The invisible machinery behind live sports — the systems nobody sees on game day because they never fail.
Excel in, boardroom-ready documents out. Live PDF preview, legal blocks, margin math, multi-currency.
Salesforce replaced with how the business actually sells. Field-ops dashboards as operational truth.
Assistants and knowledge wired into Slack, docs and email. Real answers, no fake shit.
Brief in, board-perfect proofs out. Deterministic, versioned, licensed per credit.
Real systems, live in production.
The pricing-to-proposal platform for a national LED display company.
W/02Complete migration off Salesforce — years of deal history carried over.
W/03Intake, design queue, ticketing, event workflows — operational truth.
W/04Metered graphics engine for venue signage. Brief in, proofs out.
W/05Generated cinematic pages for sports orgs. Brand kit in, live page out.
Every career is a corridor of doors. These are the real fourteen — call center to co-founder, Amman to Manchester — walked in order. Some were open at the same time. That part is true too.














The systems behind the stages: proposal engine, CRM, services operations, the AI layer — and separately owned, the metered render engine. The corridor above explains how a call-center supervisor in Amman ended up building the software that runs stadium LED businesses.
Every system above can be yours — built, licensed, and handed over running.
Hoodie in a rain alley. Self-taught. Nobody handed him anything.
The hoodie becomes a charcoal suit mid-stride. The street becomes a corridor.
Four chrome robots. Sparks and coolant. He doesn't blink.
He faces the ambient AI that runs them all — and shakes its hand in a burst of light.
Balcony above an army in formation. He nods — they move.
The army disperses into rivers of light. The work begins.
A holographic workfloor. Dashboards, data, renders — the machines build for him now.
A faceless client dumps tangled red chaos on the table.
He snaps his fingers. Red chaos becomes clean amber order.
Infinite hall of screens, each a different life he could have lived.
They collapse into one sphere of light in his palm.
He gives it to the client — who becomes a real person.
Hundreds of figures, each with their own sphere and army.
His hand flickers to wireframe. Something is wrong.
A screen types him into existence. He was the output.
Screens within screens. Every figure has his face.
Snap to the exact first shot. He was never holding the pen.