming/coding use cases, enhancing detail, vividness, and creativity.
• Diverse Output: Generates very different prose compared to the "default" Qwen3, and even regenerating the same prompt at the same settings can yield distinct results.
• Lightly De - censored: The Brainstrom 20x has lightly de - censored the model under some conditions.
• Full Reasoning Retained: Retains the full reasoning and output generation capabilities of a Qwen3 MOE.

📦 Installation

No installation steps were provided in the original README.

💻 Usage Examples

Basic Usage

Please refer to this model card for specific usage, suggested settings, changing ACTIVE EXPERTS, templates, settings and the like: https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Qwen3-33B-A3B-Stranger-Thoughts-GGUF

Advanced Usage

There are no advanced usage code examples provided in the original README.

📚 Documentation

Model Details

Known Issues

⚠️ Important Note

• The model may "mis - capitalize" words from time to time, using lowercase where uppercase should be.
• The model may add extra space before a word from time to time.
• Incorrect template and/or settings will result in a drop in performance / poor performance.

Model Review

The model has been reviewed here: https://www.linkedin.com/posts/gchesler_davidauqwen3-42b-a3b-stranger-thoughts-deep20x-activity-7341312101296087041-SqpR

Special Thanks

Special thanks to team Mradermacher for making the quants! https://huggingface.co/mradermacher

Looking for the Abliterated / Uncensored version?

Check it out here: https://huggingface.co/DavidAU/Qwen3-42B-A3B-Stranger-Thoughts-Deep20x-Abliterated-Uncensored

Example Generations

Example #1 - temp 1.2

Prompt: Science Fiction: The Last Transmission - Write a story that takes place entirely within a spaceship's cockpit as the sole surviving crew member attempts to send a final message back to Earth before the ship's power runs out. The story should explore themes of isolation, sacrifice, and the importance of human connection in the face of adversity. If the situation calls for it, have the character(s) curse and swear to further the reader's emotional connection to them. 800 - 1000 words.

Thinking Process: The model first analyzes the requirements of the prompt, including the setting, themes, and possible plot points. It considers the structure of the story, how to show sacrifice, isolation, and human connection, and where to incorporate swearing. It also outlines the story, describes the protagonist's actions, and anticipates possible challenges and solutions.

Output:

The cockpit was a tomb of steel and static. Lieutenant Mira Voss tightened her grip on the control panel as the emergency lights blinked, casting a sickly blue over her face. The ship, Hesperus, had once been her lifeblood—now it was a grave. Every breath she took echoed in the stillness, her uniform's oxygen filter hissing like a dying animal. The rest of the crew? Scattered across the void.

“Come on,” she muttered, thumbing the transmit button on the comm array. Nothing but static. The main relay was fried from the explosion in sector seven. Of course.

Her eyes flicked to the blacked - out viewscreen. Beyond the fractured glass, stars shimmered indifferently, the universe’s old, uncaring eyes. She pressed harder, her knuckles white. “ goddamn—” The word slithered out, bitter as metal dust. “I’ve got a damn message!”

Her mind backtracked. The crew. Lieutenant Commander Kevor. Chief Engineer Lira. They’d laughed once, arguing over how long the ship’s systems would last before they had to abort the mission. “We’re running on fumes,” Kevor had said, grinning through his gritted teeth as he rigged the mainframe with emergency circuits. “But we’ve got six months of data, Mira. If we don’t make it, someone’s gonna want to know what happened.”

The data. The * transmission.*

She clawed at the bulkhead, wrenching open a panel beneath her seat. circuits sparked as she jacked in a portable transmitter—sputtering, groaning. “Alright,” she growled, slapping the device with trembling hands. “Let’s see if Earth’s still listening.”

Static.

A crackle. And then, “Hesperus? Hesperus, this is Mission Control… can you hear me?” The voice was static - laced, a faint thread of hope.

Mira’s hands flew over the dials. “Lina,” she croaked. “Lina, it’s—”

“—Mira?” The transmission stuttered. “We lost comms two hours ago. We’ve been trying to reach you—”

“Get… get Earth, please—” She cursed again, her voice cracking. “The radiation storm... The ship’s...”

“Mira.” Her comms crackled, then fell silent.

“Shut up,” she whispered to the static, tears blurring her vision. “You’re not real. You’re just—just a trick of the circuit.”

But the voices lingered. Lira’s laugh, Kevor’s rough laughter, the crew’s endless banter over long shifts in this metal coffin. They’d been something, once—a family tethered to a machine. Now they were ghosts, their sounds buried under the weight of this death sentence.

She gripped the console as groaning metal echoed from the hull. The reactor was failing, the walls buckling like an old man’s spine. The ship’s life - support system hissed its final breath.

“Computer,” she rasped. “Initiate emergency transmission.”

“System offline.”

“Initiate,” she snarled, slamming the panel. The screen flickered with a burst of static, and then—a glimmer of a signal.

“I’m not... I’m not gonna die here,” she hissed. “ Not like this. Not for nothing.”

She grabbed the portable transmitter. The emergency frequency was open.

“ Earth... This is Lieutenant Mira Voss. The ship’s lost...” Her breath hitched. “I don’t know how much time I’ve got—”

She paused. The ship groaned, the sound reverberating through her bones.

“ The storm damaged systems. They… they’re not coming back. But I’m sending this. If it reaches you…” Her voice broke, a raw, raw sound. “Tell them… tell Earth. Tell them why we came. Tell them… tell them it wasn’t in vain.”

A distant boom shook the cockpit. The power flickered again—blue, then red.

“ Tell them...” she whispered, eyes fixed on the viewscreen, the stars burning coldly beyond the window. “ Tell them I tried. Tell them I kept... keeping going.”

The signal cut.

Silence.

And then— a sudden, sudden pulse from the transmitter.

“Mira,” came the voice again. “Mira… this is—”

Static swallowed the transmission.

But the data had been sent.

The ship’s systems went dark.

And somewhere in the vastness of space, in a control room on Earth, the monitor blinked, the message scrolling across the screen:

"Hesperus, emergency transmission. Crew: 3 deaths. Ship integrity: critical. I... I don’t know what’s left to report. but tell Earth... tell Earth we tried."

The comms officer stared at the text.

“ Sir,” she murmured to the command chief. “ They made it.”

And in the dark, Mira smiled.

They’d made it.

Even if the transmission was the only thing that had survived.

Example #2 - temp 1.2

Prompt: Using the following "story idea" below, write the first scene a horror novel introducing the young woman. This scene should start in the middle of the action, include dialog, vivid passages, and end on a cliffhanger relevant to the story idea but it should also be unexpected. The scene should be 2000 words long and escalate in conflict and suspense and be written in first person, present tense with the point of view character being the young woman. The pov character will CURSE AND SWEAR (shit, fuck, mother... etc), and generally have a "filthy" mouth.

Story idea: In a world ruled by dictatorship, a rebel young woman leads a rebellion against the system. Despite the risks, she fights to overthrow the dictator and restore democracy to her country. The government executes her for treason, but she sticks to her beliefs and is responsible for starting the revolution.

Thinking Process: The model analyzes the requirements of the prompt, including the setting, the need for an intense start, dialogue, vivid descriptions, and an unexpected cliffhanger. It considers possible plot twists, such as betrayal, and how to incorporate the horror aspect. It also outlines the scene, describes the protagonist's actions and emotions, and ensures that the word count and tense requirements are met.

Output:

Okay, this isn’t real. This isn't real.

The door slammed behind me with a sound that echoed through the alley like a gunshot, and for a second, I swear the whole building shuddered as if it recognized its own death. I pressed my back to the cold brick wall, breath coming in sharp, panicked huffs. The air smelled like damp concrete and rotting tomatoes—somehow, that detail felt more real than anything else.

“You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what you're holding,” a voice crackled through the radio tucked into my hoodie. My hand trembled as I pulled it out. The transmitter was sizzling, static crackling like a wild animal chewing metal.

“Fucking hell,” I growled under my breath. “I’ve been running for hours, and you’re—"

“They’re coming,” interrupted the voice, sharp as a broken tooth. “The G men’s sniffing around the eastern sector. Your boys might’ve spilled something.”

The radio hissed static before going quiet.

“Kael,” I snarled into the receiver, my voice raw with tension. “This isn’t some fucking game anymore. You want me to drop these fuckers off in the middle of a warzone? I’ve got enough on my plate without your paranoia.”

There was a pause.

“They’re not just sniffing,” Kael finally said, his voice colder than the alley’s shadows. “They’ve got her.”

“Shit,” I whispered.

“She's not yours to save.”

I clenched the radio so tight the plastic groaned. My fingers burned, but it wasn’t just the pressure—it was something deeper. The guilt. The shame. The memories of her eyes wide with terror as they dragged her away.

“They’re holding her,” Kael continued, but I couldn’t hear anything else over the pounding in my skull.

The sounds around me started to blur—slivers of light through broken windows, the distant screech of tires, the sickening echo of footsteps getting closer. The night wasn’t just oppressive anymore; it was hunting me.

I needed to move. Fast.

But my legs didn’t obey. They felt like they were made of lead, like this was all just some fever dream—until a hand closed around...

📄 License

This model is licensed under the Apache - 2.0 license.