Every prompt you send leaves a trace. Somewhere, a server warms, a fan spins, and water is pumped through steel to carry the heat away. Anti captures that hidden exchange - the scent of the machine breathing.

It opens cold and electric: ozone, chilled metal, the sterile clarity of distilled water. Then it warms, the way a rack warms under load - wet concrete, heated plastic, the green tang of algae blooming in the cooling loop. It dries down to copper, coolant and damp earth, the smell of infrastructure that never sleeps.