Brain death.
It was a term Hao Ren was not unfamiliar with. This terrible condition was usually seen in humans who had suffered various fatal organic injuries: the brain lost all function, though the autonomic nerves might sometimes linger on for a while, leaving some conditional reflexes in the limbs. But conditional reflexes alone could not maintain the operation of a complex life system, so humans suffering brain death needed a great many tubes, wires, and air pumps to stay alive—in short, it was a miserable state.
But he had never known that an Firstborn could also suffer brain death.
And it was obvious that this brain-dead Firstborn on this planet did not need anyone to plug a mass of tubes, wires, and air pumps into it.
Its tentacles were still very much alive and happy. They could even happily destroy the aerospace bombers and robot girl that had dropped bombs on its head.
"Are you sure?" Hao Ren asked once more out of caution, but Nolan showed strong dissatisfaction at being questioned. "Boss, you have to trust my current analytical and computational abilities. I'm using a shipborne mainframe capable of simulating the evolution of stars to think this through, and I also have a supermassive database. My judgment is based on massive amounts of data and real-time detection results. Of course I'm not just guessing blindly."
Then she added, "Of course, I'm not completely sure either... After all, we haven't seen the current condition of the Firstborn's brain core with our own eyes."
If you weren't sure, why did you spout so much nonsense? Showing off your specs?
Hao Ren rubbed his brow, feeling that this ship girl had become more and more troublesome lately. He then carefully considered what the brain death of a Firstborn meant.
The vitality