Alright, kid, here’s the truth nobody puts on the blueprint. A machine can move beautifully. Tilt just right. Hit every mark. Feel alive. But without software? It’s just a very talented bucking bronco. We hit that moment fast. The rig could move. Oh yeah, it moved . But the experience? That needed a brain. Something that could talk to the hardware, read the room, react in real time, and stop the whole thing turning into an expensive rodeo. Enter the demo. Built in collaborati

Alright, kid — this is the part nobody warns you about. You spend weeks making sure the ship flies. You fight the rattles, the glitches, the moments where everything almost falls apart. You stack the evidence, pin it to the wall, and finally say, “Yeah… this thing works.” And then someone asks the  question. Not about motors. Not about safety limits. Not about power draw or calibration curves. They ask: “Okay… but what are people actually going to experience on this thing?”

Every operation hits a point where you stop moving and start taking stock. For us, that meant the wall. Not a clean one. Not a neat one. A real wall - screens flickering, printouts curling at the edges, notes slapped up wherever there was space left to stick them. Reaction shots.  Calibration numbers.  Handwritten warnings like: “DO NOT TRY THIS AGAIN WITHOUT TIGHTENING THAT GIZMO.” We step back. Arms crossed. Eyes tired. Grins we try not to show. Because the evidence is stac

Alright, kid…this is the dangerous part. Not the testing. Not the machinery waking up. The showing just enough  part. We don’t throw open the hangar doors. That’s how you lose a ship before it’s spaceworthy. Instead, we crack them open, just a sliver. Enough for the hum to leak out. Enough for someone passing by to stop and say,“Hang on… what the hell is that ?” The rig powers up in half-light.Shadows stretch. Motors settle into a low whine like they’re daring someone to get