Ulefone recently announced the Armor Mini 20 Pro and Armor Mini 20T Pro smartphones, and the company has ran a bunch of performance tests on them. These two handsets are small rugged devices, which makes them rather unique.

The main difference between them comes to thermal imaging tech. The ‘T’ version has thermal imaging tech, while the other phone does not. It tries to compensate for that with an infrared camera, though.

The Ulefone Armor Mini 20 Pro & Mini 20T Pro go through several performance tests

Ulefone ran AnTuTu, Geekbench 6, 3D Mark, and Speedtest tests on the devices. The two phones have the same performance-related specs and software, so the results should be identical, which is why only one is shown in the video below.

The Ulefone Armor Mini 20 Pro series managed to reach 434,964 points on the AnTuTu benchmark. Speaking of which, the phone is fueled by the MediaTek Dimensity 6300 SoCo. It also comes with 8GB of RAM; which can be expanded to 16GB via virtual RAM.

In regards to the Geekbench 6 score, the device managed to reach 791 points in the single-core test, and 2,102 in the multi-core test. That’s per course for the MediaTek Dimensity 6300 processor.

In the 3DMark Wild Life test, the phone score 1,379 points. The only test that remained is the 5G Speed Test, that one will depend on the 5G speeds in your area, and with your carrier, of course. Ulefone managed to reach 192Mbps download, and 25.7Mbps upload speeds, though.

These phones use a tiny display, and a large battery

It’s also worth noting that both of these smartphones are IP68/IP69K and MIL-STD-810H certified. They’re rugged phones with a large battery (considering their size). They include a 4.7-inch display and a 6,200mAh battery pack.

Android 14 comes pre-installed, while a 50-megapixel main camera sits on the back. The Ulefone Armor Mini 20T Pro will be priced at $329.99, while the Armor Mini 20 Pro costs $249.99. They’ll go on sale on October 21 via AliExpress. The company is also running a giveaway, in case you’re interested.

Ulefone Armor Mini 20 Pro (AliExpress)

Ulefone Armor Mini 20 Pro (AliExpress)

Many of DJI’s drones including its latest consumer products are being held up at the US border, the manufacturer said in a blog post today. It appears to be a customs matter and not related to proposed US legislation to ban DJI products (the Countering CCP Drones Act) currently in US Congress. However, the holdup means that sales of DJI’s latest Air 3S drone will be delayed, the company told The Verge.

“The U.S. Customs and Border Protection (CBP) has cited the Uyghur Forced Labor Prevention Act (UFLPA), as the reason for the current holdups,” the DJI ViewPoints team wrote. “This assertion made against DJI, however, is entirely unfounded and categorically false.”

Calling the situation a “misunderstanding,” DJI said it’s sending documentation proving it complies with the UFLPA. It added that it has no manufacturing facilities in and doesn’t source materials from Xinjiang, the region that’s a red flag for the US in terms of Uyghur forced labor violations. It also noted that it’s not a listed entity under UFLPA and that its supply “undergoes rigorous due diligence by respected US retailers.” US Customs and Border Protection has yet to comment on the matter.

While the US House of Representatives did pass the a bill to block DJI’s drones, the Senate removed that clause from the 2025 National Defense Authorization Act. It was later re-introduced as an amendment, though, and could still make it into the final bill. If so, imports of new DJI drones could be blocked, but a ban wouldn’t likely prohibit current owners from using them. DJI has a massive share of the worldwide drone market upwards of 70 percent as of 2021, according to Statista. including as much as 90 percent by public safety officials.

According to half a dozen sources, Accel, the global venture firm, is in advanced discussions to lead a funding round of $30 million to $40 million in Truemeds, an Indian online pharmacy that’s focused on providing customers with more affordable generic alternatives to costly branded medications.

The talks are currently centered on a proposed valuation of about $330 million for the six-year-old, Mumbai-headquartered startup, per these same sources, who requested anonymity as the deliberations are ongoing and private.

The deal hasn’t finalized, so it may still not materialize or the terms can change, the sources cautioned. Accel and Truemeds didn’t immediately respond to requests for comment.

The potential round for Truemeds comes amid a period of consolidation and upheaval in the online pharmacy industry. Pharmeasy, backed by Prosus Ventures, has seen its valuation plummet from a peak of $5.6 billion to below $600 million after struggling to repay a loan to Goldman Sachs. 

Janus Henderson, the British American global asset firm, implied a valuation of about $458 million for Pharmeasy at the end of June, according to its most recent mutual fund disclosures. In 2021, Tata Digital acquired 1mg, another major player in the space.

Unlike its competitors, Truemeds is taking a slightly different approach. The startup aims to disrupt the supply chain of how medicine reaches customers, eliminating middlemen that inflate the final price. After customers upload their prescriptions, Truemeds doctors recommend generics with the same active ingredients, produced by Indian manufacturers. This service aims to reduce medication costs, particularly for those with chronic conditions requiring ongoing treatment.

The platform operates entirely online, with consultations, ordering, and delivery all handled digitally. This eliminates the need for patients to visit physical pharmacies and allows Truemeds to reach customers in remote areas. 

If the new funding materializes, it would more than double Truemeds’ valuation, which was $132 million in an extended Series B round last year. The startup originally raised the Series B funding from investors including WestBridge Capital and Info Edge Ventures at a valuation of $76.7 million, according to Tracxn, a venture insight platform. 

Monstrous hurricanes Helene and Milton caused so much complex havoc that damages are still being added up, but government and private experts say they will likely join the infamous ranks of Katrina, Sandy and Harvey as super costly $50-billion-plus killers.

Making that even more painful is that most of the damage – 95% or more in Helene’s case – was not insured, putting victims in a deeper financial hole.

Storm deaths have been dropping over time, although Helene was an exception. But even adjusted for inflation, damages from intense storms are skyrocketing because people are building in harm’s way, rebuilding costs are rising faster than inflation and human-caused climate change are making storms stronger and wetter, experts in different fields said.

“Today’s storms, today’s events are simply vastly different from yesterday’s events. One of the things that we’re seeing is the energy content that these systems can retain is significantly greater than it used to be,” said John Dickson, president of Aon Edge Insurance Agency, which specializes in flood coverage. “The weather seems to be, in many cases, moving faster than we as a society are able to keep pace with it.”

In the last 45 years, and adjusted for inflation, the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration has counted 396 weather disasters that caused at least $1 billion in damage. Sixty-three of those were hurricanes or tropical storms.

The $50 billion mark for direct losses is a threshold that differentiates “truly historic events,” said Adam Smith, the economist and meteorologist who runs the list out of NOAA’s National Center for Environmental Information in Helene-hit Asheville, North Carolina.

Only eight hurricanes reached that threshold. Smith said he thought Milton and Helene have “a very good shot” of joining that list.

The first $50 billion hurricane was Andrew in 1992. The U.S. went 13 more years before Katrina topped the damages chart, then seven years until the third costly whopper, Sandy. Helene and Milton would make seven in the last seven years.

Calculating damages is far from an exact science. The more complex and nastier storms are – like Milton and Helene – the longer it takes, Smith said. Damage is spread over different places and often a much larger area, with wind damage in some places and flood damage elsewhere. Helene, in particular, caused widespread flooding and in places not used to it. Estimates for those storms from private firms in recent days vary and are incomplete.

There’s three categories of damage: insured damage, uninsured damage and total economic cost. Many risk and insurance firms only estimate insured losses.

Homeowner insurance usually covers wind damage, but not flood. Special insurance has to be bought for that. Flood insurance coverage rates vary by region and storms differ on whether they cause more wind or water damage. Helene was mostly water damage, which is less likely to be covered, while Milton had a good chunk of wind damage.

Of the top 10 costliest hurricanes as compiled by insurance giant Swiss Re – not including Helene or Milton yet – insured damage is about 44% of total costs.

But with Helene, Aon’s Dickson estimated that only 5% of victims had insurance coverage for the type of damage they got. He estimated $10 billion in insured damage so doing the math would put total damage in the $100 billion to $200 billion range, which he called a bit high but in the ballpark. Insured losses for Milton are in the $50 billion to $60 billion range, he said.

With Helene, Swiss Re said less than 2% of Georgia households have federal flood insurance, with North Carolina and South Carolina at 3% and 9%. In North Carolina’s Buncombe County, where more than 57 people died from Helene’s flooding, less than 1% of the homes are covered by federal flood insurance, the agency said.

Risk modeling by Moody’s, the financial services conglomerate, put a combined two-storm total damage estimate of $20 billion to $34 billion.

Karen Clark and Company, a disaster modeling firm that uses computer simulations superimposed on storm and insurance data, wouldn’t give total damage estimates for the storms. But the company figured insured losses alone were $36 billion for Milton and $6.4 billion for Helene.

“The economic losses are going up because we’re putting more infrastructure and housing in harm’s way,” said University of South Carolina’s Susan Cutter, co-director of the Hazards Vulnerability and Resilience Institute, who added that climate change also plays a role. “Human losses and deaths are going down because people are being a little bit more vigilant about paying attention to preparedness and getting out of harm’s way.”

Much of the damage is because of flooding. Studies show that hurricanes are getting wetter because of the buildup of heat-trapping gases from the burning of coal, oil and gas. Basic physics dictates that clouds hold 4% more moisture for every degree Fahrenheit, and that falls as rain.

“There is scientific agreement that floods and flooding from these hurricanes is becoming more frequent and more severe. So it is likely that we’re going to be seeing a higher frequency of storms like Helene in the future,” said Karen Clark, who founded her namesake firm. “It’s not really an insurance issue because it’s not privately insured. This is really a societal issue and political question. How do we want to deal with this?”

Clark and several of the experts said it’s time for society to think about where it builds, where it lives and if it should just leave dangerous areas and not rebuild, a concept called “managed retreat.”

“At what point do you as an individual continue to build, rebuild, rebuild and rebuild versus saying ‘OK, I’ve had enough’,” Cutter said.

And when it comes to flood insurance, many homeowners in risky areas find it’s too expensive, so they don’t buy it, Clark said. But when a storm hits them, she said “all of us as taxpayers, we’re going to pay it because we know there are going to be federal dollars coming into those areas to help people rebuild. So all taxpayers, we’re actually paying for people to live in risky areas.”

World of Warcraft, or WoW, is like the Red Hot Chili Peppers of the massively multiplayer online roleplaying genre: not only is it still going strong but it’s also somehow even bigger than you thought. World of Warcraft’s current numbers aren’t public, but one recent educated guess came in at 7 million paying subscribers, which, at $15 / month, would make the game a billion-dollar earner by itself. Its developer, Blizzard, merged with Activision in 2008, and Microsoft gobbled up both companies in 2022, but World of Warcraft remains a load-bearing spine of the newly formed corporate turducken. The game that redefined gold mining for the 21st century is still a 19th-century gold mine for its landlords. 

It’s also thriving in a subscription ecosystem that it helped to legitimize. World of Warcraft debuted in 2004, during an era when you still had to buy games in boxes from stores. The runaway success of Blizzard’s always-on portal to Azeroth proved that, for the right product, studios could charge a recurring fee beyond the initial cost of the core game’s (at the time) formidable five installation CDs. Here, in the enshittified 2020s, we’ve all grown used to renting our culture by the month, but it was genuinely pathbreaking for World of Warcraft to have 12 million subscribers at its peak in 2010. It didn’t invent the monthly model, which had already gained traction in games like Ultima Online and EverQuest during the dawn of the massively multiplayer online roleplaying game (MMORPG) genre. But World of Warcraft’s success took that recurring charge mainstream and helped popularize the unassailable business logic that having your customers pay you once was worse than having them pay you until they decided or remembered to stop. 

As World of Warcraft turns 20, its enduring financial success arguably pales in comparison to its cultural significance. I asked Angela Washko, a new-media artist who staged several notable performance pieces inside the game world, what she considered World of Warcraft’s biggest contribution, for better or worse. “World of Warcraft expanded the notion of what public space was,” she told me. “I saw the bonds created amongst members of my guilds moving beyond the game space, as players flew across the country to meet each other.” Everyone I talked to about World of Warcraft’s legacy seemed to mention someone or other getting married, either in the game itself or here in reality after meeting in the game. “I think the degree of immersion and dissolving of the boundary between ‘real life’ and ‘fantasy’ within World of Warcraft was really a turning point in computing culture,” Washko said, adding that World of Warcraft “changed the conversation around video games from being something that was ‘an escape from everyday life’ to something that was an extension of one’s social life and happened to take place in a virtual environment.” 

Through her own work, Washko also explored the less savory side of a fantasy game populated by real people; her Council on Gender Sensitivity and Behavioral Awareness in World of Warcraft involved traveling from town to town to educate passersby about feminism and discuss how the game’s dominant culture often created a hostile environment for its marginalized players. I recalled my own playing days, when you could be flying into a town on your hippogryph, minding your own business, only to be deluged by a wave of sewer-grade hate speech on a public text channel. We now take it for granted that online spaces reflect the social dynamics of the people who occupy them, including and especially the problematic ones, but in many ways, World of Warcraft was the kobold in this particular coal mine.

I first encountered the Warcraft universe like many ’90s computer kids: as a series of top-down, real-time strategy games about economic management and cartoon fantasy violence. The world (lowercase) of Warcraft pitted the seemingly noble Alliance (humans, elves, dwarves, your Tolkienesque usual suspects) against the villainized Horde (orcs, trolls, and other stock monster-humanoids from the trope factory) in a vicious-with-a-touch-of-slapstick conflict spanning three main titles and numerous expansions between 1994 and 2003. If no one was using the phone, you could play against your friends over a modem. The series had a rich and goofy aesthetic of exaggerated proportions, saturated colors, and sarcastic jokes. The units that ran your economy were literal simpering peons, which gave everything a barrel-shaped, vaguely comedic flavor that played well against the high-gloss cinematic interludes that would become Blizzard’s calling card.

Flush with revenues from its flagship series, Blizzard began exploring how it might expand Warcraft’s popular lore into other types of games. First, a point-and-click game called Warcraft Adventures — a late-1990s attempt at LucasArts-style vintage puzzle-solving in a cel-shaded take on the mythos — was infamously canceled for not meeting Blizzard’s internal release standards. (It also leaked, fully playable, not too long ago. Based on what I’ve seen, Blizzard was right.) Then, starting in 2001, an experimental team of a few dozen people got busy building a whole new engine that would bring Azeroth into 3D for the first time and let players meet, socialize, and slaughter skeletons together. It was a primordial example of the modern phenomenon where a corporation exploits its intellectual property by jumping genres and colonizing a new medium. It was also how they’d get me.

There are plenty of humbling ways to use Gmail’s internal search function, especially if you’ve had your account for roughly as long as World of Warcraft has existed. For one example, consider my collected personal correspondence surrounding World of Warcraft, from the peak years of its involvement in my life. When I queried “Warcraft before:2007/1/1,” it yielded about two dozen results, and together, they trace a blunt biography of that moment: landing a big new job; getting hella dumped; and “spending two months as an antisocial hermit,” as I told a friend in a Gchat in early 2006. (And how about World of Warcraft outliving Gchat?) 

Reviewing the private record, it’s clear World of Warcraft tore through my life like an experienced raiding party of max-level grinders through the Deadmines. Admittedly, it was the kind of nymph-stage young adult life that was conceptually made of crepe paper and easily shredded by a video game. But something about the predictable rhythm of ordering junk food delivery after an exhausting workday, logging onto World of Warcraft, and hopping through some lush environment searching for herbs to make into sellable virtual potions just drew me in, one night after another.

This aspect of World of Warcraft — its knack for blurring the line between work and fun until the casual observer might not quite recognize it as either — often came up when I spoke to others about their experiences. “One thing WoW proved on a large scale is that people will turn a game into a job at the slightest provocation,” said Cory O’Brien, now a narrative and level designer for games like Redfall and HoloVista. “I remember spending hours and hours and hours grinding for dust so that I could enchant magic items. I remember smelting tin and copper to make bronze.” The elaborate crafting system in World of Warcraft, which often required materials gained through repetitive in-game labor, represented an explosion in the popularity of the now-ubiquitous mechanic where you, as a player, find some stuff and turn it into something else. “I still play all these more recent games like Minecraft, Project Zomboid, and Valheim that are literally just that crafting part,” O’Brien told me. “I spend so much time doing monotonous, repetitive tasks, for free, because somehow we have discovered that that’s fun.” Here, in 2024, it’s hard not to feel a vaguely sinister undertone to all of this as the rising tides of capitalistic overreach gamify the gig economy and hijack the natural human affinity for rewards for their own extractive purposes. But to Washko’s point about an expanded social life, one reason this all worked is that you were often helping out real people, with “legitimate needs” in the scope of the game. You were rarely just doing these things for yourself.

It wasn’t always exactly a waste, either. Andrew Simone, now a project manager in tech, attributes a large swath of his professional tool kit to skills he gained as a guild leader in World of Warcraft. “I actually stopped playing WoW largely because I felt like I was managing my guild more than my actual professional jobs,” he told me, proceeding to outline a frightening slate of workplace-flavored tasks that included interviewing prospective guild candidates, analyzing performance metrics from the game’s multiuser boss fights, dealing with in-guild sexual harassment, managing schedules across the world to hold meetings about all these things, writing guides for new members, and even “cultivating a kind of guild culture so people enjoyed being there,” which is an incredible thing to say about something that is already ostensibly a game. I know there are countless former guild leaders reading this and nodding along because their current workday docket has nothing on mediating a 10-way raiding party dispute over who should get the legendary enchanted pauldrons that just dropped. 

On the other hand: plenty of it was a giant waste. I can’t tell you, back in the day, how many hours I was technically playing World of Warcraft but ignoring the game itself while I sifted through, rearranged, and tested various custom add-ons for its labyrinthine, fintech-ass user interface. World of Warcraft is a persistent software ecosystem with clients and servers and all kinds of data flying between them at all times — it’s just not necessarily exposed to every player in full. An entire cottage industry of user-created UI mods sprung up to assign repeatable actions to shortcut keys, or process advanced analytics from game logs like Simone would do for his guild, or implement an “automatic goblin therapist” who answers any incoming whispers to your character with an in-game implementation of the classic ELIZA protocol. Letting players scratch their own itches for how the game felt to play was also a clever way to limit complaints about the parts of it that weren’t as polished. I never got much into the game’s advanced content myself, but for those who did, pretty much the only way to follow the expected meta of guild raids was to use externally designed UI add-ons. World of Warcraft had the audacity to make players create their own custom cockpits for the game and ended up creating a kind of recursive procrastination where you could even distract yourself from your intended leisure activity. Anyone who’s ever rearranged the app icons on their phone knows just how ubiquitous this kind of time-consuming “metawork” has become.

Recently, I engaged in a more contemporary form of networked social entertainment — sitting around a big TV with friends, watching four strangers play a game together on Twitch. Just as things were picking up, the stream cut out, and an algorithmically inserted video ad began to play: it was for World of Warcraft. This was a group of mostly game designers, and before I had a chance to say anything, someone else piped in to mention World of Warcraft was 20 years old now — and formally impactful enough that working game makers still know its birthday.

Seeing that ad, writing this piece, none of it was enough to get me to reinstall World of Warcraft. (It’s a good thing the game never stooped to making you feed your in-game pets.) I didn’t really feel I had to replay the game to measure its influence because its influence is everywhere. Every monthly subscription, in-game economy, or digital “third place” where lives bleed into online connections owes it some spiritual recognition as prior art; those things have all become inescapable. Twenty years later, we are all living in the World of Warcraft.