A private AI under your own roof
Chat, documents, generation and code happen there, and nothing it does needs the outside.
01 — the floor
One machine on your own floor that answers questions about your own material, and makes the things you would otherwise commission — text, images, video, meshes, speech, music, code. All of it made here. None of it sent anywhere to be made.
What arrives first is the part nobody photographs: the feet, a plinth with the supply seated down in it beside the intake, and the frame everything after this hangs on.
Parts here that can answer a question: none yet.
02 — the board
The board, and then the memory going in one slot after another. This is the part that decides how much of a model can be held open at once, which is the whole of what makes an answer feel like an answer.
Several models available at the same time, switchable mid-conversation, with the thread staying on the machine. The same board indexes the documents you give it, so an answer comes back with the page it came from shown beside it.
Documents it sends away to be read: none.
03 — the card
The card goes in. Then the cooler, in more pieces than anything else in this machine, because the paragraph after next is what the one before it costs.
This is the generation range, and every piece of it has already run: stills at production resolution at no cost per image, motion made from those stills, meshes handed over as files rather than pictures of files, speech in several voices, music scored here rather than licensed. Every photograph on this site came out of it.
The fin stack and the fans are the honest half of the bargain: this is what it takes to run for hours rather than seconds.
Cost per image: none.
04 — the shell
Now the shell weaves shut over all of it, member by member, and the garnet routes wind on with the rest until they close into a ring at the hem.
Everything you just watched arrive is on one side of this wall, and everything it makes stays on that side. The other way to get this range of work is a cable to a building you have not been to, where your material lands and exists twice — the second copy readable by whoever can rather than whoever would.
Copies of your work, down that road: never one.
05 — the object
Closed, it is 622 mm across and stands 549.8 mm tall on its feet. Something you stand beside rather than something you log into.
What you bring it is the material you would not put into somebody else's system: the contracts, the case files, the drawings, the recordings. It reads them, searches them, and cites them back with the page they came from.
Distance your material travels: across a room.
06 — the wall
The wall is not a panel with holes in it. It is a weave of 19,591 members on two planes: the big crossings are the front one, the dark space is the gap between them, and the small lit diamonds are the finer plane behind. The gap is exactly one step of the grid, which is why every tie between the planes lands at 45 degrees — and why something this open is stiff enough to be a wall.
171 of them are garnet, wound through the weave as members of it and carrying what the rest carry, at the one rate a diagonal can run without leaving the grid. The face is 64.6 per cent closed.
It is sintered in one piece — no supports, no seam, no hard edge anywhere. The shell is a design, and every figure here is printed by the file that drew this picture. That is the only reason you should believe any other number on this page.
Pieces: one. Seams: none.
07 — inside
Up close a fin stack looks like architecture. It is a heatsink. Everything in here is like that — a cooler, fans, boards, a supply: parts you could name on sight, doing the work they do anywhere. 342 of them, proven contained; not one pierces the shell.
The newest thing in the machine is a workbench that reads and writes your real files: an agent given a task, writing and running code until something exists at the end. Every command it runs is checked a part at a time rather than by its first word, and what it allowed and what it refused are both recorded, with the rule that decided.
Agents are grouped into teams with remits and they queue the decisions for you — a person still makes them. It is very fast at reading, drafting, summarising and organising. It does not make the calls.
Decisions it makes without a person: none.
08 — the count
You leave the way the heat does. The gap it stands clear of the floor is how air gets in: up through an aperture in its own floor, past everything you have just been looking at, and out through the crown.
Heat is one of two things that leave this machine. The other is whatever you send, and that one is a switch rather than a state — you throw it, we do not impose it. Thrown, the work does not change: chat, documents, generation and code all carry on, because none of them was reaching out. What stops is web search, fetching a page, pulling down a new model.
From above, the only opening in it is the one you came out of. Parts of what you have just watched are in daily use and parts are still being built; the table that says which, for every capability, is published rather than offered on request.
Copies of your work in the world: one.
622 × 622 × 550 mm · 19,591 members on two planes · 171 garnet · face 64.6 per cent closed · SLS
Pictures on this page. The hero is the machine's own parts, drawn by an image model from photographs of those parts and set in motion by a video model. The eight chapters below it are the Descent; the machine in them is rendered from its design file rather than drawn.
this page in prose → · the pricing, in full → · walk the three rooms →
