conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first four paragraphs for a book with the title 'The Kill Order'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Kill Order
  He'd just woken up, the first traces of dawn leaking through the cracks of the stacked logs that made up the wall of his small hut. He almost never used his blanket. He was proud of it—it was made from the hide of a giant elk he'd killed himself just two months prior—but when he did use it, it was for the comfort of the blanket itself, not so much for warmth. They lived in a world ravaged by heat, after all. But maybe this was a sign of change; he actually felt a little chilled by the morning air seeping through those same cracks as the light. He pulled the furry hide up to his chin and turned to lie on his back, belting out a yawn for the ages.
  Alec was still asleep in the cot on the other side of the hut—all of four feet away—and snoring up a storm. The older man was gruff, a hardened former soldier who rarely smiled. And when he did, it usually had something to do with rumbling gas pains in his stomach. But Alec had a heart of gold. After more than a year together, fighting for survival along with Lana and Trina and the rest of them, Mark wasn't intimidated by the old bear anymore. Just to prove it, he leaned over and grabbed a shoe off the floor, then chucked it at the man. It hit him in the shoulder.
  Alec roared and sat up straight, years of military training snapping him instantly awake. "What the—" the soldier yelled, but Mark cut him off by throwing his other shoe at him, this time smacking his chest.
  Alec grumbled and grunted a few times, muttering almost indecipherable words as he scooted off his cot and got dressed. There was something about "wish I'd never" and "better off" and "year of hell," but not much more Mark could make out. The message was clear, though.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Anton didn't seem to be hearing a word that Mark or Alec said. "They said we'd be taken care of once the deed was done. That they'd bring us all back to Alaska and give us homes and food and protection. Let half the world die and we'd start over. But they screwed up, didn't they? That little girl lived even though she was struck with a dart. But it's more than that. The virus isn't what they thought. It spreads like wildfire, all right. Too bad it's got a mind of its own. Pardon the pun."
  He let out something that was vaguely like a chuckle, but it soon transformed into a hacking cough. Suddenly he was sobbing freely. The man finally slumped over onto his side and pulled his legs up onto the cot, curling into the fetal position, his shoulders shaking as he cried.
  Mark felt like he was observing the whole scene through a fog. He couldn't concentrate. He tried to snap out of it. "Do you have any idea where our friends could be?" he asked, more calmly this time. "Where are your coworkers?"
  Mark looked at Alec, who was just staring at Anton. It seemed like everything the poor stranger said was a little more bizarre than the statement before it.
  The man coughed; then a little more life sprang into his voice. "Those people I work with have started to lose their minds. Do you understand? They're... not... right. They'll be down there for hours, planning and scheming. They're going to Asheville, and they'll gather an army along the way if they have to. Oh, there's talk of an antidote there, but that's a bunch of hooey. In the end, my people will make sure that others don't get what's been taken from them: life. And you know what they'll do after that. You know, don't you?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Delete the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Anton didn't seem to be hearing a word that Mark or Alec said. "They said we'd be taken care of once the deed was done. That they'd bring us all back to Alaska and give us homes and food and protection. Let half the world die and we'd start over. But they screwed up, didn't they? That little girl lived even though she was struck with a dart. But it's more than that. The virus isn't what they thought. It spreads like wildfire, all right. Too bad it's got a mind of its own. Pardon the pun."
  He let out something that was vaguely like a chuckle, but it soon transformed into a hacking cough. Suddenly he was sobbing freely. The man finally slumped over onto his side and pulled his legs up onto the cot, curling into the fetal position, his shoulders shaking as he cried.
  Mark felt like he was observing the whole scene through a fog. He couldn't concentrate. He tried to snap out of it. "Do you have any idea where our friends could be?" he asked, more calmly this time. "Where are your coworkers?"
  Mark looked at Alec, who was just staring at Anton. It seemed like everything the poor stranger said was a little more bizarre than the statement before it.
  The man coughed; then a little more life sprang into his voice. "Those people I work with have started to lose their minds. Do you understand? They're... not... right. They'll be down there for hours, planning and scheming. They're going to Asheville, and they'll gather an army along the way if they have to. Oh, there's talk of an antidote there, but that's a bunch of hooey. In the end, my people will make sure that others don't get what's been taken from them: life. And you know what they'll do after that.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The woman could only nod. If she tried to speak, it would all come out: Her pain, her fear. Her anger. Her tears. And then her efforts to be strong for the boy would have been for naught. So she kept it in, a dam against a raging river.
  The boy looked up at his mother. He had no reason to hold back the tears, and he didn't. They flowed down his face freely. He jumped to his feet and hugged her, shattering her heart a million times over. She squeezed him back.
  He pulled back, his face wet, his eyes red. A strength seemed to come over him and he nodded, helping her believe he'd be okay in the end. He was strong, this one.
  The boy turned away, never to look at her again. He walked to the door and went through it with no hesitation. No glance back, no complaints.
  One of the men looked up at the dangling, buzzing lightbulb, then turned to his partner. "You know who invented those things, right? Maybe we should call this one Thomas." And then they left.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: " And then they left. If she tried to speak, it would all come out: Her pain, her fear. Her anger. Her tears. And then her efforts to be strong for the boy would have been for naught. So she kept it in, a dam against a raging river.
  The boy looked up at his mother. He had no reason to hold back the tears, and he didn't. They flowed down his face freely. He jumped to his feet and hugged her, shattering her heart a million times over. She squeezed him back.
  He pulled back, his face wet, his eyes red. A strength seemed to come over him and he nodded, helping her believe he'd be okay in the end. He was strong, this one.
  The boy turned away, never to look at her again. He walked to the door and went through it with no hesitation. No glance back, no complaints.
  One of the men looked up at the dangling, buzzing lightbulb, then turned to his partner. "You know who invented those things, right? Maybe we should call this one Thomas.The woman could only nod.