Dustin's expression flattens, even as he tentatively reaches out to accept the goggles for inspection. "Aesthetics, then," he murmurs, putting his communications device down on the workbench so he can turn the goggles over in both hands, then holds them up to his eyes - first the wrong way around and from several inches in front of his face, squinting critically at the lenses, before flipping them around so he can actually look through them (albeit from a half inch away; he still doesn't trust that they won't do something Weird if he straps them on). Some seconds go by while his eyes flicker, drinking in all of the readouts.

Then he passes them back without fanfare. "Custom software?"