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…you ever seen a machine wake up? Not boot up. Not initialise. Actually wake up. Like it just realised it has a personality and decided to try it out. That’s where we’re at. Our prototype rig has started making…choices. The motors hum in a way that says,“I know what I’m doing, trust me. ”The frame shifts like it’s limbering up for a fight. And the sensors? Yeah, they’ve started blinking like a droid with a questionable attitude problem. It’s not malfunctioning, o

Alright, here’s the deal I’ve got about 90 seconds before someone tells me this is a bad idea, so let’s make it quick. Avalandia builds Motion VR experiences. Not the boring kind. Not the “stand still and don’t puke” kind. The fun  kind - the kind that makes people go, “Alright…now that’s  something.” We’re talking “I didn’t know VR could do that” stuff. Look, we’re not a massive fleet of engineers or in a shiny headquarters with a fountain in the lobby. We’ve got a small tea