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Her copilot—if you could call it that—was the only other living soul aboard: a salvager named Jak, who had found her drifting and offered fuel in exchange for a story. She’d told him none. He was a thin, nervous man with grease under his fingernails and a habit of whistling off-key. He didn’t ask about the brick. He just watched it with the same wariness a mouse gives a sleeping cat.

“You gonna press it again?” he asked, breaking the silence. xxvodescom

The ethical implications were a black hole. The military applications, obvious. Implant a soldier with the muscle-memory of a dead sniper. A diplomat with the emotional intelligence of a murdered negotiator. A torturer with the fear of his own victim. Her copilot—if you could call it that—was the

It looks like you're referencing a paper with the identifier — but this doesn't match a standard academic paper ID (DOI, arXiv ID, PubMed ID, or common conference acronym). He didn’t ask about the brick