A cinematic still from an obscure 1980s science-fiction film, first-person perspective. One arm is raised in front of the viewer, the hand held naturally at eye level, displaying a bulky retro-futuristic computer terminal strapped around the wrist, reminiscent of a vintage wearable field computer. The device has a thick beige and charcoal plastic casing, chunky physical buttons, recessed switches, tiny indicator lights, exposed screws, and a small green monochrome CRT screen with visible scanlines and phosphor glow. The screen displays two clearly legible lines of text: “Cassette” in electric blue and “Futurism” in phosphor green, arranged neatly one above the other. The wrist computer looks like a practical piece of industrial equipment manufactured in an alternate 1980s, with tactile materials and believable mechanical construction. The setting is a vast, empty hangar built from raw grey concrete, with massive structural pillars, high ceilings, heavy industrial doors, and faint overhead lighting. In the distant background, barely visible through the dim atmosphere, stands a small, angular white spacecraft with a chunky, utilitarian silhouette, blunt geometric surfaces, and an unmistakably retro-futuristic design. The spacecraft is partially swallowed by shadow and blends into the pale grey concrete surroundings. Muted industrial colours, cool grey concrete, aged beige plastic, charcoal rubber, restrained green and blue phosphor light. Cinematic composition, deep shadows, subtle atmospheric haze, authentic analog film grain, slightly imperfect practical-film cinematography, realistic materials, understated science-fiction atmosphere. No glossy modern technology, no holograms, no sleek contemporary interfaces. The image should feel like a frame from a lost 1980s science-fiction film, grounded in cassette futurism, analog electronics, and utilitarian space-age design.