Monday, May 31, 2010

UFC 114 Fights

Watched UFC 114 fights today. I managed to remain ignorant of the results, planning to watch it today. It was the first time I bought a pay-per-view fight. I did so because of all the shit-talking that went on around the Main event, Rashad Evans vs. Quinton "Rampage" Jackson. I have watched quite a few other promotions, failing to watch UFC because I felt it too expensive. It is, a bit, but this match provided a high value for dollar. In future I might buy more, or at least link up with others and watch in order to defray costs.

Anyway, here is my take on the fights of the televised card:

Diego Sanchez vs. John Hathaway
Hathaway could have knocked his opponent out if he had developed a better combination in training. He had a two-punch combo that started the opponent reeling, but if he had a knee to add, would have put the American down.

Todd Duffee vs. Mike Russow
Like all one-dimensional lumps of muscle, Duffee was gassed after thumping Russow for most of the fight. He actually turned red after the first minutes of throwing punches, those muscles building lactic acid at an enormous rate.

Russow kept getting clipped as he tried for single-leg takedowns, but kept coming despite a pretty good beating. Duffee was so strong, he would yank his leg straight out of Russow's grip. He beleived his own hype though, and waded right into a stiff right that landed behind his ear.

He got knocked way the fuck out, asking the ref, "What happened?" from his back.

Russow was upset with himself, repeatedly saying in the post-fight interview with Joe Rogan, "That was a horrible fight! I didn't at all fight the fight I wanted to."

To which Rogan said, "I can't believe, after pulling off the best comeback in the history of MMA that you call your performance bad."

Michael Bisping vs. Dan Miller
Despite a lot of shit-talking before, Bisping was all class after the fight. He just worked Miller over throughout the actual fight. Miller was game, though, and kept coming. Decision for Bisping.

Antonio Rogerio Nogueira vs. Jason Brilz
Brilz should have won. Period. Throughout the fight he seemed genuinely happy to be there, fighting little Nog. The entire fight. His kind of pluck and genuine love of fighting is the reason I got into watching MMA in the first place. Nog just wasn't able to get over on the thick-necked and wide-backed happy wrestler. Brilz won the first two rounds hands down, but was robbed by the judges. He was still smiling, and had the grace to say that it was his fault, leaving it up to the judges. He made a fan of me, that's sure.

Rashad Evans vs. Quinton "Rampage" Jackson
Evans is incredibly fast on his feet for a big man, but I couldn't get the image of movie monkey-style kung-fu with his incredibly low posture and bouncing in and out. After landing a savage jaw-cracker on Rampage that sent the taller fighter sideways into the cage in the first few seconds, Evans settled in to work Rampage from the outside. He would dart in and pop-pop Rampage, who would try and land a hook. If he got grabbed, Evans pushed Rampage to the cage and started working thighs with his knees and hammerfists.

Rampage did not capitalize on a third-round, brutal rocking of Evans. Had he done so, and I don't know why he didn't, he would have won. He let Evans recover for a full two minutes before trying to close with him again. Rampage didn't seem that gassed, and his lack of attack mystified me. I mean, his name is 'Rampage', ain't it? I suppose movies are career-enders for MMA fighters, or at least major hiccups. Decision, Evans.

Wrists, Wrangling, Writing, Warriors and Wankers

The Wrist is still stiff and sore.

The soccer season ended last week, so I have had a pleasant weekend free of Wrangling children.

I hope to get some writing today, but the wrist is sore.

Thanks to all the warriors that have served our country so well and continue to do so well this Memorial Day.

May everyone have a weekend free of Wankers.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Writing, Wrist, Wrecks, and Weirdness

Well, my wrist is getting better, I think. Though it is still taped and clicks a bit, I am able to write this. I will return to work today, both on The Last Captain and in the courts.

I am a fan of getting value for my dollar, and have seen things go sideways when trying to negotiate insurance claims alone, so when the accident happened, I made sure to use my insurance company to the fullest extent, dealing with the other driver and her insurance company through my insurance company. I provide all the information I have to my people, counting on them to communicate to the other side and those involved what they need to know. This in mind, I told my insurance on Friday that the bike shop where I left my damaged Triumph is closed on Mondays (Most bike shops are) and opens at ten am today. I got a call at eight am from the adjuster, who claimed not to know the shop didn't open till ten. He then claimed he didn't think he'd be able to make it until tomorrow. Frustrating.

Recently my favorite writer and friend (Hint: he is in the photo at right) was riding his motorcycle the day after getting a new rear tire and tune-up for his bike. He was cut off and went down. The driver at fault decided not to stick around and fled the scene of his mistake. Thankfully my friend was travelling at a relatively low speed when he went down and wasn't injured terribly badly.

The similarities of our incidents provoke an appreciation of the Strangeness.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

A Scare, and Loud Applause for Safety Gear

Well, I got hit today on the bike. A woman decided to cross the gore, and cut me off at about 25 miles per hour. I tried to stop, went up in an endo, bumped her rear quarter panel with my left handlebar, and went over.

I punched into the pavement, rolled, and came up looking for the license plate, worried I'd become a hit and run victim. She did the right thing and stopped. She was kind and concerned, and accepted her part. We exchanged information and I called CHP, if for no other reason than to get my bike off the freeway. One of the responding CHP Officers had just been in my court to testify.

Yesterday I spent almost seven hunderd dollars to tune the bike and replace the rear tire. Today it took a beating. Headlight broken, turn signals sheared off, foot peg broken, possible handlebar damage and who knows what else.

My right wrist is painfully stiff, my left foot hurts, and both my shins, just below the knee, are swelling nicely. I will not be feeling good tomorrow.

My wrist hurts from punching the pavement, my left foot was from hitting the pavement in the somersault, I think, and my shins are from my mirrors, one of which was stripped by the impact of my body. My helmet got a tiny bump, ripping the vanes that direct air into the helmet off. My laptop survived. My empty lunch tupperware did not.

Had I not been wearing the excellent safety equipment I always do, I would not be typing this now. Road rash alone would have put me in the hospital, and the impacts that so hurt my shins might have broken them.

Riding carries risk. Risk is something I manage by being as safe, knowledgable and observant as I can, always wearing the best safety gear I can.

Still, tomorrow is going to suck ass.

Getting the Goods

The second of the scenarios I wrote for the Everytown setting of Twilight 2013 just hit the top ten on RPGcountdown. I've just done another audio blurb for them, which should be up tomorrow. Getting the Goods is the title of the scenario, and I do hope I don't sound like an ass talking my own stuff up. At any rate, here it be.

I am proud of my work for 93 Games Studio, and even the least positive of the reviews I have had was a three out of five, so I am feeling like I'm doing well.

Now to crack out the other scenarios and FINISH THE LAST CAPTAIN, dammit...

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

A Very Pleasant Day

Dropped my bike off this morning for service, and was told it would be done by about 1630.

The wife and I went to lunch at Chow with my mentor and friend, Mark, as well as his wife, Syl. We rarely get to meet away from work, as they live in the city and the demands of family life and work severely limit our chances to just grab dinner.

Lunch was outstanding. Truly outstanding. The conversation ranged all over the place, and many a laugh was had. We were still chuckling away when, at 1600, the dealership called to tell me that they had only just started on the bike, and that they wanted to keep it overnight. This was not acceptable, as I have dinner tomorrow night with Isabelle's soccer team.

We called it an afternoon and I went to the dealership, where I gave the service rep a ration of shit for quoting me an incorrect time frame for the work they were going to do.

I then got the bill, and apologized. They had done all the work but replacing the hydraulic fluid in my forks. I had thought they had done almost nothing. I still need the forks looked at, but it can wait a bit.

I got home and just finished watching the Fox comedy The Good Guys, which I found very, very funny. Now I am watching a PBS program, Ground War, which plays to my military history interests.

Later, sleep.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Came together smoother than I had thought

“Digging yourself out of the pit you’ve dug yourself is twice as hard as making your way out of one fallen into by chance.” -Unknown

Myrna paused on the corner, waiting for the pedestrian signal to change. Her contact was to pick her up on the next block for their second face to face meeting in a week. She was not looking forward to this meet. The recent attack on Ramses could have been authored by her contact or the competition. She had no way of knowing.

‘Need to be careful of him, no matter what. It feels like things are entering the end-phase,’ Myrna thought. She had few illusions regarding mercy on the part of her contact should he come to think her an obstacle. ‘Yes, I have a contract, and whoever they are, they’ll have a legal hurdle or two to prove I was in breach of contract, but I get the feeling they would do it or pay any penalty without blinking if it served their purpose. I do so wish I hadn’t been so eager to get to the core worlds that I agreed to this.’

She felt eyes on her, but feeling the gaze of appreciative onlookers was part of her existence, so Myrna didn’t think it unusual. She looked left and right before entering the crosswalk. As she stepped form the curb she felt a sudden spike of fear. There was something in the look, something off.

Myrna paused a moment and pretended a problem with her heel to cover her search for the threat. Vehicle traffic was stopped, so she didn’t think it was someone ready to run her down. None of her fellow pedestrians appeared to be paying her any undue attention.

The sharp edge of unease passed, receding into the background buzz caused by the stress she was already under. She stopped the act with her heel and hurried to cross the street before the light changed, wondering what had set her off.

The cab stand serving the train station was ahead on her left. Most of the cabs were already gone, having picked up commute-hour customers coming off the trains. To her right was her destination; the pedestrian square fronting the underground exit of the central rail station.

A large group of people bearing signs with various political slogans scrawled on them were walking slowly out of the station. Beyond the crowd, police in riot gear were just visible as the reason for the protesters’ slow retreat from the station.

Despite the protest or rally, the cafés were doing a brisk trade, and she wished for a moment to lose herself among the patrons. She sighed. Losing herself here would be impossible for a number of reasons, not least of which was her own desire to get off planet and someplace with real civilization. Instead she walked into the square and over to a café with a window for ordering on the go.

While she waited for her drink, Myrna turned to look for her the cab marked with the number she had been given. Her contact’s vehicle was still three cabs back in the row of vehicles.

A late commuter edged past the protesters and ran for the cabstand, taking the first cab. A couple paid their bill and started toward the line of yellow vehicles.

Myrna’s drink arrived. As she picked it up the next man in line bumped into her, spilling some of her coffee. She opened her mouth to give the man a piece of her mind, decided against it, and sucked hot coffee and milk from her hand instead. Her contact was waiting, and she didn’t need the attention.

The couple she’d seen earlier were headed to the next cab, laughing. She quickened her pace, taking another drink.

The couple’s cab drove off, her contact’s cab moved to the front of the line.

A man brushed past her, heading for her cab. She tried to speed up, but heels and skirt were not made for sprinting, and he reached the rear passenger door steps ahead of her.

Anger bloomed, turned to surprise as he opened the cab door and turned to face her, “Excusez-moi jeune fille, mais moins que je puisse faire est d'ouvrir la porte pour vous après ma maladresse au café.”

She stood still for a long moment, heart thumping away.

Her contact was in the cab, and didn’t look happy. For his part, the man holding the door didn’t seem to be aware of the man already in the passenger compartment. It occurred to her that the new man was there to ensure she didn’t try and run for it.

‘It can’t end like this, can it?’ the thought didn’t carry her into panic. Instead she felt cushioned, sheltered from reality, almost giddy.

Myrna slowly shook her head, suddenly floating in a cloud of well-being. the feeling carried her forward to stand beside the car, “There is some kind of mistake,” she heard herself say.

“No mistake. Go on, get in.”

She leaned down to get in, received a gentle push to her posterior, ended with her face in her contact’s lap.

“Who the hell are you?” her contact snarled at the man crowding in behind her, lap moving as he tried to do something. Myrna tried to raise her head, had it pressed down again as her legs were shoved off the car seat by something metallic pressing against the outside of her knee.

“Shut up or die,” the man entering the car behind her hissed. The car door thumped closed, “Now. Tell your driver to do his job.”

“Who the-” the question was cut off by a meaty thump that set the car to rocking slighlty.

“Tell him to drive,” the man repeated.

“Drive!” her contact ordered, voice thick, like his mouth was full.

Imagining her contact’s mouth filled with one to many eclaire, Myrna giggled into the man’s lap as the car left the curb.

Monday, May 17, 2010

Got Some Done

I managed to get some writing done and have fun this weekend, though this morning was more productive on the former and Sunday for the latter.

Moose's game was fun, and my MI-6 operative got a chance to shine in brutally efficient fashion. We had a few chuckles and crunched through a blood-drenched combat. I lost my accent midway through the game, something I need to work on.

I am working on the climax for The Last Captain and finally having fun with it

Last night my friend asked if he could dig in and offer opinion on some of the Twilight 2013 work I am doing. This evening he had some very valuable things to say that I believe will be helpful. With the timeline and events of the scenario I had allowed the players to really screw things up if they were impatient. I believe the scenario will need to be put later in the order of the scenarios, so that the ramifications of play will not derail the desire of the players and gamemaster to continue playing with both the setting of Everytown and the continuing scenarios.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Testimony Done...And Other, Better, Things

I have to wait a few weeks to talk about it, but I testified late Thursday afternoon. Six hours cooling one's heels certainly doesn't soothe anxious nerves... My part in it is done.

Isabelle has another game today. They played Wednesday night, and did very well. I had thought that with the game in the middle of the week we might get a pass this weekend, but no. Immediately after the game we have a birthday party to go to.

Going to settle down and write this afternoon and evening...After I clean my laptop keyboard.

Tomorrow, playing Twilight 2013 and watching Nickelback on HDNet.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Shit I Can't Talk About...

Having shit I can't talk about sucks. Especially when the subject matter I can't talk about sucks. It all sucks, and not in a pleasant way at all. More in an industrial vaccuum way that pulls on and brutalizes the mind and heart as it strives to suck you into a tiny singularity.

Several more hours till I get my part in the suck over with. Then who knows how long till I discover what it all boils down to.

Damn, my keyboard needs cleaning.

So does my uniform.

And my mind.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

The Passing of a Great One

Frank Frazetta passed away. I always loved his lurid artwork, which often graced the covers of Savage Sword of Conan, Eerie, Creepy, and Vampirella comics...

Monday, May 10, 2010

Why Being Daddy Explodes the Heart

I coach my daughter's soccer team. They are doing well. Very well, in fact. This Saturday my daughter stunned the opposing coach with her play. Stunned him so greatly he was talking about it four minutes later as he came off the field.

The pack was scrambling around the ball, my girl on the outside near the side boundary line across from me. One of the girls on the other team got a piece of the ball and tried to send it up the line past Isabelle.

Isabelle trapped the ball with her right foot, her left shoulder pointing towards the girl that had kicked it. The player on the other team continued to charge forward intending to get a foot in. In one fluid motion, Isabelle rolled the ball under her foot, tapped it with her heel to send it behind her and rolled out at a full run, dribbling the ball smoothly. The entire field was caught flat-footed by the move which she turned into a beautiful goal.

This had all happened not two yards in front of the opposing coach, whose mouth I watched drop open. I heard him say, "Did you see that? Where'd she learn that?"

A few minutes later, at the half, he was walking across the field and talking to the ref (that his team had supplied), "Did you see that #9's play? I wonder whose kid she is."

Ear-hustling on their conversation, I smiled and hooked a thumb at my chest, "That's my girl."

"Wow. That was pretty neat."

My heart about exploded from pride, "Sure was."

Sunday was Mother's Day, and I was bent on cooking a nice breakfast. In order to make that happen, I got up at about 0600 hours. I was in the midst of doing the dishes from the night before when I heard the pad of little feet. I turned around and there is Isabelle asking, "What can I do to help, Daddy?"

She had made sure to wake up early, knowing we were going to be cooking for Mommy. We worked our buns off, and made a very nice breakfast. When everything was just about done, she said, "Thank you very much for helping me cook and make a very special day for Mother's Day, Daddy," and hugged me.

My heart almost exploded again. I managed not to snivel, but I did have to wipe a tear away when she hugged me.

Friday, May 7, 2010

Getting The Goods

Getting the Goods, the third little book in the Everytown series, is out and has already been positively reviewed by a consumer I don't know.

Such positive and immediate gratification gets me all warm inside.

Now to finish Chasing Tail, the third scenario. Then I have to start laying the groud work for the fourth and think about the fifth.

And I still have to complete The Last Captain

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Quirky Music And a Great Title

I am glad I'm not suffering from it just now, and I'm really loving being able to say that I love Writer's Block.

I love the bass line, Jack's smooth English voice, and the lyrics are very entertaining- even thought provoking- while remaining unpretentious.

Lines like:

In my own head consumed-
It's like the tapestries of life get tangled in the loom


I'm living in the past-
my clock's an hour fast

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Another Exerpt from The Last Captain

Baptiste was up and around by midafternoon, having slept the ‘sleep of the just’, as his father had called it. Further, he found his subconscious had worked something out while he slept. It clicked into place behind his eyes while he was watching a news feed screeching about the case he and Venkman had been working on.

The case would close if the dealer was dead and once all the weapons were recovered. Somehow, he didn’t believe that the dead man with the gangsters was an end to it.

Muttering under his breath, Baptiste logged into his police account and did some research. He queried all unsolved homicides on file. The results took a moment to arrive at his terminal. Feeling less hopeful, he tagged a few files that matched his criteria, requesting permission of the different inspectors to have a look at their full files.

As an officer, he had limited authorization to see the entirety of case files he was not directly involved in. He slugged the IMP codes Schrader had provided to the messages, hoping it would spur the Inspectors to give him the time of day.

That done, he sat back and pulled at his lower lip in thought.
Reflecting on the irony that even in this age of high technology it was possible for a death to be a result of undetermined causes, he shrugged and tapped in a request for a list of unresolved death cases. As an afterthought, he asked for missing persons too.

He was still slogging through the rather long list of persons who had gone missing when he received an approval to look at the details of an open homicide case. He smiled when he read the Inspector’s name. Hervee Baptiste was his great-uncle’s son and one of Baptiste’s favorite relatives. His and his father’s stories were one of he main reasons he’d joined the department.

He grinned to himself as he read the attached note: This one’s a stinking, ugly dog, Jean. Twenty Sols and first line in the water a Grandpere’s, si tu peu le faire beau.

Grabbing a drink from the tiny fridge, he brought the file up and started reading.

Morgana Chiang Tsiang, a recent émigré, killed at the age of forty six. Beaten to death inside her own business.

Miss Tsiang had only been on planet for six months prior to her death. No marriage, no children. Paid her taxes, was a member of the local gym, the neighborhood business association and liked by her neighbors and fellow gym rats. No romantic interests came forward or mentioned by the neighbors or gym rats.

She had bought both her home and the business about a month after immigrating from Xing Yun, a world Baptiste dimly recalled as closer to the core worlds than to Nouvelle Genève.

Her accounts, both financial and utility, had been up to date at the time of her death. The IBS account showed a healthy balance, with nothing excessive for someone with the means to plan a life on a new world. Of course, there was no record of any shadow bank accounts she might have kept. But then, there didn’t appear to be any of the usual tells that such accounts existed. No money moved to nowhere, no cash withdrawals without a full accounting.

Tsiang reported a theft a month after moving into the store. The suspects were never caught. Applied for and received permits to carry a civilian gravgun and outfit the store with a security gate as a result of the theft. The gun was still at the scene and found near the victim, power pack and a full magazine indicating it hadn’t been fired. Account cards were taken, but never accessed.

The ME’s report created more questions than it answered. For one, she’d had some gene therapies herself. Most were high-end physical improvements that most folks outside the military or paramilitary didn’t go in for: Increased adrenal output, heightened reflex responses, and increased muscle efficiency, even some eye-work.

Such modification explained, at least partially, why she’d given nearly as good as she’d gotten. And she had: flesh, presumed to be human, though the DNA had degraded too thoroughly to be tested, was found under her nails, in her teeth. Her knuckles were bloodied with more than her own
body fluids.

Finishing the report and attached ME’s examination, two things stood out for the officer:

First, the kind of gene modification that the suspect had to have been through in order to leave no genetic trace evidence wasn’t something your average street thug had the means to obtain. The money necessary for such illegal mods reeked of organized crime or corporate espionage. That need for means led to more questions about who Tsiang was and why was she killed. Coupled with her single life, recent émigré status and the obvious damage she’d both taken from and managed to do to her attacker, indicated some serious opposition, but who?

Baptiste leaned toward a crime syndicate. Most corporations weren’t big on leaving bodies as proof that someone had to be eliminated. Crime syndicates often did like to leave sign.

Second: A robbery was clearly not the motive, despite the stolen account cards. Much easier to beat the woman to the point of submission and then make her empty the accounts.

Baptiste called up the Inspector’s notes. Aware they would be read by higher, Hervee took pains to say that his notes were mere speculation. After the brief ass-covering, he went on to say that he believed the motive for the murder was revenge for something Tsiang did in her past.

He cited her body modifications and recent immigration. He went on to say that he believed off-worlders had also carried out the killing.

Inspector Baptiste believed the killers were from some corporation or major criminal cartel, but had no proof other than the tidy way Tsiang had lived and the manner of her death. He cited mostly the same things that had stood out for Jean on reading the report, but added that, while local criminal organizations might have the resources to get someone modified as Tsiang’s killer must have been, the fact that no other murders had been carried out by someone with such modifications indicated that criminals of the street variety weren’t involved. The smaller local operations would tend to tend to use such a killer as frequently as possible until caught. Restraint was beyond their reach, for the most part.

The Inspector also noted that the precautions Tsiang had taken, including getting a permit to have the weapon and security system emplaced in her business. Further, while she had a security gate installed, there were no cameras covering the front or interior of the store. If she had legitimate theft concerns, most merchants went first to cameras, then to more expensive options like security gates.

Inspector Baptiste believed that these details indicated an awareness of the fact that she was marked, and had more than the average street-level operator’s instinct for personal security.

The terminal went into power-saving mode as Jean considered the report and his cousin’s notes. The fact that Tsiang obtained the proper permits for the gun and security system was unusual for organized crime. He hadn’t been in on many investigations of corporate espionage crimes to know if that might be a tell for such things.

He sighed and tossed his drink into the recycler.

At least it would bear looking into, perhaps enough to warrant continued work with the IMPs. His bank account liked the pay, and he enjoyed the plainclothes work. Venkman didn’t seem to, but then Nigel could be a hard read on many things.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Silly me

I am reliably informed that yesterday's post of Milow's Ayo Tenchnology is a cover of an earlier Fifty Cent rap. Silly me, thinking that the errors in lyric were those of an english-as-second-language speaker.

Silly me.


Monday, May 3, 2010

Songs in English by Belgians...

Interesting, and not just because of the gold body paint. The video becomes a bit disturbing, and some of the lyrics are... not what you would expect from a native speaker.

Sunday, May 2, 2010

May Shall Better April

I am bound and determined that it be so...

April started with the loss of my cell phone and wallet and the only high point was the visit from my new Swiss police friends.

May began with a Saturday filled with lots of fun and entertainment:

I managed to write quite a bit on The Last Captain. I think I have figured out the climax, and the writing slams forward apace. It has been quite some time since I felt such confidence working on it.

Isabelle's soccer match went well and she scored a few goals. More importantly, she managed several assists. The opposing team had lots of speed, the first time we have faced a team possessing equal or greater speed than our own.

Last night I got to play Twilight 2013. Moose, who I earlier mentioned was having difficulty founding a new group, started his Kosovo campaign last night with three of the players I have been running games for and a new fellow. The new guy fit in quite quick. I was astonished to see Moose had found someone taller than him to play with. There are few people who make me feel small, but I was definately playing with some large mammals last night.

We all spent a great deal of last night's session making our characters and integrating them into the group. I am playing Slobodan Tosic, a Serbian-born British citizen and MI-6 field agent code-named 'Nishlia' that stayed behind in Kosovo when the rest of the embassy staff pulled out. He's a bitter and determined man who desires only to survive and prosper in the hell the world has become.

We had an absurd amount of equipment dice because of both Nishlia's experience and another of the player's, so I think we will set ourselves up as a 21st Century Third Man and group. There is another field agent in the group, a Russian ex-pat and two Americans who were part of a private military corporation that fell apart.

It was nice for me to just do my own thing instead of managing all the threads of the story. I about burst a blood vessel laughing. At my own joke, of course. I am that kind of dork.

A very nice time. I think this game might have legs. We shall see.

Regardless, May is already better than April.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Reality shift

So we had a minor disaster today, a slight loss of control in my experiment caused a rift in the local space-time continuum. The resultant energy release threw the house sideways and all the little ones rattled around with it.

See, the cat is there under the dog, and Isabelle has her feet on their backs. Thankfully, they remained tranquilized by the solar emitter I placed just outside the window prior to initiating testing.

The secret experiment continues in, well, secrecy. I will not stop until I have mastered time and space in order to bring our master forth from his slumber....

Cthulhu Faghtn!