Week 30-something... late Sunday night, chimerical shop room
Spindle rubs at his face, his eyes bleary and bloodshot. The furthest-most workbench from the door has been commandeered by his materials and tools, and the blueprints tacked in multiple layers on the wall.
What the fuck am I doing?
He lets his hands fall away. Staring bleakly at the half-rebuilt Monadic Extractor, he sighs heavily.
I can recalibrate the whole damn thing for the estimated load, but I don't have clue one whether or not the estimations are anywhere near correct. And the batteries... I need at least six, but then what do I DO with the fucking things when.... when...
He sighs again.
Fuck.
What the fuck am I doing?
He lets his hands fall away. Staring bleakly at the half-rebuilt Monadic Extractor, he sighs heavily.
I can recalibrate the whole damn thing for the estimated load, but I don't have clue one whether or not the estimations are anywhere near correct. And the batteries... I need at least six, but then what do I DO with the fucking things when.... when...
He sighs again.
Fuck.