Somewhere between the last job and the next show.

The honest version: a project this size should be impossible alone. It mostly is.

What makes it possible is a crew of AI agents doing the jobs a studio would otherwise hire for — one checks the story never contradicts itself, one guards the art direction, one kills any idea that would blow the schedule. Each owns exactly one job and no two overlap. That rule is the whole trick.

The other half is saying no. The list of shelved ideas is far longer than the list of built ones, and it stays that way on purpose.

Nothing here ships because a quarter ended. It ships when it's actually good.

Illustrator first. Everything else came after, mostly out of stubbornness.

Writes it, draws it, models it, builds it, and decides what the agents are allowed to touch. Based in Kingston, working out of the gap between commercial jobs.

The game is about a kid trying to earn his way back to being whole and being wrong about that — you don't earn it, it's given. That idea sits under the studio too. Grace is the thing under all of this. The agents just keep the work honest while it gets made.

Nobody talked down to you. That was the whole trick.

It ran deep-space bumpers between episodes with more craft than most of what they framed. It assumed you could follow a plot that took months. It was cool the way a thing is cool when it isn’t performing for you — it just was, at midnight, whether you tuned in or not.

That register is what I’m after. Mysterious without being cold. Sci-fi without being sterile. Serious about a silly premise, and never once winking about it.

That’s the thesis. Everything else here is delivery.

The church doesn’t have a message problem. It has a communication problem — not enough people who make things also happen to believe, so the work that gets made lands stiff, and stiffness reads as untrue even when it isn’t.

So I take the uncanny and make it familiar. A monkey with a loot crate on his head. A corgi in sunglasses. Get somebody to care about that, and the rest arrives on its own — no altar call, no lesson at the end of the episode.

Nobody gets preached at. If a scene needs a line of dialogue to explain its moral, the line gets cut and the scene gets fixed instead.

People forget how much material is in that book. Angels that look nothing like the ones on greeting cards. The nephilim. Cosmology, genetics, an account of how everything started. It’s the strangest library most people never actually open — and if you believe it, which I do, you’re not borrowing mythology. It’s real, and that makes it heavier to handle, not lighter.

It was never all austerity either. For all we know Jesus owned a chihuahua. I like thinking about them as people, because they were.

He met me in a season I would not choose again — the kind where you lose the thread of who you are and have to be handed it back.I didn’t reason my way in. I was found.