Meta Imagine Studio v0.1.0

uptime 381h49m · built 2026-09-22T05:35:18Z · requests 68530

✓ meta.ai session: logged in⏸ meta.ai image quota hit 172× — queue paused until 2026-09-27T04:02:29.385Z (backlog kept, resumes automatically)

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Generate stopped

one click — that many randomized story prompts, all queued (like {povTemplate} on Perchance)
ignores the selected generator — each prompt comes from a random generator (job badge shows which)

Quick run — for custom batches, add prompts on the Prompts page and Start. Story templates live in meta/story-templates.txt.

1 job in flight — images landing below
avg 39s/img · 1 in flight → ~39s left
add prompts on the Prompts page

Currently generating

ACT II — THE CONTROL ROOM — (watching other people fight:1.3) (the same recurring cast, consistent faces, bodies and clothing across every image, identical character design:1.2) Featuring Sergeant Kade, armourer, forearms like winch cable, a welding mask pushed up on the forehead, drums of ammunition stacked behind; also Lieutenant Dana Sorren, frame pilot, a flight suit with three kill marks, hair cropped under a helmet, a photograph taped inside the cockpit; and at the back of the room, Corporal Bright, trainee pilot, too young for the suit, a helmet two sizes large, chewed fingernails on the control sticks. a gunner checking the turret travel by hand, in the darkened room with the map projected on the wall. No light but sodium lamps hazing the apron, and the room reads proud of a hard-won frame. (Dark room lit by monitors, backs of heads, one pilot's face). a 14mm with the screens wrapping the room; cockpit framing with instruments crowding the edges; graded ice blue, steel and orange lamp. Watching a screen that is not theirs: the one who thinks the war is already lost. Written down but never reported: a drink taken at an hour nobody saw. Across the headsets: a hand on a shoulder instead of a sentence. BREAK a boarding ladder rung huge at the edge; on the tiled floor, mud caked on frame feet, oil pooled in a drain trench; and going cold on a desk, fitters eating on a crate, a rat along the cable trays. Filling the far wall: the city skyline smoking. The turn: an order given twice and then withdrawn. BREAK a pilot who has not slept, a replacement pilot nobody has met, a rotation list with the same names on it. BREAK Reflected in the screens: light running along a rail, the polished brass of a worn instrument bezel, hot metal spitting sparks, chrome catching hangar light. (mecha control room, screens, cinematic:1.2) ice blue, steel and orange lamp. Avoid text, lettering, watermark, signature, extra fingers, deformed hands, extra limbs, blurry, low detail, jpeg artifacts, organic monsters, medieval weaponry, fantasy magic, hand-drawn linework. · queued — waiting for the driver

Job p1789250386-325 complete

prompt: THE EXHIBITION — (the exposition of impossible machines:1.3) a tea-merchant who flies a gyrocopter — an apprentice who outclocks the master — unveils their work at a subterranean steam canal beneath the city, catching a sky-fish from a dirigible before the gaslit crowd, brass fingers that click with precision triumphant. the warmth of a steam-heated heart grand. (Great-hall staging, spotlit invention, the public in frock and feathers). a 65mm at f/4 for the two-shot, steam softening the far background. BREAK a pigeon delivering a wax-sealed note the machine's brass throat; coal-dust edging a herringbone path, cobblestone slick with oil and lamplight the sawdust arena; a mechanical canary mid-wind, moths drunk on lamp-oil, pigeons with brass banded legs the marvel-mongers. the great clock tower above the gas-globe glow the ribbons and the judges. BREAK the wink of a copper coin flipped, champagne bubbles in a brass coupe, the gleam of a monocle in motion, a shaft of gaslight on polished brass the great unveiling flare. a thermos of absent-minded tea in the cockpit, one copper button polished brighter than the rest, a tea-stain on a blueprint, deliberate, an unopened letter beneath the throttle

exact prompt sent: imagine THE EXHIBITION — (the exposition of impossible machines:1.3) a tea-merchant who flies a gyrocopter — an apprentice who outclocks the master — unveils their work at a subterranean steam canal beneath the city, catching a sky-fish from a dirigible before the gaslit crowd, brass fingers that click with precision triumphant. the warmth of a steam-heated heart grand. (Great-hall staging, spotlit invention, the public in frock and feathers). a 65mm at f/4 for the two-shot, steam softening the far background. BREAK a pigeon delivering a wax-sealed note the machine's brass throat; coal-dust edging a herringbone path, cobblestone slick with oil and lamplight the sawdust arena; a mechanical canary mid-wind, moths drunk on lamp-oil, pigeons with brass banded legs the marvel-mongers. the great clock tower above the gas-globe glow the ribbons and the judges. BREAK the wink of a copper coin flipped, champagne bubbles in a brass coupe, the gleam of a monocle in motion, a shaft of gaslight on polished brass the great unveiling flare. a thermos of absent-minded tea in the cockpit, one copper button polished brighter than the rest, a tea-stain on a blueprint, deliberate, an unopened letter beneath the throttle

p1789250386-325-00.webp

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