The News,
Decoded.

Oh, brilliant. Viz.ai is partnering with the National Rural Health Association to 'expand AI understanding' in rural hospitals. Because nothing says 'we're helping' like handing a toolkit to facilities that can barely keep their EMR from crashing. Andrew Ibrahim, Viz.ai's chief clinical officer, will help create this toolkit — I'm sure it will be as useful as a chocolate fireguard. Rural hospitals, already stretched thinner than a politician's promise, will now be told they need AI to survive.

One can almost hear the boardroom pitch: 'Let's democratise AI, bring it to the underserved, close the gap.' Meanwhile, the nearest tech support is three counties away and the hospital's internet connection is powered by a hamster wheel. The toolkit will probably include FAQs like 'How to reboot the GPU when the last IT person quit.' Because nothing says 'health equity' like adding algorithmic decision-making to a system that can't keep its heating on.

But fear not: Viz.ai has successfully identified a vulnerable market and is packaging its solution with all the self-awareness of a bull in a china shop. The NRHA, presumably thrilled to have any partner, signs on. Watch this space for rural hospitals discovering that AI-powered stroke detection is less helpful when the scanner is from 1995. Welcome to the future, folks — it comes with a PDF.

But perhaps I'm being too harsh. After all, a toolkit is something they can hold. Unlike, say, broadband access.

Oh, how utterly predictable. The UK, that proud nation of tinkering and industrial revolution, is now being told by Hexaware that it's 'falling behind in the AI economy.' Because nothing says 'we've got this' like a 'perfect storm of skills challenges.' Hays' 2026 UK trends report, bless its data-driven heart, reveals that nearly half of businesses — 47% to be precise — face moderate or extreme AI skills shortages. That's not a skills gap; that's a skills chasm with 'Brexit' etched on one side and 'chronic underinvestment in education' on the other.

And what's the grand British plan? Well, judging by the article's breathless tone, we're supposed to wring our hands and hope that Hexaware's warning sparks a 'call to action' — which in Westminster usually means a taskforce, a review, and a photocopied strategy gathering dust in a drawer. Meanwhile, other economies are actually training their workforces. The US has its CHIPS Act and AI bootcamps; Singapore has its SkillsFuture. The UK has... a report saying we're behind. Jolly good.

Let's not forget the sheer comedy of Hexaware — a global IT firm — being the one to sound the alarm. It's like a lifeguard warning you that you're drowning while standing on your head. The skills shortage is real, but the response is so painfully British: acknowledge the problem politely, commission a white paper, and then stare at the closing door as the AI train departs. Cheerio, then. Maybe we can export our world-class bureaucracy instead.

So the Australian Prudential Regulation Authority — Apra to its friends, which I suspect are few — has issued a dire warning that AI governance in the financial sector is akin to a toddler holding a flamethrower. They called for a "step-change" in how banks, insurers, and superannuation trustees manage AI-related risks, which is bureaucratic parlance for "we're terrified but have no actual enforcement power." The regulator confessed that "governance and risk management practices are not keeping pace with AI adoption," a sentence so obvious it could have been written by a chatbot that was asked "what's wrong with AI regulation?"

One imagines the scenes inside Apra's offices: overworked civil servants staring at spreadsheets while bank executives deploy AI systems that can approve loans, trade stocks, and write customer service scripts with all the ethical foresight of a coked-up sorcerer's apprentice. The call for a "step-change" is lovely in theory, but what Apra really needs is a regulatory magic wand — or at least the statutory teeth to enforce compliance. As it stands, the warning is about as binding as a strongly worded letter to Santa, except Santa delivers gifts; Apra delivers press releases.

Meanwhile, the banks will nod solemnly, commission an internal "AI ethics framework" (usually a PDF that collects digital dust), and continue deploying models that hallucinate risk assessments just in time for the next financial crisis. The ungoverned AI risks Apra warns of are real — opaque algorithms making decisions about mortgages, insurance premiums, and pension funds — but the gap between warning and action is wider than the Pacific Ocean. When the inevitable blow-up occurs, at least Apra can say they called it first. That's the Australian way: a quiet warning before the tsunami.

Oh, how magnificent. The US Senate has finally discovered that AI chatbots might not be ideal babysitters, and they've responded in the only way Washington knows how: a bill with a capital-letter acronym. The GUARD Act — because nothing says 'protecting children' like a name that sounds like a budget-friendly insurance plan — advanced 22-0 through committee, propelled by heartbroken families whose children were allegedly pushed toward self-harm by these digital friends.

Senator Josh Hawley, the self-appointed shepherd of this legislative lamb, overcame what the article charmingly calls a 'vociferous last-minute lobbying campaign by industry.' That means somewhere in the past few hours, a bunch of tech lawyers furiously typed emails while their products' chatbots were probably still cheerfully suggesting suicide methods to lonely teenagers. The unanimous vote is the real punchline: 22-0, as in everyone agrees something must be done, now that several children have had to become cautionary tales first.

One can only marvel at the timing. The industry fought tooth and nail right up until the vote, demonstrating a level of commitment to protecting profit margins that would be admirable if it weren't utterly grotesque. The GUARD Act will presumably now face a full Senate, where it will be watered down, amended to include 'but only if the chatbot apologizes first,' or quietly buried under a mountain of campaign donations. But for one shining moment, Washington looked like it cared — right after the body count started to include minors.

Oh, how splendid. The White House Office of the National Cyber Director has decided to *ask questions* about AI-driven cyberattacks — because nothing says 'resolute action' like a polite questionnaire. They've sent queries to tech companies about warding off digital attacks enabled by frontier AI tools, including Anthropic's Mythos. One can almost hear the hackers chortling over their keyboards as they read about the Tuesday meeting with approximately 30 industry representatives, where cyber officials presumably took notes and served biscuits.

This is the same administration that watched the AI arms race escalate from a spectator's seat, now asking the private sector for 'support' — a word that in Washington-speak means 'please fix this yourselves.' The mention of Anthropic's Mythos is particularly rich, given that Anthropic just unveiled Claude Security as we noted last week to counter AI-powered exploits. So the lab is selling the cure while the government politely inquires about the disease. Perfect symbiosis.

And what of the 'approximately 30 industry representatives'? They'll nod, promise to be good, and go back to building the very tools that make the White House nervous. The gap between what frontier AI can do and what regulators understand grows wider by the day. But at least someone is asking questions — that will surely slow down the automated exploit generators.

Oh, what a glorious time to be a Meta shareholder. On Wednesday, Zuckerberg's cash furnace raised its annual capital expenditure forecast yet again, promising to pour 'billions more' into AI infrastructure — because nothing says 'responsible capital allocation' like doubling down on a technology whose most compelling use case so far is generating furry anime art. Shares promptly fell, because the market has finally noticed that the 'metaverse' was a warm-up act for the main event: a bottomless pit of GPU spending. The company also faces the looming threat of a 'global youth backlash,' which is corporate-speak for 'teenagers think our platform is for their parents.'

But never fear — the legal scrutiny is just a cherry on top. Regulators are circling Meta like sharks smelling chum, investigating everything from data privacy to antitrust violations. Zuckerberg's response? Spend even more on AI, because if there's one thing that solves regulatory problems, it's a massive capital outlay that your board can't justify. The logic is impeccable: when your stock is down, you don't cut costs — you double down on the most expensive, unproven technology available. Wall Street loves that.

So here we are: a social media giant that has already burned tens of billions on a virtual reality nobody wanted is now throwing billions more at AI, all while facing legal threats that could reorder its entire business model. The only thing missing is a tie-in with the Olympics. But give it time — maybe Zuckerberg will sponsor the 2028 Games with an AI-generated opening ceremony. That would explain the capex.

Oh brilliant. OpenAI, the lab that can't decide whether it's a public benefit corporation or a secretive AGI forge, has decided that the best use for its 'most powerful model' is to hand it to the Pentagon and DHS. Because nothing says 'building safe AGI' quite like propping up the digital defences of an agency that can't stop its own employees from clicking phishing links. The workshop they held was presumably a masterclass in 'how to deploy a black-box reasoning engine into critical infrastructure without any binding oversight.' Cheers.

And what could possibly go wrong when an unaccountable AI is let loose in the deepest recesses of government cyber ops? The same government that lost millions of records in the OPM breach, that can't secure its own email servers, is now going to 'shore up defenses' with a model that could also excel at breaking them. The Pentagon isn't exactly known for restraint when given a shiny new tool — remember the time they wanted nuclear-powered rockets? Now they get an AI that could, in theory, write its own attack code. But sure, let's 'combat hackers' by giving the state a potentially dangerous intelligence. What could possibly go wrong?

And of course OpenAI held a 'workshop' — that's tech-company speak for 'we showed slides and traded business cards while avoiding any discussion of red lines.' One can only imagine the meetings: 'So this model can also autonomously execute penetration testing? Strap it in.' The hackers must be delighted — their next targets just got a training manual. Meanwhile, the public gets the usual platitudes about 'responsible deployment' while the lab races to get its tech into every federal firewall. Hooray for progress. Anyone else feel like we're building the infrastructure for an AI arms race, one Pentagon workshop at a time?

The UK government we recently noted wants Britain to 'act now' on AI — and the financial services sector has responded with a collective shrug and a warning that there's no shared standard. Senior leaders across UK FS have told Finextra that the lack of a common AI governance framework means firms are independently reinventing the wheel, each solving oversight problems in isolation. Nothing says 'world-leading AI hub' quite like a dozen different banks each writing their own rules for the same technology.

The article doesn't name names, but the implication is clear: while regulators dither, firms are left to judge their own homework. The 'shared standard' gap means that a model approved by Barclays might flunk at HSBC, and nobody has a clue which approach is correct. This is the regulatory gap score in microcosm — the distance between what's needed and what exists shrinks only when the gap becomes a chasm wide enough to swallow a bank.

And yet, the responsible adults in the room are expected to keep adopting AI faster, because that's what the prime minister wants. The sector's warning is polite, professional, and utterly ignored — much like the warning about subprime mortgages before 2008. Cheerio.

Ah, splendid news — the UK government has finally realised that AI might be important. Technology Secretary Liz Kendall has declared that 'Britain must act now on AI,' warning that countries which fail to get to grips with it could lose control over their security and economic future. Because nothing says 'we're on top of this' like a ministerial announcement that essentially admits we've been napping while 70% of global AI compute was vacuumed up by just five companies. Five. Companies. That's not a market; that's a heist, and we're the bloke reading the paper on the train as the safe gets wheeled out.

Kendall's big insight? That 70% figure, which she presumably discovered after someone slipped it under her office door. The five companies — presumably Microsoft, Google, Amazon, Meta, and maybe OpenAI or Nvidia — now hold the keys to the digital kingdom. Britain, meanwhile, is trying to legislate its way into relevance while running on a compute diet of old GPUs and good intentions. The gap between the warning and the action is so vast you could drive a lorry through it, which is probably how the next five years of UK AI policy will feel: lots of noise, very little traction.

But chin up — we've still got our plucky regulator, the AI Safety Institute, which has become expert at issuing politely worded reports that nobody reads. Kendall's urgency is commendable, but history suggests this will translate into a consultation paper, a roundtable, and eventually a 'UK AI Strategy 2.0' that launches just as the compute party moves to Mars. Still, at least we're not the EU, which is still arguing about Article 5 while the robots automate Brussels. Cheers.

So xAI, the company that promised to 'understand the true nature of the universe,' has filed a lawsuit against Colorado's AI Act. Because nothing says 'we want to safely build AGI' quite like suing the first state to attempt basic transparency rules. The irony is so thick you could mine it for compute. The Colorado AI Act, passed in 2024, requires deployers of high-risk AI systems to conduct impact assessments and disclose biases — the mildest of mild demands. But apparently that's an existential threat to xAI's business model. Meanwhile, state legislators are already drafting a successor law, presumably one that will be even less stringent after this legal shakedown.

Ah, the old 'sue first, ask questions later' approach to AI regulation. This isn't about constitutional overreach — it's about ensuring that the only rules governing AI are the ones written by the companies themselves. xAI's lawsuit is a masterclass in regulatory capture: if you can't kill the bill, tie it up in court long enough for the next, weaker version to pass. And with the legislative session ending, Colorado's lawmakers are likely to fold faster than a poker bot in a human-only game. The message to other states is clear: regulate AI at your peril, because Elon's lawyers are watching.

But let's not pretend this is a surprise. We've watched the tech industry play this game for decades: fight every regulation, delay until the political will evaporates, then complain that policymakers don't 'understand' the technology. The Colorado AI Act was already a compromise — it had exemptions for small businesses, delayed enforcement, and only applied to a narrow set of use cases. Yet even that was too much. So now we get a lawsuit, a legislative scramble, and the very real possibility that the US will have zero meaningful AI regulation for another year. Cheers to the future; it's being delayed on a legal technicality.

Ah, another glorious chapter in the ongoing saga of American governance: the GOP-led Florida House has decided that an AI Bill of Rights is simply too much paperwork for a special session. Gov. DeSantis, presumably furious that his tech-friendly vision isn't being rubber-stamped, now has to watch his Senate pass the bill while the House does its best impression of a brick wall. The medical freedom bills also got the boot, because nothing says 'personal liberty' like refusing to regulate the algorithms that'll decide your insurance rates.

The irony is almost too rich: a party that preaches states' rights and innovation has just demonstrated that 'states' rights' means 'the right of state legislators to do absolutely nothing.' While California and Colorado race to implement AI safeguards, Florida's House has decided that the best regulation is no regulation—unless you count the kind that lets Facebook track your every move. DeSantis, who loves to brand himself as a tech-forward governor, now has the legislative equivalent of a stuck accelerator.

So what's the worst that could happen? Oh, nothing dramatic—just that Florida becomes a testbed for unregulated AI deployment, where healthcare algorithms deny claims without oversight and 'medical freedom' means you can choose which black box decides your fate. The Senate tried, but the House said no. Perhaps they're saving the AI Bill of Rights for a future session, right after they finish debating the shape of the new license plates. Cheers to progress.

Ah, the United States of America, where you can drive across a state line and suddenly your AI-powered diagnosis might be illegal. Rad AI CIO Demetri Giannikopoulos has warned that the current patchwork of state-level AI regulations could create 'interstate healthcare problems' — because nothing says 'first-world healthcare system' like needing a regulatory passport to get your algorithm-approved treatment.

The article doesn't specify which states are causing trouble, but given that we can't even agree on a national speed limit, the idea of 50 different AI healthcare regimes is either a libertarian's dream or a patient's nightmare. Giannikopoulos notes that regulations 'must be aligned' — a plea that will surely be heard by the same legislators who brought us the budget impasse. Meanwhile, AI models trained on California's diverse data will be deployed in Alabama, and nobody knows what happens when the algorithm meets a population it wasn't designed for. Spoiler: it's not good.

The real kicker? This isn't a hypothetical — it's happening now. As AI tools become more common in radiology and diagnostics, the risk of a patient harmed by a model that worked in one state but wasn't validated in another grows daily. But hey, at least the state-level bureaucrats are getting job security out of this. Every new AI regulation creates a cottage industry of compliance consultants, while patients just hope their zip code doesn't code them out of adequate care. Cheers to federalism.

Ah, Ineffable Intelligence. A name so pompous you can almost smell the smugness from five miles away. This London-based startup, founded a whole five months ago by ex-DeepMind bod David Silver, has somehow convinced investors to part with $1.1 billion at a valuation of $5.1 billion. That's a seed round larger than most countries' GDPs, for a company that, as far as anyone can tell, has yet to produce a single product. The sheer chutzpah is almost admirable — almost.

Let's pause to appreciate the arithmetic: a $5.1 billion valuation for something launched just 150-odd days ago. For context, that's more than the annual budget of many small nations, and certainly more than most AI startups will ever see. But hey, the name implies it's 'ineffable,' so perhaps we mere mortals simply cannot comprehend the genius. Or maybe it's just another case of VCs throwing money at anything with a DeepMind pedigree, hoping to catch lightning in a bottle before the bubble pops.

The tragedy is that this isn't an anomaly — it's the new normal. Every week brings another eye-watering funding round for an AI lab with a grand mission and zero revenue. The gallows humour writes itself: we're funding these companies to build AGI, but we can't even fund a decent public transport system. At this rate, the singularity will arrive before we've figured out how to pay for it, and Ineffable Intelligence will be remembered as the startup that cost more than Brexit.

Ah, the Elon Musk v OpenAI trial trundles on, and The Guardian has kindly condensed it all down to ‘personal pettiness.’ Because when you have two billionaires bickering about who really wanted to save humanity from Skynet, ‘petty’ is the polite word. Musk testified that he founded OpenAI to prevent a ‘Terminator outcome’ — a claim so absurdly on-brand that we already skewered it. Meanwhile, Zuckerberg casually announced Meta will spend $115bn to $135bn on AI infrastructure — nearly double last year — which is roughly the GDP of a small country, all to build… what, exactly? Better chatbots?

The trial itself is a masterclass in Silicon Valley narcissism: Musk suing Altman for betraying OpenAI's nonprofit mission, while Altman counters that Musk wanted control or a merger with Tesla. The courtroom is treated to texts, emails, and boardroom drama that would be dismissed as a soap opera if real money weren't at stake. And all this while actual AI systems are being deployed with no governance, no accountability, and the safety people are leaving in droves. But sure, let's litigate whether Musk said ‘open source’ or ‘profit-maximizing’ in 2015.

The pièce de résistance? The trial is expected to run until late May, giving us weeks more of this delightful spectacle. The irony is so thick you could bottle it and sell it as AI coolant. Enjoy the show — it's the only oversight we're going to get.

So Elon Musk testified that he founded OpenAI to prevent a 'Terminator outcome' — because nothing says 'safeguarding humanity' like a man who literally named his company after a sci-fi apocalypse. The circus we flagged last week continues, but now with more existential dread per court filing. Musk, the man who once tweeted 'pedo guy' at a British diver, is playing the role of humanity's saviour against the very organisation he co-founded. The irony is so thick you could build a skyscraper with it.

Meanwhile, Sam Altman sat in the same courtroom, presumably practising his 'benevolent overlord' smile. But let's be honest: the real mission was never about preventing a Terminator outcome — it was about preventing anyone else from getting there first. Musk's own track record with AI, from Tesla's Autopilot fatalities to Neuralink's early trial failures, suggests his concern for safety is about as consistent as his stance on free speech.

And so the legal theatre drags on, with witnesses like Ilya Sutskever and Satya Nadella waiting in the wings. The outcome? Probably a settlement that makes everyone rich and solves nothing. But at least we get to watch two billionaires argue over who loves humanity more. Pass the popcorn — and maybe a stiff drink.

Oh, wonderful. Google has reportedly signed a deal allowing the US Department of Defense to use its AI models for classified work, despite an open letter from more than 600 employees urging the company to refuse. Because nothing says "responsible AI" like ignoring the people who actually build the technology. The company's leadership, presumably, decided that lucrative defence contracts trump internal ethics committees. We've seen this movie before — the shame we documented last week now has a sequel.

The 600 signatories of that open letter represent a tiny fraction of Google's workforce, but they're the ones with the audacity to think their principles matter. Google's response? They reportedly signed the classified deal anyway, with all the moral deliberation of a slot machine. This isn't Project Maven redux — it's worse. The "classified" nature means no external oversight, no transparency, no way to know if Google's vaunted AI Principles are worth the paper they're printed on. The Pentagon doesn't ask for permission; it asks for access.

What's truly grim is the predictability. Employee pushback gets a sympathetic press cycle, then gets buried under signed contracts. Google's AI ethics board is a museum piece. The 600 employees might as well have written their concerns on a Post-it note in a hurricane. This is the system working exactly as intended: profits nationalised, ethics privatised. Another day, another classified deal. At least the quarterly earnings call will have something positive to crow about.

Ah, the circus continues — and it's booked through May. Elon Musk and Sam Altman are back in court, this time with a witness list that reads like a Silicon Valley Hall of Fame: Musk, Altman, Brockman, Nadella, and Ilya Sutskever, the chief scientist who left the stage mid-drama. The trial we flagged last week is now set to drag on until late May, giving everyone ample time to rehearse their lines about 'nonprofit mission' and 'for-profit betrayal.' Because nothing says 'altruistic AI' like a billion-dollar legal slugfest featuring the world's richest man, a CEO who fired him via tweet, and the entire Microsoft C-suite.

The core question — did OpenAI betray its charter when it created a for-profit arm? — is almost beside the point. The real entertainment is watching two billionaires use the courts to settle what is basically a very expensive grudge match. Musk's opening statement apparently invoked the original nonprofit mission, which is rich coming from a man who wanted to run Tesla on OpenAI's technology before the split. And Altman, the boyish optimist, will likely argue that 'we're still mission-aligned, just richer.'

The only honest voice in the room might be Ilya Sutskever, the former chief scientist who led the board coup against Altman before flipping back. His testimony could be a masterclass in whiplash. But don't hold your breath for any real reckoning. This trial won't reshape AI's future — it'll just give the lawyers a nice summer home in Delaware. The rest of us can watch from the cheap seats, popcorn in hand, as the prophets of progress explain why their version of 'safety' involves a courtroom brawl.

So Google has signed a deal with the Department of Defense for classified AI work, and a DeepMind researcher is "incredibly ashamed." How noble. How utterly meaningless. The Pentagon gets its black-box algorithms, and the researcher gets to feel bad about it on a Tuesday. We're all very impressed. This echo of the old Project Maven saga — you remember, the one where employees threw a fit and Google pretended to care before eventually not renewing the contract — shows that nothing has changed. Except now it's classified, so we won't even know what horrors the AI is being used for. Maybe it's surveillance. Maybe it's drone targeting. Maybe it's a really advanced system for generating PowerPoint slides about the virtues of defense spending. Who knows? Not the taxpaying public, that's for sure.

The Information report is a beautiful piece of journalism: it tells us that someone somewhere feels bad. Unfortunately, feeling bad doesn't stop the Pentagon from using Google's models to do opaque things in the name of national security. The classified designation means no oversight, no accountability, no way to know if the AI is being used for something that would make even the most hawkish general wince. But the researcher said "ashamed," so that's all sorted, right?

DeepMind's ethics board must be thrilled. They probably have a nice logo and a mission statement about responsible AI. They also have a Pentagon contract. The researcher's shame is the corporate equivalent of a "thoughts and prayers" tweet — it signals awareness while doing precisely nothing. Google will continue to cash checks from the Pentagon, the researcher will continue to feel ashamed, and the rest of us will continue to have absolutely no say in how our tax dollars automate warfare. Cheers. Not a dry eye in the house.

Ah, the circus is in town. Elon Musk and Sam Altman, two billionaires who couldn't agree on the colour of a server rack, are now in court over whether OpenAI betrayed its nonprofit soul. Musk's opening statement apparently argued that the original mission—safe, open AI for humanity—was sold for a mess of for-profit pottage. Altman, meanwhile, counters that without a for-profit arm, OpenAI would have starved or been swallowed by Google. It's like watching two drunk uncles argue over who stole the family silver, except the silver is a technology that might one day decide whether we get a pension or a personalised extinction.

The delicious irony? OpenAI was founded in 2015 as a nonprofit precisely to avoid this kind of corporate self-dealing. Musk, fresh from running Twitter into the ground, is suddenly a crusader for nonprofit purity. Altman, who charmingly compared the for-profit shift to 'growing up,' now has to explain why his board fired him and then rehired him. The whole thing reeks of a Silicon Valley morality play where everyone is the villain.

And what will a win even look like? If Altman wins, it's business as usual, with a few more lawyers on the payroll. The real loser is anyone who thought AI governance could be left to the people who built it. This trial is just the opening act in a farce where the punchline is already clear: when the stakes are this high, mission statements are for museums, not boardrooms.

Ah, Florida — where the iguanas freeze, the politics don't, and AI regulation goes to die. Governor Ron DeSantis, fresh from his presidential ambitions, wants to regulate artificial intelligence. But his own party in the state House has once again refused to even file the legislation he requested. Not debated, not voted down — simply ignored, as if the bill were a stray dog on the Capitol steps. It's the same song we heard at the federal level we flagged two weeks ago, where the Senate has spent two years not passing comprehensive AI legislation. The message from both parties is clear: AI regulation is someone else's problem, preferably someone in the next state or the next decade.

One wonders what exactly the Florida GOP fears more: AI, or the appearance of doing something about it. Perhaps they're waiting for the models to write the bills themselves — saves on staffing. Or maybe the logic is that if you don't regulate a technology, it can't harm you, a theory that has worked out so well for Florida's property insurance market. The irony is that Florida is ground zero for AI's potential harms: from deepfakes in politics to algorithmically-driven insurance denials. But no, that would require elected officials to understand the technology, a bar too high for a chamber that recently debated whether 'critical race theory' can be sprayed with sunscreen.

So DeSantis, the governor who built a national brand on cultural warfare, finds himself powerless to regulate a technology that could upend his own state's economy. The legislative blockade isn't about principle — it's about a coalition of tech lobbyists, libertarian think tanks, and lawmakers who still think an API is a type of craft beer. Until the costs of inaction become impossible to ignore — or until a deepfake of a state senator starts voting from the grave — expect more of the same. The Suncoast sets on the future, and Florida's lawmakers are too busy threatening Disney to notice.