about "the birth of autonomous warfare". He ducked into a sunfilled room. Window glass so thin the birds outside heralding the end of winter may as well have been inside.
An involuntary grunt-chuckle escaped his chest when people brought the happening to his attention. "Isn't that an oxymoron?" He asked and his thinning lips curled into a snarl and a smile. He looked at family and organization photographs around the room. "I'll need to talk to some of my Army buddies before I have much to say." It was a dismissed, but no one left.
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