Every machine in the house, with its manual, its fault codes and its part numbers in one place, so a blinking error light is a lookup rather than an afternoon.
Raiden is the newest and least-built member of the personal crew. What exists today is a runnable, branded shell with an appliance list. Manual parsing, fault-code diagnostics and parts cross-referencing (the actual product) are not built. This page describes the intent as much as the article.
A dishwasher throws an error code. The code means something specific and documented, and finding out what takes a search through results written for a different model, a PDF that opens on a laptop in another room, and a parts catalogue that wants a serial number printed inside the door.
None of that is hard. It's just tedious enough, often enough, that the machine gets ignored until it fails properly. The whole ambition here is to collapse it: which machine, what's it saying, what does the book say, what part do I order.
Every machine in the house (name, brand, model, notes) as the spine everything else hangs off. This part runs today.
Turn the manufacturer PDF into structured, searchable text per appliance, the way the workshop manual already works in the motorcycle app next door.
Enter the code the machine is showing, get what it means for that model, what causes it, and what to check first.
Part numbers cross-referenced per appliance, so ordering the right component doesn't start with crawling behind the machine to read a sticker.
雷 is thunder. The identity is electric chartreuse on a dark ground: the one hue in the crew's accent range that nothing else had claimed, and the right register for a tool about mains-powered machines that have started complaining.
Like its siblings, Raiden was forked out of the main dashboard into its own standalone app while keeping the lineage: the family naming, the covert build markers, the same underlying design language, its own front door.