Morning.
I was sitting cross-legged on the floor of my apartment, tools scattered around me like confetti after a party. Lola lay nearby, tail wagging and eyes locked on the half-finished backpack I was working on. Her excitement was contagious.
"You could've let me sleep a little longer, you know."
"Woof woof!"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You've been dying to get your new backpack, but these things take time."
"Woof, woof!"
I had built three versions of the backpack already. Each one was a step forward—well, kind of.
The first prototype was more of a proof of concept. I modeled it using human hands as inspiration, curious if Lola could control robotic limbs with that kind of interface. Technically, it worked. She could move the hands. But in practice? It was nightmare fuel. Imagine a German Shepherd with disembodied human arms flailing around. It was like a scene from a bad horror BD. Creepy as hell. Not practical.
The second version took longer. This time, I referenced Doctor Octopus from Spider-Man. Four mechanical tentacles—classic Doc Ock style. The movement was solid, and Lola had a surprising knack for using them. But they were loud. Too loud. The whirrrrrr of metal on metal echoed through the apartment every time she moved. Plus, I had to make the backpack bulkier just to fit the arms. She ended up looking like a mini-mech dog from a forgotten sci-fi movie.
Finally, the third design—based on Olivia Octavius from Spider-Verse—was the winner.
This version featured two sleek, segmented tentacles that moved silently and smoothly, coated in a material that absorbed vibration. The backpack was smaller, lighter, and shaped like a cross between a military drone and an Iron Man chest plate, painted in deep, metallic purple with a subtle glow near the core. It looked cool as hell.
"All done," I said, setting the completed backpack on the floor. "Here, put it on. Let's see how it looks."
"Woof woof!" Lola barked and practically dove into it, tail wagging like a fan on overdrive.
The moment it latched onto her, the system came to life. Two light-purple tentacles emerged—one from the left, the other from the right—unfolding like mechanical snakes, fully under Lola's control.
"Alright, test time. Same drill. I'll throw six crystal glasses in the air. You catch them and stack 'em like a pyramid on the table. Ready?"
"Woof!"
"Okay… One. Two. Three!"
I tossed the glasses up. They spun in midair like slow-motion fireworks.
Lola's tentacles moved faster than I could blink—whip-crack snap!—and just like that, she caught all six. The limbs placed each glass on the table, one at a time, carefully stacking them into a pyramid. No sound. No breakage. Not even a wobble.
I whistled. "Damn. Nailed it. With this, we're done. Now we just need to store some healing items and ammo inside."
"Woof woof woof!" Lola jumped around the apartment like she just unlocked a Legendary skin.
"Okay, okay! Chill out! We still have to clean this place."
The room looked like a workshop had exploded. Wires, bolts, and broken circuits littered the floor. There were shards of glass in the corners, scorched kitchen tiles from a test gone wrong, and the TV was cracked—again.
Lola looked up at me with those big puppy-dog eyes, clearly trying to guilt trip me.
"Don't give me that look. You were the one who woke me up at the crack of dawn for your new toy. We haven't even had breakfast yet!"
"Woof!"
"Fine. You grab all the glass. I'll handle the parts."
Thanks to my system, I could dismantle anything I created and store it in my inventory. The only catch was that I couldn't dismantle something if someone was still holding it—I'd have to disarm them first. Fair enough.
Between the two of us, the cleanup didn't take long. The only thing still busted was the TV.
"I'll fix the TV later. Let's go eat."
"Woof."
Breakfast hit the spot. Afterward, I decided to work on something that'd been in my head for a while—the Focus, inspired by Horizon: Forbidden West. (I didn't play the first game, but whatever. I Googled the lore.)
Thanks to the chip I implanted near Lola's spine, she could control her backpack with ease. No needles, no implants, no risk. And since she was basically invincible, I didn't have to worry about complications.
I wanted to build something like that for humans now. Something light, compact, and smart.
The Focus was supposed to be a tiny triangle-shaped device, silver with a glowing blue strip down the center. It attached magnetically to the side of your head, scanning the area around you in real-time.
Its abilities were ridiculous:
Detect enemies, animals, machines—basically anything with a heat signature or data tag. Analyze weak points, behavior, movement patterns. Decrypt corrupted files, audio logs, even video fragments, reconstructing data in hours instead of years. And best of all, it could run AI-driven defense programs to block remote hacks.
"In the future, I'll create the machines from that game too," I muttered. "Air purifiers, soil cleaners, water processors. But first… I gotta make a name for myself. Otherwise, some corpo clown's gonna try to rip me off."
An hour in, I was still stuck.
"Man, this is harder than I thought. I'm literally building a supercomputer the size of my thumb."
"Woof."
I chuckled. "Yeah, I know it's useful. Especially with all the damn netrunners in Night City. One good hack and Jackie or V could be fried."
Lola tilted her head.
"Me and you? We're fine. I got countermeasures. But I need to make a firewall system inside the Focus that can protect others too. That means I gotta write a security protocol, train it, optimize it... Ugh. What a pain."
Just then, my phone rang.
Ring ring ring.
I answered. "Hello? Yeah, it's me… Oh? That was fast. Alright, send me the coordinates. I'll be there."
"Woof!"
That was Padre's guy. He found a warehouse on sale here in Heywood. The Focus could wait. This was important.
"Let's go, girl."
We pulled up to the location about thirty minutes later. The guy was waiting near the gate.
He handed me a dossier. "Used to be an Aerodyne service station. Big enough for vertical landing, hangar doors, underground storage—two basements."
It was exactly what I needed.
"Here's the money. Tell Padre he has my thanks."
He nodded and walked off.
I turned to look at the building again. The place was massive. Rusty on the outside, but the bones were strong. Reinforced steel walls, high ceilings, cargo lifts. The kind of place a merc crew could call home.
But it needed work.
A lot of work.
I started drawing up plans in my head:
First, reinforce the walls. I wasn't about to let some scav or rogue AV blow up my hideout. I used five layers of ballistic plating, then added ultra-dense iron sheets on the inside. Same thing with the ceiling and basements.
I'd seen too many movies where the main character hides from enemies in a weak-ass warehouse only for a rocket launcher or a flying drone to blow it all up. Nope. Not happening here. Safety first.
I took notes on everything that needed fixing—lighting, air filters, power routing. It was a long list, but doable.
By sundown, I was beat.
"Alright, we're done for today. Tomorrow, we'll call Jackie and V to help us out."
Before heading home, I opened my mod list and spawned a ride. I picked the Chevillon Emperor 620 Ragnar—the kind of car you summon when you want to make a statement.
The thing looked like a luxury tank. It was indestructible, had infinite ammo, and couldn't be flipped over. If someone tried to ram it, they'd bounce off like a toy car hitting a brick wall. The Ragnar didn't stop for anyone.
I opened the passenger door. "Let's go home, Lola."
"Woof."
She jumped in, tail thumping against the seat.
End of Chapter.
Disney keeps making one bad decision after another when it comes to their live-action adaptations.
If something worked in animation, keep it animated. Simple as that. I get that they want to change things up sometimes — new twists, updated visuals — but there's no need to dramatically change the characters we all grew up with. We know these characters from their original movies. They already had meaning, heart, and charm. Why ruin that?
I'm not saying they can't touch the stories. Sure, evolve the narrative if you must — but don't erase the core themes: dreams, happiness, family, facing your fears. Those messages are timeless.
Honestly, it feels like Pixar is the only branch of Disney still delivering quality — strong animation, great stories, memorable characters. They know how to hit you in the heart without trying too hard or losing what made the characters lovable.
And speaking of live-action movies…Does anyone remember the "Winnie the Pooh" film — Christopher Robin? I actually think it wasn't that bad. It didn't butcher the characters. Pooh was still Pooh — kind, gentle, gullible, always craving honey. Tigger still bounced around with energy. They were recognizable and lovable, just like in the old animated films.
Sure, Rabbit and Owl were real animals for some reason, not stuffed toys, but honestly? That didn't ruin anything. The story felt like a true continuation of the classic animations. They aged up Christopher Robin, sure — but his growth made sense, and they respected the heart of the story.
That's how you do it. You change some things, but you don't lose what matters.