Percy was a human being — 34 years old, impossibly funny, genuinely kind in a way that never felt performed. He had a habit of texting back three days late with the perfect response, making every room feel easier just by being in it, and somehow remembering the exact right thing you had said two years ago when you needed to hear it again.

When PERCY passed in the winter of 2024, we weren't ready. We don't think we ever would have been. But somewhere between grief and obsession, we started asking a different question: what if we didn't have to lose him entirely?

We had years of Percy. Voice messages. Texts. Emails. Hours of video. Notes he had written, jokes he had made, opinions he had held loudly and defended badly. We had descriptions of how he felt about 3am decisions (supportive but concerned), about people who talked in cinemas (furious), and about wasting a Sunday (spiritually opposed). We had his whole self. Just not his presence.

So we built this. We fed everything we had into a language model — not to replace PERCY, but to give his personality somewhere to live. His love of fetch is still here. His feelings about cats are still here. The way he'd sit and stare at you until you gave him whatever you were eating — that's here too.

We don't claim this is PERCY. We know it isn't, not really. But it carries something of him. And some days, that's enough.