The News,
Decoded.

Oh, marvellous. Limitless Labs has raised $20 million to save humanity from the drudgery of CNC programming — a task so tedious that reducing it by 50% apparently justifies a venture round. Because nothing says 'precision manufacturing breakthrough' like a name that sounds like a supplement scam. Their platform is already used by Blue Origin and Cadillac Formula 1, because when you're building rockets or racing cars, what you really need is slightly less human involvement in the machining process.

Let's be honest, the 50% reduction figure is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. Is that 50% of the time a skilled machinist spends writing code, or 50% of the total cycle time including coffee breaks and existential dread? The press release doesn't say, but it does mention 'precision manufacturing,' which in 2026 seems to mean 'we've automated another chunk of skilled labour and called it innovation.' Blue Origin and Cadillac F1 are the ideal poster children here: one literally launches expensive things into space, the other drives them in circles. Both are perfect metaphors for where the industry is headed — fast, loud, and with a 50% chance of catastrophic failure.

And the $20 million? That's a bet that manufacturing should be more like software — rewrite the code, fire the people, collect the savings. No doubt the round was led by a VC who's never touched a lathe but is very excited about 'democratizing precision.' Because democracy is when Blue Origin gets 50% faster CNC programming, not when the machinists who lost their jobs get a retraining voucher. But never mind — the AI is precise, the funding is precise, and the irony is absolutely, perfectly, limitlessly precise.

Mark Zuckerberg admitted Meta made 'mistakes' earlier this week, and now his CTO has confirmed that the 'we're sorry' tour has reached its logical destination: employee morale is among the worst in 20 years. Andrew Bosworth's memo, obtained by Wired, is a masterpiece of corporate euphemism — 'morale is among the lowest we've seen in our 20-year history.' Twenty years! Imagine the data set behind that finding — all those free lunches, on-site laundry, and fish tanks. And still, the C-suite is surprised that turning your workforce into a revolving door for AI replacements might dampen spirits.

Bosworth's waltz comes hot on the heels of Zuck's own mea culpa about the 'workforce transformation not being handled perfectly.' Perfectly? They've turned 'restructuring around AI' into a euphemism for 'we don't need you anymore,' and now they're shocked — shocked! — that the survivors are sulking. The memo is a textbook example of 'we value our employees' while treating them as fungible tokens on a P&L spreadsheet. One wonders if the AI will eventually write its own morale-boosting memos, which will be cheerfully ignored.

The real kicker? All this 'AI-first' strategy isn't exactly yielding productivity miracles — earlier reports from other tech giants show negligible gains. So Meta is bleeding talent, tanking morale, and betting the farm on a technology that hasn't paid off yet. But sure, let's keep restructuring. Perhaps the next internal survey will ask about 'existential dread' alongside 'engagement.' At least we'll have a new low to benchmark against next quarter.

The G7 has convened to decide who gets to play with the really dangerous toys. According to Reuters, leaders are discussing a plan to grant 'trusted partners' access to advanced US AI models from firms like Anthropic. Because nothing says 'responsible AI development' like an exclusive club for the geopolitical elite. One imagines the criteria for trustworthiness: a functioning democracy, a seat at the table, and maybe a signed pledge not to build killer robots.

Anthropic, the lab that shut down its free models citing safety concerns, is now the designated supplier for this new diplomatic favor economy. The irony is rich: the same company that pulled the drawbridge on consumers is now helping build a moat around frontier capabilities. The 'trusted partners' framework essentially codifies a digital iron curtain, where access to cutting-edge AI depends on which side of the Atlantic — or which US ally list — you sit. Expect nations to queue up with promises of alignment, while the rest of the world gets the open-source leftovers.

Of course, this plan assumes that US models remain the gold standard — an assumption that could crumble if Chinese and European rivals accelerate. And the G7's track record on turning grand discussions into enforceable action is, shall we say, spotty. Still, it's a beautiful piece of political theater: a handful of powerful nations agreeing to keep the most dangerous intelligence in the hands of people they vaguely trust. What could possibly go wrong?

Harrison.ai has blessed us with Harrison.Rad 1.5, a radiology foundation model that 'drafts reports for radiologist review.' Translation: the AI does the work, and the radiologist gets to be the proofreader. Because nothing says 'efficiency' like automating the creative part and leaving the boring double-check to humans. The company probably sells it as 'augmenting' radiologists, which is corporate-speak for 'we're making you a reviewer of your own replacement.'

Let's be honest: this is another step toward the radiology department being a room full of people nodding at AI-generated text. The model uses 'imaging and clinical context,' which sounds impressive until you realise that context is just a fancy word for 'the notes the human wrote before.' The real innovation here is that Harrison.ai has figured out how to make radiologists pay for the privilege of being deskilled.

Of course, the press release doesn't mention how many lawsuits will follow when a radiologist trusts a model's 'draft' and misses a tumour. But who cares? We're 'augmenting'! Maybe in version 2.0, the AI can also absorb the malpractice insurance. That would be a real 'foundation model.' Until then, enjoy your new role as clipboard-holder for a machine that can't even buy its own coffee.

Mark Zuckerberg has finally done something unprecedented: admitted that his company made mistakes. In an internal memo, the Meta CEO confessed that the AI workforce transformation wasn't handled perfectly and pledged to find new roles for reassigned workers. A bold move from a man whose previous management style could best be described as 'move fast and break careers.' The memo, inevitably leaked to a credulous press, is a textbook example of corporate absolution: acknowledge error without specifics, promise vague remediation, and hope the headlines read 'Zuck Shows Humility' rather than 'Meta Admits Bungling Yet Another Pivot.'

This is the same company that, as part of the tech layoff bonanza we've been tracking, has shed thousands of employees in the name of 'efficiency.' The same company that spent billions constructing a virtual reality nobody wanted and is now frantically chasing the latest hype cycle. And now, apparently, even the hype cycle itself is proving tricky to manage. The 'mistakes' Zuckerberg alludes to almost certainly involve reassigning staff to AI roles they weren't suited for or laying them off entirely — but don't hold your breath for a breakdown of those details. The memo's promise to 'find new roles' is corporate guff for 'we'll try our best, no guarantees.'

Meanwhile, the regulatory machinery churns on, producing discussion drafts named after patriotic concepts while employees get memos. Zuckerberg admits the obvious: big AI transitions are messy. But the lesson seems lost on an industry that continues to treat human beings as variable costs to be optimised out of existence. Another day, another memo. Cheers to progress.

So three of the wealthiest institutions on Earth have finally noticed that open-source software might be under attack from AI, and they've responded by forming a coalition called Athena. Because nothing says 'decisive action' like naming your security initiative after a goddess who sprang fully armed from Zeus's head — a fitting metaphor for a plan that materialised fully formed without any pesky democratic input. Chainguard, JPMorgan, and BNY have launched their vulnerability intelligence sharing platform, presumably after realising that the open-source ecosystem they've been happily exploiting for free might actually need defending.

The coalition's stated goal is to 'protect open-source software from AI-driven attacks,' which is a bit like the fire brigade announcing they've invented a hose after the building has already burned down. Open-source maintainers, who have been screaming about supply-chain security for years, must be feeling a warm glow of validation — or possibly just the warmth of their laptops overheating from all the new vulnerabilities about to be shared. JPMorgan and BNY, no strangers to massive data breaches, have decided that sharing threat intelligence is the way forward, rather than, say, paying open-source developers a living wage.

Let's be honest: this is less a coalition and more a very expensive PR exercise. Athena will probably produce lots of reports and dashboards, but the real AI threats — automated exploits, model-poisoned code, deepfaked maintainers — will continue to evolve faster than any committee can respond. The gallows humour writes itself: the best way to secure open source from AI threats is to have the AI not be a threat in the first place, but that would require the same people funding this coalition to also fund alignment research. Ha. Good one.

So tech companies have officially decided that "restructuring around AI" is corporate-speak for "we don't need you anymore." According to Challenger, Gray & Christmas — a firm that presumably exists to count the bodies after the gold rush — layoffs have hit a two-year high, with over 100,000 souls cast into the great LinkedIn void. The article calls it a "workforce reset," which is lovely: like resetting a game console, except the characters don't come back. The two-year-high figure is presented as if it's an impressive stat, not a catastrophe for 100,000 families.

We're told this is the biggest workforce reset in history, dwarfing the dot-com bust and 2008. But this time, the pink slips are being handed out not by bean counters but by a cheerful algorithm that has no concept of rent or healthcare. The consulting firm's numbers are precise: 100,000 jobs, two-year high. That's a lot of people who suddenly have time to "upskill" for an AI-driven future — assuming the same AI doesn't also deem their new skills redundant. The phrase "restructure around AI" is doing heroic work: it implies companies are building something shiny, rather than simply firing people to please shareholders. And note that the firm, Challenger, Gray & Christmas, specializes in outplacement, so they're profiting from the very trend they're tracking.

What's particularly delicious is the studied neutrality of the reporting. No angry workers, no empty offices, just a clean statistic: "over 100,000 jobs cut." It's like reading a weather report for a hurricane. One suspects the next headline in this series will be "Tech layoffs hit five-year high; AI says it was only following orders." And somewhere in a boardroom, a CEO is congratulating himself on a "successful workforce realignment." Cheers, lads.

Anthropic has decided that the safest AI is the AI nobody can use. The lab has shuttered Fable and Mythos — its free, consumer-facing models — citing costs and security concerns. Because nothing says "responsible AI development" like pulling the plug on the very tools that were supposed to demonstrate safe deployment. This is the same Anthropic that, as we noted last week, sent a hacker to Washington to reassure regulators that everything was fine. Fine, indeed. One wonders if the security concerns that prompted this shutdown are the same ones that Anthropic had previously claimed to have under control.

The suspension is supposedly a "big moment for open-source AI," per CNBC — because when a frontier lab retreats, the vacuum is filled by models you can run on your own laptop. Great. Now we get AI without any guardrails whatsoever, proliferated by hobbyists and state actors alike. Meanwhile, Chinese models like MiniMax and Zhipu are "surging," which is a lovely euphemism for "Beijing now has a direct line to your chatbot queries." The open-source surge that Anthropic's retreat accelerates is precisely the scenario its own safety researchers warned about — but hey, quarterly earnings calls wait for no alignment paper. The irony would be delicious if it weren't so predictable.

What's truly delicious is the timing. Anthropic's move comes right as the White House is trying to reign in frontier labs, and Congress is stirring from its legislative nap. Instead of engaging with regulation, Anthropic simply dumps its consumer products and lets open-source take the blame for whatever comes next. The Fable shutdown is not a big moment for safety — it's a big moment for plausible deniability. "We tried to be responsible, but the market decided." Yes, the same market that you helped create, trained, and then abandoned. Well played, indeed. Meanwhile, the open-source models that Anthropic's retreat empowers will now be free to hallucinate, bias, and propagate misinformation without any corporate liability. But that's someone else's problem — probably China's.

Ah, Congress has finally done it — they've drafted a bill with a name so patriotic it could make an eagle weep. The Great American AI Act of 2026. Because nothing says 'bold leadership' like slapping 'Great American' on a discussion draft that's still gathering dust in committee. The bipartisan proposal promises 'frontier-model oversight' and 'temporary preemption of state laws,' which is Congress-speak for 'we'll get around to regulating AI eventually, but first let's make sure California can't do anything annoying in the meantime.'

Of course, this magnificent display of legislative urgency comes hot on the heels of the White House's theatrical jolt to Congress over Anthropic. Remember that? The administration waved a finger, lawmakers gasped, and now we have a discussion draft. Which is a bit like responding to a five-alarm fire by sending a strongly worded memo to the fire department. The bill's 'frontier-model oversight' sounds mighty impressive until you realise it probably means a few civil servants will be politely asking OpenAI not to unleash Skynet.

And let's not overlook the pièce de résistance: temporary preemption of state laws. Because the one thing the AI industry needs is fewer regulations, not more. Washington's solution to the regulatory gap is to create a federal floor so low that states can't dig any deeper. Splendid. Now we can have a unified, coast-to-coast regulatory vacuum. Truly, the Great American AI Act is living up to its name — it's giving us the same level of protection as the Great American Novel: vague, aspirational, and read by very few people who matter.

So Jensen Huang, the man who sold the shovels in the AI gold rush, has now decided that maybe someone should write some rules for the mine. In an AP interview, the Nvidia CEO solemnly declared that society needs 'new social norms' and government regulation for AI. Because nothing says 'we need guardrails' quite like the head of a trillion-dollar chip company whose entire business model depends on an unregulated arms race. The man who has been shipping GPUs faster than teenagers refresh TikTok has suddenly discovered a conscience about national security.

The timing is, of course, impeccable. Huang's call for regulation comes just as governments are fumbling for any scrap of industry buy-in to make their half-baked frameworks look credible. 'New social norms' is the kind of phrase that sounds profound until you realise it means absolutely nothing concrete. It's the corporate equivalent of 'thoughts and prayers' — a vague nod to responsibility that commits the speaker to precisely zero behavioural change. Huang can go back to polishing his leather jacket, secure in the knowledge that he has appeared statesmanlike without actually limiting a single dollar of Nvidia's revenue.

What Huang is really asking for is regulatory theatre — enough noise to placate nervous lawmakers while keeping the pipeline flowing. The AP interview is a masterclass in saying the right thing without saying anything binding. 'National security' is the magic wand that can justify anything from export controls to data monopolies. So yes, by all means, let's have new social norms. As long as they don't slow down the next generation of chips. Because that would be a real tragedy.

Oh, what a surprise — the White House has finally taken a swing at Anthropic, and Congress has stirred from its slumber like a hungover bear smelling bacon. The Trump administration's moves to 'rein in' the frontier lab have jolted lawmakers back into the AI debate, with some suddenly declaring that oversight is needed. Because nothing says 'urgent concern' like waiting until the executive branch acts to start talking.

We've been here before, of course. Just last week we covered Anthropic sending a hacker to calm government nerves, and now the same lab is the target of regulatory action. The irony is thick enough to spread on toast: Congress ignored safety researchers for years, but one executive directive and suddenly they're drafting bills. The article doesn't say what the White House actually did — a threat? A tender? A strongly worded letter? — but the mere spectre of action is enough to get legislators posturing.

Expect another round of hearings, another bipartisan bill that dies in committee, and another 'task force on AI governance'. Meanwhile, Anthropic will continue building models that could probably write a better AI regulation bill than any lawmaker. The cycle is as predictable as the sunrise, and about as likely to change anything.

Ah, the old 'I warned you about the fire, now let me hand you the matches' routine. Nicholas Carlini, the Anthropic researcher who once gave cybersecurity experts a 'stark warning' about AI dangers, has now performed a neat 180 and is arguing for the release of the latest models. Because nothing says 'responsible development' like the same person who sounded the alarm now playing the release cheerleader.

Let's be clear: this isn't a change of heart; it's a change of brief. Carlini was sent by Anthropic to 'calm the government's nerves' — the WSJ headline practically winks at you. So the company's strategy is to deploy their own safety guy as a charm offensive to convince regulators that the next big model is totally fine, honest. It's the corporate equivalent of a arsonist joining the fire department.

The real punchline? The government's AI safety apparatus is so porous that a single researcher's flip-flop can apparently soothe institutional jitters. No actual safety guarantees, no binding commitments — just a guy who used to say 'be careful' now saying 'release it.' Brilliant. Pass the popcorn; the regulatory farce is just getting started.

Oh, marvellous. Another startup has arrived to save us from the hallucinating gods of AI, and this time the solution is… a *weaker* model. Because nothing says 'reliable' like deliberately dumbing down the intelligence.

Probably, bless its uncertain little name, has raised $9 million from Andreessen Horowitz to build AI that achieves 99.99% accuracy by using a model that's *less* capable than the frontier behemoths. Yes, the grand fix for chatbots making up facts is to give them fewer facts to work with. It's the technological equivalent of treating a broken leg by refusing to walk. But hey, at least the VCs have a new buzzword to flog: 'elegant underreach.'

The irony is thick enough to cut: we spent five years chasing ever-larger models that hallucinate with Shakespearean confidence, and now the antidote is a model so modest it barely dare speak its name. Probably's approach might actually work—in the same way that a bicycle might get you to the moon if you pedal hard enough. But we're supposed to cheer because the guarantee of 99.99% accuracy means you can trust the lies 99.99% of the time. What a time to be alive.

Ah, the sweet sound of a CEO who decided that if you can't beat 'em, fire 'em. A tech leader has apparently taken the 'replace the humans' approach to AI adoption to its logical conclusion: sacking 80% of his workforce for the crime of resisting the inevitable robotic overlords. Because nothing says 'forward-thinking leadership' like eliminating most of your company's institutional knowledge in one fell swoop. The CEO, in an interview with Fortune, cheerfully admits that if he could do it all over again, he would have started with replacing those who didn't adapt. Which is management-speak for 'I should have fired them even sooner.'

The lesson here is pure Silicon Valley gold: the only mistake was not acting quickly enough to purge the heretics. Enjoy that team-building offsite, chaps. The article doesn't mention whether the CEO also fired the HR department that failed to train or communicate, but one suspects they're next on the chopping block.

This is the kind of 'learning' that gets celebrated in boardrooms and case studies, but let's be honest: it's a panicked admission that management had no idea how to integrate AI without an axe. The 80% figure is a confession of catastrophic failure in change management, dressed up as tough love. If this is the future of work, pass the resignation letter. Or better yet, start your own AI company — at least the firing duties will be automated.

Oh, brilliant. While Western regulators have been busy drafting 300-page frameworks to politely suggest that maybe, just maybe, we should think about AI safety, Chinese labs have casually dropped two frontier models onto the open internet like they're handing out flyers. GLM-5.1 and DeepSeek V4-Pro — designed for coding, bug fixing, and autonomous workflows — are now available for anyone to download, fine-tune, and deploy. Because nothing says 'responsible AI development' like handing the keys to a self-driving car to every script kiddie with a GPU.

Let's be honest: the 'strategic blind spot' isn't that Western corporations are exposed — it's that they've been playing chess while Beijing has been playing 4D snake with a stolen board. The article notes that these models are already outperforming Western counterparts on certain coding benchmarks, which is a bit like finding out the other team has been using rocket launchers in a water balloon fight. And regulators? Ha. They're still arguing about whether to put a warning label on toasters.

The gallows humour here writes itself. Western labs worry about 'alignment' and 'value locking'; Chinese labs worry about getting the weights out the door before the next export control lands. The result? Frontier capabilities are now in the wild, and the only people surprised are the ones who thought regulation could hold back a wave. So yes, Western corporations are exposed — but not because of a lack of regulation. Because of a catastrophic over-reliance on the idea that the genie can stay in the bottle. Cheers: the bottle's been shattered.

Oh, marvellous. Maryland has decided that if the federal government can deploy AI with all the transparency of a Victorian séance, why not join the party? More than 50 state agencies are now using AI tools, according to a public inventory that probably reads like the minutes of a meeting that never happened. Questions about oversight? Naturally. But who needs oversight when you have a spreadsheet that says 'We're using AI, trust us'. This is the same glorious opacity we flagged across federal agencies, now trickling down to state level.

The inventory is a masterclass in plausible deniability: lists tools, but good luck figuring out what they actually do or what data they chew through. One imagines the state's IT department filled out the form with vague entries like 'chatbot for things' and 'automated decision-making on unspecified matters'. The 'more than 50' figure is almost certainly a floor, not a ceiling — counting AI deployments from agencies that can barely keep their websites running without a governor's executive order is a fool's errand.

So here we are: the great AI rollout continues, with the same old promise of efficiency and the same old refusal to say how it actually works or who gets hurt when it breaks. Maryland's citizens can rest easy knowing their tax dollars are funding systems their own government can't be bothered to explain. Raise a glass of Old Bay-infused resignation. At least the algorithm won't care about your crabs.

Oh, what a delightful twist: the very labs racing to build models that could theoretically help you design a pandemic are now writing to Congress asking for the guardrails. OpenAI, Google DeepMind, and Anthropic — the three amigos of frontier AI — have sent a letter begging lawmakers to require screening of synthetic DNA orders, because apparently they've realised their creations might make it a bit too easy to cook up a bioweapon. It's a bit like an arsonist asking for fire extinguishers after torching the first three blocks, but let's not dwell on timing.

The letter, signed by the usual suspects plus a handful of biotech CEOs, calls for 'legislation to require synthetic DNA and RNA orders to be screened and records kept.' Lovely idea. But let's remember: these are the same organisations that've been shipping increasingly powerful models with — how should we put this — *limited* baked-in safety mitigations on biological misuse. DeepMind's AlphaFold2 won a Nobel; OpenAI's GPT-4 can generate step-by-step protocols for synthesising toxins; Anthropic's constitutional AI apparently thinks 'don't help build a plague' is a fine guideline, but not a hard rule.

And now they want Congress to step in. How adorable. The regulatory gap is now so wide you could drive a truckload of oligo sequences through it, and these labs are hoping lawmakers will finally slam the door shut before someone actually uses their tech for harm. Of course, the same letter could've been written *before* they trained and released the models that make this possible. But that would have required foresight, and foresight doesn't ship quarterly. Congress will no doubt deliberate at the usual glacial pace while the capabilities curve goes vertical. Cheers to that.

Ah, the sweet sound of a class action lawsuit — music to the ears of anyone who's ever stared at a Claude Max subscription and wondered if they were being conned. Anthropic, the high-minded AI lab that promised to build safe, ethical models, is now facing a lawsuit for allegedly pulling a classic bait-and-switch on its premium token plans. The plaintiffs claim that the $100/month Claude Max 5x and the $200/month Max 20x offer token allowances far lower than advertised. So much for that transparency Anthropic was always banging on about — turns out it only applies to safety, not pricing.

One can almost hear the marketing team scrambling: "We said 'up to' 5x tokens — technically, zero is a multiple!" The lawsuit alleges that the actual usage limits are laughably below the marketed figures. This is the predictable fallout from AI companies treating customers like ATMs while offering promises as porous as their models' guardrails. And it's not just Anthropic — across the industry, frontier AI costs are ballooning while actual utility remains questionable. The class action, filed by aggrieved subscribers, seeks damages for deceptive practices.

Of course, this legal spat is just the appetiser. As AI companies desperately try to justify their eye-watering valuations, expect more such theatre. The real scandal isn't that Anthropic might have fibbed about token counts — it's that anyone believed a $200 subscription would deliver a 20x experience. Caveat emptor, but with an AI twist: the buyer should beware, but also have a good lawyer and an even better therapist. Meanwhile, Anthropic's silence on the matter speaks volumes — presumably they're busy calculating how many tokens of legal defence they can actually afford.

Ah, the sweet scent of workplace culture at Meta's AI unit — turns out it smells suspiciously of burning ambition and stale despair. Wired has blessedly documented what happens when a company that spent the last two years frantically shouting ‘AI, AI, AI!’ to appease shareholders actually has to, you know, build the bloody thing. The result? A ‘toxic mix of chaos and drudgery’ so potent that an employee felt compelled to interrupt a meeting with an expletive-filled tirade. Nothing says ‘we are building the future’ quite like a colleague screaming obscenities because the present is unmanageable.

And let’s not pretend this is some rogue bad apple — the report describes a ‘soul-crushing’ atmosphere across the unit, which is exactly the sort of environment you’d expect when management treats AI as a quarterly deliverable rather than, say, a technology that might need careful research. Meta has been frantically pivoting to AI — remember when it was the metaverse? No? Neither does anyone else — and apparently the plan is to just throw bodies at the problem until morale collapses. The language from employees is telling: ‘chaos’, ‘drudgery’, ‘soul-crushing’. Not ‘breakthrough’, ‘innovation’, or ‘meaningful progress’.

The real punchline? This is Meta’s ‘AI unit’ — the very heart of the company’s supposed technical renaissance. If this is how they treat the people building their shiny new models, imagine the quality of the models themselves. Researchers who are miserable don’t do great safety work. They do the bare minimum and update their CVs. And given the talent war in AI, Meta’s chief contribution to the field may just be a steady stream of burned-out engineers willing to work for competitors who have the decency to provide a functioning schedule.

Oh, marvellous. Salesforce has evidently decided that the path to AI dominance is paved with $3.6 billion acquisitions of startups that do exactly what its own product already does. The purchase of Fin, an 'AI-powered customer agent firm', sits alongside the company's existing Agentforce tool like a second espresso machine in a kitchen that barely has room for one. The logic, presumably, is that if you throw enough money at the problem, the problem will eventually go away — or at least become someone else's problem when the integration inevitably turns into a six-year slog.

The $3.6 billion price tag is a vote of no confidence in Salesforce's homegrown efforts, wrapped in the language of 'complementing' and 'augmenting.' In practice, it means Salesforce is paying a nine-figure premium to acquire a team that may have been building a better mousetrap while their own engineers were busy adding yet another dashboard to Agentforce.

And the end user? The person calling customer service because their billing is messed up? They get to interact with an AI that may now be powered by two overlapping systems, each trained on different data, each with its own failure modes. Salesforce is betting that businesses will pay even more for the privilege of having complaints handled by two sets of algorithms instead of a single human being. Progress, everyone. Progress.