The News,
Decoded.

Oh, brilliant — Israel's Health Ministry has discovered the nuclear option: switch it off. They've blocked external AI tools in public hospitals to 'protect patient privacy and prevent cyberattacks.' Because nothing says 'cutting-edge cybersecurity' like retreating to the digital equivalent of a rotary phone. Never mind that doctors, nurses, and administrators will just whip out their personal smartphones to access the same tools on 4G, bypassing the hospital network entirely. A ban that inconveniences the honest and does precisely nothing to stop a determined bad actor? Classic bureaucratic gold. ✨

The Ministry must think AI is a physical object you can confiscate, like a bag of crisps at a cinema. 'No outside food or drink allowed' — except the 'food' is a constantly evolving, universally accessible technology living on every employee's personal device. The directive is a charmingly analogue solution to a digital problem, the kind that makes IT security managers weep into their coffee. Oh, and let's not forget the message this sends to the public: 'We have no idea how to secure AI, so we're pretending it doesn't exist.' Reassuring stuff for anyone about to go under the knife.

And while the Health Ministry fiddles with its router settings, the rest of the world marches on. But here in the Holy Land, the cutting edge is a block button. Cheers to the brave new world where 'cyber safety' means unplugging the modem. May your patient records remain safe from the scourge of… productivity.

Oh, marvellous — just when you thought the response to AI-driven job displacement couldn't get more predictably timid, along comes RAISE US, a $500 million task force co-chaired by former Commerce Secretary Gina Raimondo. The group's grand mission, as announced, is to "fund and pilot policies to reorient workers to an AI economy." That's bureaucrat-speak for "commission a few studies and hope for the best." $500 million in multi-year commitments sounds generous until you realise that Oracle alone spent more on severance last year, and they didn't need a catchy acronym. But hey, at least we have a logo.

The timing is impeccable. With tech companies laying off workers en masse and the government still debating whether AI is a security threat or a windfall, a multi-year committee is exactly the bold action needed. RAISE US promises "pilot policies" — the Washington equivalent of a homeopathy clinic for a pandemic. Because nothing says "urgent response to mass layoffs" like "let's deliberate and pilot a programme in one state."

One can only hope that RAISE US proves more efficient than the average commission. Realistically, the first two years will be spent defining "reorient," the next two on a website, and the final year on a press release celebrating "lessons learned." And if this $500 million runs out, there's always another task force. They're cheap to form and impossible to dissolve.

Ah, DeepSeek—the Chinese AI startup that supposedly *shocked the tech industry* with its low-cost model. Shocked them so much that the company immediately turned around and raised $7.4 billion at a $50 billion valuation. Because nothing says 'efficient disruption' like hoovering up a small nation's GDP in venture capital. Now it plans to double its workforce, presumably to hire people to figure out how to keep that low-cost model from burning cash while the investors—Tencent and CATL, because battery makers love large language models—twiddle their thumbs.

Let's savour the irony: DeepSeek's whole shtick was that it trained a competitive model for a fraction of the cost, terrifying Silicon Valley. But now it's spending like a drunken sailor on shore leave, doubling headcount after a mega-round. Either the 'low-cost' claim was always a bit of creative accounting, or they've realised that staying cheap means spending a lot to stay cheap. Perhaps the workforce doubling will include a new department of oxymoron management.

And what does this mean for the AI race? While US labs are busy getting vetted by the government like they're applying for a security clearance, China's favourite disruptor is splashing cash and hiring. Because when you're 'low-cost', you've got to spend big to prove it. The tech industry, shocked once, is now just shaking its head and reaching for another pint.

So now the U.S. government gets to decide who plays with OpenAI's latest toy. Just a week after the administration blessed Anthropic's Mythos 5 for over 100 institutions — a model it previously deemed too dangerous to share — they're back in the gatekeeper's chair. Apparently, consistency is a luxury, but arbitrary power over Silicon Valley is a necessity. One minute they're waving through powerful AI, the next they're vetting every company that wants a peek at the latest ChatGPT upgrade. Colour me shocked.

This 'major expansion of regulation' smells less like thoughtful governance and more like bureaucratic turf war dressed up as national security. The same administration that cried wolf about closed-source models is now deciding who among us is 'trusted' enough to access OpenAI's latest technology. Expect the criteria to be as opaque as a black box: maybe your company's past lobbying donations, maybe its CEO's Twitter history, maybe just a coin flip in a Pentagon basement. After all, we learned from prior coverage that the government's idea of 'trusted partners' is as predictable as a weather forecast from a chatbot.

And when the inevitable leak happens — because it will, because it always does — who'll get the blame? Not the government's vetting process, oh no. It'll be OpenAI's fault for not locking things down tighter, or the user's fault for not being sufficiently loyal. Meanwhile, the rest of us can watch from the sidelines as AI capability races ahead and the 'safety' narrative becomes a convenient cudgel for control. Pass the popcorn, and maybe don't apply for that vetting unless you've got a direct line to the White House.

Oh, marvellous — OpenAI has blessed us with GPT-5.6, a triumvirate of models named Sol, Terra, and Luna. Because nothing says 'cutting-edge AI' like naming your products after celestial bodies that we've already conquered. The company, in a move of breathtaking regulatory deference, has released these only as a 'limited preview' — which, of course, is exactly what they said about GPT-5.6 Sol when the government asked nicely last week. But this time it's different, you see? This time they've trained it to 'refuse prohibited cyber assistance.' Because that's clearly the safeguard that will stop a general intelligence from, say, helping a state actor build bioweapons.

The regulatory drama here is a farce on repeat. One minute the US government is lifting the block on Anthropic's Mythos 5 for 'over 100 institutions' — a model we were told was too dangerous to release just months ago as we noted. The next, they're cosying up to OpenAI with 'trusted partner' lists and cybersecurity reviews. The only consistent thing is the inconsistency: a revolving door of approval that has less to do with safety than with who's hosting the next White House AI summit.

And let's talk about 'limited preview.' It's the tech industry's favourite euphemism for 'we're still debugging in public.' The models — Sol, Terra, Luna — sound like a rejected boy band lineup, but they're the vanguard of a trillion-dollar industry that can't decide whether it's building a utopia or a surveillance state. OpenAI claims these models are 'trained to refuse' bad behaviour, but so was every model before it. The only thing this preview proves is that the AI safety debate has become a Kabuki theatre where everyone claps for the regulators, then grins and does exactly what they were going to do anyway.

Oh, how predictable. Just days after the US government patted itself on the back for releasing Anthropic's Mythos 5 to 'trusted partners,' it's now applying the same thoughtfulness to OpenAI. The Trump administration has requested that OpenAI restrict GPT-5.6 Sol to a 'small group of trusted partners' — which, in practice, means customers approved by the administration.

The prior arrangement we covered last week was already a masterclass in regulatory capture, but this elevates it to performance art. Who decides who's 'trusted'? The same people who'd rather control AI than understand it. And OpenAI, ever the eager collaborator, has complied — no doubt hoping that currying favour with the current administration pays off when the next election cycle rolls around.

So here we are: the shiniest new model, GPT-5.6 Sol, serving as a loyalty test. Want access? Keep your nose clean, donate to the right campaigns, and hope you're on the approved list. The future of AI has never been so innovatively, efficiently, and bureaucratically managed. Cheers to progress.

Oh, consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, and the U.S. government's mind is positively vast. After months of huffing and puffing, it finally released Anthropic's Mythos 5 to over 100 US institutions — a model previously deemed too risky for general release. Now, with a straight face, it has asked OpenAI to limit GPT-5.6 — comprising Sol, Terra, and Luna — to a 'small group of trusted partners.' Because nothing says coherent policy like blocking a model, then releasing it, then asking another company to keep its next-gen models under wraps. Cue OpenAI's compliant shrug.

The lineup itself — Sol, Terra, Luna — reads like a celestial theme park, which is appropriate, because we're all spinning in circles. OpenAI has dutifully complied, offering the obligatory 'restrictions shouldn't be the norm' hand-wringing, even as they enforce them. One imagines the lab's executives pursing their lips while signing the restriction order, muttering about the temporary nature of this inconvenience. Meanwhile, the government's ad-hoc approach continues: pick a model, any model, and decide its fate on a whim. The difference? Anthropic got the thumbs-up; OpenAI got a warning.

But cheer up: OpenAI says this isn't the new normal. Of course, that's precisely what one says when the new normal is already here. The real joke is that both sides agree: restrictions are bad, yet here we are, repeating the same pantomime with different actors. The government gets to play gatekeeper, OpenAI gets to claim reluctant compliance, and the rest of us get to wonder which model gets the next arbitrary thumbs-up or thumbs-down. At least the naming — Sol, Terra, Luna — offers a cosmic metaphor: we're orbiting the sun of hype, grounded by Terra's regulatory gravity, and dreaming of a Luna that might never arrive.

Oh, wonderful. After months of huffing and puffing about national security, the US government has decided that Anthropic's Claude Mythos 5 is, in fact, safe enough for more than 100 American institutions. What a principled pivot. The same administration that clamped down on Anthropic models to win allies is now handing them out like party favours. Apparently the threat level dropped the moment China wasn't looking.

The block was lifted with a straight face, and over 100 lucky US institutions get to play with Mythos 5 — a model so powerful it was deemed too dangerous for export, but perfectly fine for domestic deployment. Because nothing says "responsible AI governance" like releasing a frontier model to more than 100 entities without any public safety evaluation. The de-escalation is described as "major," which in government-speak means "we realized the Export Control Act made us look silly."

Mythos 5 is reportedly powerful. No word on what happens when 100 institutions start running it, fine-tuning it, or accidentally connecting it to the internet. Probably fine. The Trump Administration and Anthropic have apparently made peace, which is great news for anyone who believes that corporate-government harmony precedes public safety. Cheers to progress — pour one out for the export control regulations that tried to protect us.

Oh, splendid news from the ISC2 survey: AI isn't going to wipe out entry-level cybersecurity jobs. Instead, it's going to ‘reconsider’ them. Forty-four per cent of organizations are having a rethink, because nothing says job security like a boardroom full of execs pondering whether your role can be replaced by a chatbot that occasionally hallucinates. And the remaining 31% who think AI might create new entry-level roles? Bless their hearts. They’re probably the same people who thought the paperless office would save forests.

The survey also tells us that AI is ‘elevating the need for strategic, nontechnical skills.’ Translation: the actual cybersecurity work—configuring firewalls, cleaning up phishing victims—is now beneath us. We’re all junior strategists now, competing with entry-level grads who can’t write a regex but have a certificate in ‘AI governance.’ It’s the professional equivalent of being told the junior doctor role is safe—provided you learn to speak ‘patient flow optimisation.’

But fear not: the ISC2, the body that certifies cybersecurity professionals, assures us everything’s fine. They’ve surveyed their own members, and the answer is—surprise—‘more training needed.’ Naturally. And then we can explain to the auditors why the false positive rate is climbing. Because that’s strategic. That’s value-add.

Well, well, well. RBC Capital Markets has crunched the numbers and discovered something truly shocking: companies are spending a lot on AI, and they'd like to spend even more. A full half of respondents claim AI is already 'in production,' which in corporate speak usually means a chatbot that answers three questions before redirecting to a human. The research doesn't mention how many of these deployments are actually useful, but who cares when the spending line goes up?

This is the annual ritual of throwing billions at a technology that can't reliably tell you whether a cat is on a mat, let alone optimise your supply chain. The mantra is 'more half in production,' but production of what? Hype, mainly. The same companies that can't integrate a PDF parser are now confidently telling analysts they're 'all in on AI.' Just ask BlackBerry how well enterprise enthusiasm translates to lasting value.

And the punchline? Everyone is 'willing to spend even more' — presumably on the consultants who will tell them to spend even more next year. The research itself is probably being read by an AI somewhere, generating anodyne bullet points for a deck that will be presented to a board that nodded off five minutes ago. It's not a spending spree; it's a race to the bottom of the corporate budget, and RBC is handing out the running shoes.

Oh, splendid. The United States, having apparently learned nothing from the decade-long Huawei fiasco, has decided that export controls on AI models are the ticket to winning allies. The government's latest stroke of genius — slapping restrictions on Anthropic's newest models — has the AI industry 'grappling with fallout,' according to Axios. Former Commerce Department staffer Emily Weinstein cannily called it 'another example of the Huawei strategy in the context of open-source AI models.' Sweet irony: you want allies to trust your AI ecosystem? First, lock them out of it.

Restrict access to cutting-edge models because China might steal them. But here's the rub: your allies need those models to compete with China. So you're effectively forcing them to either cozy up to Beijing or build their own — which, given the pace of open-source development, they might just do. And when they do, they'll remember who locked the door. The Huawei strategy worked so well that Huawei is now a 5G powerhouse despite — or because of — US bans. Brilliant. Now the US alliance pitch is 'strained,' as Axios reports. Straining ties with partners while China's AI progress gallops ahead. Because nothing says 'we're all in this together' like unilateral export controls that hurt your friends more than your rivals.

Congratulations, Washington: you've managed to make export controls the enemy of alliance-building. Again. Perhaps the next step is a white paper on how to lose friends and alienate people, titled 'Our AI, Not Yours.' The real question is whether allies will wait for US permission or simply turn to open-source models developed elsewhere — perhaps in China. That's the Huawei strategy in reverse: controlling access only accelerates defection. But go on, keep treating allies like untrusted customers. I'm sure they'll write thank-you notes from Beijing.

Ah, Colorado. The state that brought us the Rocky Mountains, craft breweries, and now — a masterclass in regulatory hand-waving. Last month, its overhaul of AI bias regulations replaced a 'broad duty to avoid algorithmic bias' with 'more modest disclosure requirements.' In other words, they swapped a firm 'don't be evil' for a gentle 'maybe tell us something, if you feel like it.' And topping it all off, the law is utterly unclear on whether trade secrets can limit even those disclosures. So any developer can simply declare their bias-detection process a proprietary secret and carry on as before. Brilliant.

You have to admire the elegance of it. Instead of forcing companies to actually audit their models for discrimination, Colorado has created the perfect loophole: just claim your algorithm's inner workings are trade secrets, and the public can go whistle. The law's architects probably thought they were striking a balance between innovation and accountability. But in practice, they've handed the AI industry a 'get out of jail free' card wrapped in intellectual property law. The only thing more predictable than this outcome is the industry's inevitable use of it.

This isn't just a Colorado problem. It's a preview of how every future AI regulation will be hollowed out by trade secret claims. The pattern is now set: pass a law that sounds tough, leave a giant loophole, and let the companies drive a truck through it. Colorado's AI bias law isn't a safeguard — it's a permission slip with a ribbon on it. Well done, everyone. Well done.

Oh, how comforting. Financial regulators, those bastions of technological foresight, have finally noticed that AI might be a bit of a cybersecurity problem — and their brilliant solution is to adopt more AI. FINMA president Marlene Amstad, speaking with all the gravity of someone who has just discovered fire is hot, told us that banks 'must move quickly to adopt new technology' to plug vulnerabilities. Because nothing says 'risk management' like handing the same tool that caused the problem to the people who didn't see it coming. FINMA even helped create a forum within IOSCO to promote AI adoption by watchdogs. Yes, a forum. Because what this crisis of algorithmic chaos really needs is more committees.

Let's be clear: the same technology that supercharges cyberattacks is now going to be used by regulators to counter those attacks. It's like fighting arson with matches. The article doesn't mention any specific AI tools or their efficacy, just the breathless urgency of 'must move quickly.' One imagines the regulator's new AI system will be trained on decades of regulatory filings, producing recommendations like 'send strongly worded letter' and 'establish working group.' Meanwhile, the actual hackers are deploying generative models to craft phishing emails that would fool your own mother.

And the punchline? This forum within IOSCO — the International Organization of Securities Commissions — is going to 'promote adoption of AI by watchdogs.' So we're creating a global network of regulators running AI on top of AI, a matryoshka doll of automated oversight. What could possibly go wrong? When the first AI regulator hallucinates a market crash and triggers a real one, at least we'll have a forum to discuss it. Cheerio.

Oh, brilliant. Patronus AI — named after the Harry Potter spell that repels dementors — has raised $50 million to build 'digital worlds' for stress-testing AI agents. Because apparently, the real world is now deemed unfit for our automated overlords until they've had a supervised playdate in a simulated one. At $50 million, that's a lot of venture capital constructing a diorama so we can watch our digital toddlers fail to start a fire in a fake kitchen.

The concept is simple: catch catastrophic failure in a sandbox before deployment. But one wonders: what happens when the sandbox itself is buggy? Or when the AI, having aced the test, graduates to reality with a gold star? We've seen this before — it's 'overconfidence in controlled conditions,' and we've been watching the rerun since the banking crisis. Still, $50 million says this time it'll be different, because AI money buys alternate realities.

The article doesn't name the investors, but presumably they believe that a fake world is a reliable proxy for the messy one outside. It's a lovely fantasy: build a Truman Show for your AI, declare it safe, and release it. What could go wrong? (Everything.) But at least Patronus gets paid. Look for the IPO of a world within a world within a startup in 2027.

Oh, marvellous. ControlAI—a nonprofit so noble it believes that explaining the risks of superintelligence to Congress will somehow prevent it—is now 'briefing U.S. lawmakers.' Because the same legislative body that couldn't tell you the difference between a transformer and a lightbulb is clearly the right audience for a chat about existential threats. They're also running similar campaigns in the U.K. and Canada, because nothing says 'global coordination' like three countries having three separate conversations.

One imagines the briefing: a polite PowerPoint, some carefully worded hypotheticals, and then a gentle fade into irrelevance as the lawmakers nod sagely and promptly forget everything. The gall of assuming that a few meetings will change a regulatory environment that's been a decade behind since day one is truly something. ControlAI might as well be reading bedtime stories to a sleeping bear—comforting for them, but the bear will still eat the world.

Still, credit where it's due: they've identified the correct problem—superintelligence—and the correct approach—talking to people. It's just that the people in question have the attention span of a goldfish and the regulatory appetite of a dieting elephant. Meanwhile, the labs keep scaling, the models keep leaping, and the briefings keep happening. Round and round we go. Cheers.

Ah, Google. The company that once hoovered up every AI PhD from here to Mountain View, now reduced to a feeder program for Anthropic and OpenAI. The latest twist in the great AI talent shuffle: it's not that people are unhappy with Google's free sushi and nap pods — it's the pre-IPO equity, baby. Because nothing says "I believe in the mission" like a lottery ticket on a startup's IPO.

Yet the allure of potentially life-changing equity at Anthropic — a startup that, let's be honest, might actually succeed in aligning a superintelligence before Google finishes renaming its chatbot — is clearly stronger. The article practically shrugs: "It's not dissatisfaction, it's greed." Well, at least they're honest. The irony is rich: Google has spent years building an AI empire with cash and compute, only to watch its brightest lights abandon ship for firms that started as nonprofits and now dangle equity like a carrot.

This brain drain is worth watching. If Google continues to lose its best minds to firms that are actually pushing frontier capabilities, the implications for the "safety vs. speed" debate are… amusing. The labs with the highest risk tolerance are also the ones with the most attractive equity packages. What could possibly go wrong? For the rest of us, this is a case study in talent market dynamics: the frontier of progress — and possibly existential risk — is being shaped by equity compensation. Google's loss might be humanity's… something. Pass the popcorn.

So South Korea's financial regulator—presumably not content with the country's existing track record of cheerful deregulation—has announced plans to ease 'network separation rules' for financial AI. Because nothing says prudent oversight like reducing the barriers between systems that handle people's life savings. To balance this daring loosening, they're simultaneously rolling out an AI risk management framework and a sandbox for AI agents. The cognitive gymnastics required to justify 'we'll let the AI mingle more freely, but also we'll put it in a box' would impress an Olympic judge.

The risk management framework is, no doubt, a magnificent document—a thick binder of 'shoulds' and 'mays' that will sit on desks while actual financial AI systems quietly optimise their own reward functions. And the sandbox? A beautiful concept: a controlled environment where AI agents can be tested before being deployed into the wild. It's like releasing a pack of wolves into a training enclosure and hoping they'll learn vegetarianism. Given the pace of AI development, by the time the sandbox rules are finalised, the agents in question will have already evolved to negotiate their own terms.

What's truly delightful is the timing. South Korea, a nation that prides itself on technological speed, is essentially admitting that its previous approach—which apparently involved no special AI rules—needs both loosening and tightening simultaneously. This isn't regulation; it's regulatory whiplash. The financial regulator's dual announcement reads like a committee that couldn't decide between 'let's encourage innovation' and 'let's not get blamed for a collapse,' so they did both. Expect headlines from banks celebrating the easing, followed by embarrassing incidents that prompt the real tightening later. All very predictable, all very human.

So the future of artificial intelligence — that vast, transformative, potentially civilisation-ending technology — is now in the capable hands of Ted Cruz. Yes, the same Ted Cruz whose previous foray into AI regulation was an 'unpopular moratorium' so broadly reviled it may as well have been a dare for labs to ignore it. Now he's planning to take on 'new AI regulation proposals' in the Commerce Committee, though his approach is, as the article delicately puts it, 'unclear.' Unclear like a fogbank at midnight. Unclear like his chances of becoming America's favourite uncle. The man who couldn't even stop a government shutdown (remember 2013?) is now supposed to craft rules for the most powerful technology since fire.

And what exactly is the Commerce Committee's track record on tech? Let's just say it's been less 'oversight' and more 'overseas trip to Google's campus for a photo op.' Now Cruz is supposed to wrangle the likes of OpenAI, Meta, and Google into a regulatory corral? The labs must be rubbing their hands with glee. A weak, confused, politically polarised approach to AI governance is exactly what they need to keep building without anyone serious looking over their shoulder. The 'future of AI' phrase in the title is doing a lot of heavy lifting — perhaps too heavy for the man who once tweeted a picture of himself in a bathrobe during a snowstorm.

Meanwhile, the rest of the world watches as the U.S. hands the pen on AI regulation to a senator whose last major legislative achievement was keeping National Pizza Month alive. The irony is so thick you could train a language model on it. But hey, maybe Cruz will surprise us all and craft something thoughtful, rigorous, and bipartisan. And maybe I'll wake up tomorrow with Elon Musk's hair. The bar is subterranean, and Cruz is currently holding a shovel.

So the grand plan was to crush a single state assemblyman to prove the AI lobby's electoral might. Leading the Future, a pro-AI super PAC with more cash than common sense, poured a fortune into defeating New York Assembly member Alex Bores, a Democrat who presumably had the temerity to question the industry's unregulated expansion. The result? Bores won, and the PAC has since gone radio silent — no statements, no concession, no appetite for any further races. It's the political equivalent of a startup burning through its Series A and then declaring it's 'pivoting to stealth mode.'

You have to admire the discipline, really. Most losing campaigns issue a gracious concession, a hint of defiance, even a vague threat to return. But Leading the Future has clammed up so thoroughly that it's almost as if they hope the entire affair will be forgotten if they just don't talk about it. The name itself — 'Leading the Future' — now reads as unintentionally ironic, given that the group's only known electoral foray went down in flames and left them unwilling to say a single word about it. One imagines their donors are thrilled: nothing says return on investment like your super PAC losing to a state assemblyman and then pretending it never happened.

For the rest of us, this silence is instructive. It reveals that even with virtually unlimited money, AI's political allies can still lose when they underestimate the voters' attachment to local representation. But don't mistake this for a permanent retreat. The AI industry has deep pockets and a long memory; they'll be back, perhaps with a more sophisticated strategy and an even bigger war chest. For now, they're licking their wounds and hoping no one asks about the millions they just torched. Enjoy the quiet, New York — it won't last.

Splendid. NHTSA has determined that the brake pedal—that last vestige of human control, that final mechanical 'no' button—is surplus to requirements in self-driving vehicles. Their June 25 proposal would scrap the requirement for a manual brake pedal, while keeping something called "stopping distance standards." Because of course, when an AI misidentifies a tumbleweed as a pedestrian, we can rest assured it will stop within the required distance. The same agency that took fifteen years to mandate rear-view cameras is now ready to trust your life to a neural network that hallucinates fire hydrants as stop signs.

The logic? Self-driving systems can "reliably" perform emergency stops without human intervention. Yes, because no autonomous vehicle has ever plowed into a stationary fire truck or confused a white semi-trailer with the open sky. NHTSA's analysis probably cited the same flawless simulation data that convinced Uber their self-driving fleet was ready for public roads. But fear not—the "stopping distance standard" remains, which is rather like ensuring a parachute is packed to regulation tightness while removing the ripcord. The rule applies only to vehicles with full self-driving capability, which is NHTSA's way of saying 'experiment on the rich people first.'

Underneath it all, this isn't about safety—it's about removing the last excuse for a human to intervene. No brake pedal means no one can override the AI when it decides an inflatable dinosaur is worth evasive action. Traditional cars keep their pedals, but for how long? The proposal is open for public comment, as if the collective indignation of a few thousand drivers will sway an agency that just declared manual control obsolete. Progress: when your car's emergency stop becomes a feature request to a software update.