Walter is elbow deep in a haphazardly bolted together looking machine, wires and circuity streaming out and pooling on the floor. Tools are everywhere, and there are the remnants of several milkshakes in a small space off to the side. There are notes and schematics and formulae scribbled on the three tablet-boards scattered around the room. An unmarked beaker rests beside a cold bunsen burner, a third filled with a pale pinkish substance. The music system is kicking out Holst, though not so loud as to hear Trygstad.

He gives Michael a nod and a small smile. They're coming along rather well, if not a wee bit ahead of schedule. Sleeping for about forty-five minutes, in fifteen minute bits, helps.

"Doctor. What's happened?" Walter doesn't like 'very strange'. He doesn't have time for distractions.