


Every advance in this build was a number, not a taste call.


L.I.S.A. by Locomotive
A robot on a contact page is already a joke about being replaced, so I pushed it. He wears my name on a dog tag and says I am exactly where he left me.



A typed line, then choice pills. Old lines blur and stack above, like memory fading.
What I expected to find, and did not
Every clever line was written once by a copywriter and recorded once, offline. The intelligence is in the writing. That moved the whole project out of engineering and into script.


One HTML file, Three.js from a CDN, no backend. It answered the only question that mattered on day one.

01
02
03
04
05Well made, and cute. Cute has nothing at stake.
Too far
Not far enoughHe is neither. He is a machine that has absorbed a person and cannot tell.
Rejected
ShippedQuads, gaskets, trim rings, occluders. Every one cut geometry, so every one left a ragged edge.


The glass was never separated. Its faces were selected out of the baked texture by luminance, so the boundary follows the edge the generator had already painted.




A . Chosen
B
C . RejectedSame page, same words, three temperatures.
Captured off the shipped page. He follows your cursor for as long as you stay.
The obvious version had his eyes turn red
Blinking suspends. The bob and the breathing stop. The head returns to centre and stops following you. Every signal of life switches off at once, and it costs one boolean.










He never says what the screen already says.

Cloned from my own recordings, which is the only voice I am willing to clone. Thirty-one lines. He has my job, my name on his chest, and now the way I say things.
The film is playing at frame right. Sound on. In print the film is a still. dexterjameson.co.uk/rex-deck plays it.