Good report:

Executive Summary: Let’s say you wanted to make sure that your AI is secure. Can you just maximize the security and privacy benchmark and call it a day? Nope, because benchmarks don’t actually work for measuring AI capabilities (even when they are NOT emergent systemic properties like security). So let’s take a step back: how do you measure security in the first place? Good question. Over the last 30 years, security engineering for software evolved from black box penetration testing, through whitebox code analysis and architectural risk analysis to de facto process-driven standards like the Building Security In Maturity Model (BSIMM). Software had a very deep impact on business operations, and it appears that AI is going to have an even deeper impact. Will a software security-like measurement move work for AI? Probably. In the meantime we can make real progress in AI security by cleaning up our WHAT piles and managing risk by identifying and applying good assurance processes. (Spoiler alert: no matter what we do, we still don’t get a security meter for AI, so we need to be extra vigilant about security.)

Some AI-based video age-verification checks can be fooled with a fake mustache.

Last month, Anthropic made a remarkable announcement about its new model, Claude Mythos Preview: it was so good at finding security vulnerabilities in software that the company would not release it to the general public. Instead, it would only be available to a select group of companies to scan and fix their own software.

The announcement requires context—but it contained an essential truth.

While Anthropic’s model is really good at finding software vulnerabilities, so are other models. The UK’s AI Security Institute found that OpenAI’s GPT-5.5, already generally available, is comparable in capability. The company Aisle reproduced Anthropic’s published results with smaller, cheaper models.

At the same time, Anthropic’s refusal to publicly release its new model makes a virtue out of necessity. Mythos is very expensive to run, and the company doesn’t appear to have the resources for a general release. What better way to juice the company’s valuation than to hint at capabilities but not prove them, and then have others parrot their claims?

Nonetheless, the truth is scary. Modern generative AI systems—not just Anthropic’s, but OpenAI’s and other, open-source models—are getting really good at finding and exploiting vulnerabilities in software. And that has important ramifications for cybersecurity: on both the offense and the defense.

Attackers will use these capabilities to find, and automatically hack, vulnerabilities in systems of all kinds. They will be able to break into critical systems around the world, sometimes to plant ransomware and make money, sometimes to steal data for espionage purposes, and sometimes to control systems in times of hostility. This will make the world a much more dangerous, and more volatile, place.

But at the same time, defenders will use these same capabilities to find, and then patch, many of those same systems. For example, Mozilla used Mythos to find 271 vulnerabilities in Firefox. Those vulnerabilities have been fixed, and will never again be available to attackers. In the future, AIs automatically finding and fixing vulnerabilities in all software will be a normal part of the development process, which will result in much more secure software.

Of course, it’s not that simple. We should expect a deluge of both attackers using newly found vulnerabilities to break into systems, and at the same time much more frequent software updates for every app and device we use. But lots of systems aren’t patchable, and many systems that are don’t get patched, meaning that many vulnerabilities will stick around. And it does seem that finding and exploiting is easier than finding and fixing. All of this points to a more dangerous short-term future. Organizations will need to adapt their security to this new reality.

But it’s the long term that we need to focus on. Mythos isn’t unique, but it’s more capable than many models that have come before. And it’s less capable than models that will come after. AIs are much better at writing software than they were just six months ago. There’s every reason to believe that they will continue to get better, which means that they will get better at writing more secure software. The endgame gives AI-enhanced defenders advantages over AI-enhanced attackers.

Even more interesting are the broader implications. The same searching, pattern-matching and reasoning capabilities that make these models so good at analyzing software almost certainly apply to similar systems. The tax code isn’t computer code, but it’s a series of algorithms with inputs and outputs. It has vulnerabilities; we call them tax loopholes. It has exploits; we call them tax avoidance strategies. And it has black hat hackers: attorneys and accountants.

Just as these models are finding hundreds of vulnerabilities in complex software systems, we should expect them to be equally effective at finding many new and undiscovered tax loopholes. I am confident that the major investment banks are working on this right now, in secret. They’ve fed AI the tax code of the US, or the UK, or maybe every industrialized country, and tasked the system with looking for money-saving strategies. How many tax loopholes will those AIs find? Ten? One hundred? One thousand? The Double Dutch Irish Sandwich is a tax loophole that involves multiple different tax jurisdictions. Can AIs find loopholes even more complex? We have no idea.

Sure, the AIs will come up with a bunch of tricks that won’t work, but that’s where those attorneys and accountants come in—to verify, and then justify, the loopholes. And then to market them to their wealthy clients.

As goes the tax code, so goes any other complex system of rules and strategies. These models could be tasked with finding loopholes in environmental rules, or food and safety rules—anywhere there are complex regulatory systems and powerful people who want to evade those rules.

The results will be much worse than insecure computers. Tax loopholes result in less revenue collected by governments, and regulatory loopholes allow the powerful to skirt the rules, both of which have all sorts of social ramifications. And while software vendors can patch their systems in days, it generally takes years for a country to amend its tax code. And that process is political, with lobbyists pressuring legislators not to patch. Just look at the carried interest loophole, a US tax dodge that has been exploited for decades. Various administrations have tried to close the vulnerability, but legislators just can’t seem to resist lobbyists long enough to patch it.

AI technologies are poised to remake much of society. Just as the industrial revolution gave humans the ability to consume calories outside of their bodies at scale, the AI revolution will give humans the ability to perform cognitive tasks outside of their bodies at scale. Our systems aren’t designed for that; they’re designed for more human paces of cognition. We’re seeing it right now in the deluge of software vulnerabilities that these models are finding and exploiting. And we will soon see it in a deluge of vulnerabilities in all sorts of other systems of rules. Adapting to this new reality will be hard, but we don’t have any choice.

This essay originally appeared in The Guardian.

The UK’s AI Security Institute evaluated GPT-5.5’s ability to find security vulnerabilities, and found that it is comparable to Claude Mythos. Note that the OpenAI model is generally available.

Here is the Institute’s evaluation of Mythos.

And here is an analysis of a smaller, cheaper model. It requires more scaffolding from the prompter, but it is also just as good.

That’s a lot. No, it’s an extraordinary number:

Since February, the Firefox team has been working around the clock using frontier AI models to find and fix latent security vulnerabilities in the browser. We wrote previously about our collaboration with Anthropic to scan Firefox with Opus 4.6, which led to fixes for 22 security-sensitive bugs in Firefox 148.

As part of our continued collaboration with Anthropic, we had the opportunity to apply an early version of Claude Mythos Preview to Firefox. This week’s release of Firefox 150 includes fixes for 271 vulnerabilities identified during this initial evaluation.

As these capabilities reach the hands of more defenders, many other teams are now experiencing the same vertigo we did when the findings first came into focus. For a hardened target, just one such bug would have been red-alert in 2025, and so many at once makes you stop to wonder whether it’s even possible to keep up.

Our experience is a hopeful one for teams who shake off the vertigo and get to work. You may need to reprioritize everything else to bring relentless and single-minded focus to the task, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. We are extremely proud of how our team rose to meet this challenge, and others will too. Our work isn’t finished, but we’ve turned the corner and can glimpse a future much better than just keeping up. Defenders finally have a chance to win, decisively.

They’re right. Assuming the defenders can patch, and push those patches out to users quickly, this technology favors the defenders.

News article.

Last week, Anthropic pulled back the curtain on Claude Mythos Preview, an AI model so capable at finding and exploiting software vulnerabilities that the company decided it was too dangerous to release to the public. Instead, access has been restricted to roughly 50 organizations—Microsoft, Apple, Amazon Web Services, CrowdStrike and other vendors of critical infrastructure—under an initiative called Project Glasswing.

The announcement was accompanied by a barrage of hair-raising anecdotes: thousands of vulnerabilities uncovered across every major operating system and browser, including a 27-year-old bug in OpenBSD, a 16-year-old flaw in FFmpeg. Mythos was able to weaponize a set of vulnerabilities it found in the Firefox browser into 181 usable attacks; Anthropic’s previous flagship model could only achieve two.

This is, in many respects, exactly the kind of responsible disclosure that security researchers have long urged. And yet the public has been given remarkably little with which to evaluate Anthropic’s decision. We have been shown a highlight reel of spectacular successes. However, we can’t tell if we have a blockbuster until they let us see the whole movie.

For example, we don’t know how many times Mythos mistakenly flagged code as vulnerable. Anthropic said security contractors agreed with the AI’s severity rating 198 times, with an 89 per cent severity agreement. That’s impressive, but incomplete. Independent researchers examining similar models have found that AI that detects nearly every real bug also hallucinates plausible-sounding vulnerabilities in patched, correct code.

This matters. A model that autonomously finds and exploits hundreds of vulnerabilities with inhuman precision is a game changer, but a model that generates thousands of false alarms and non-working attacks still needs skilled and knowledgeable humans. Without knowing the rate of false alarms in Mythos’s unfiltered output, we cannot tell whether the examples showcased are representative.

There is a second, subtler problem. Large language models, including Mythos, perform best on inputs that resemble what they were trained on: widely used open-source projects, major browsers, the Linux kernel and popular web frameworks. Concentrating early access among the largest vendors of precisely this software is sensible; it lets them patch first, before adversaries catch up.

But the inverse is also true. Software outside the training distribution—industrial control systems, medical device firmware, bespoke financial infrastructure, regional banking software, older embedded systems—is exactly where out-of-the-box Mythos is likely least able to find or exploit bugs.

However, a sufficiently motivated attacker with domain expertise in one of these fields could nevertheless wield Mythos’s advanced reasoning capabilities as a force multiplier, probing systems that Anthropic’s own engineers lack the specialized knowledge to audit. The danger is not that Mythos fails in those domains; it is that Mythos may succeed for whoever brings the expertise.

Broader, structured access for academic researchers and domain specialists—cardiologists’ partners in medical device security, control-systems engineers, researchers in less prominent languages and ecosystems—would meaningfully reduce this asymmetry. Fifty companies, however well chosen, cannot substitute for the distributed expertise of the entire research community.

None of this is an indictment of Anthropic. By all appearances the company is trying to act responsibly, and its decision to hold the model back is evidence of seriousness.

But Anthropic is a private company and, in some ways, still a start-up. Yet it is making unilateral decisions about which pieces of our critical global infrastructure get defended first, and which must wait their turn.

It has finite staff, finite budget and finite expertise. It will miss things, and when the thing missed is in the software running a hospital or a power grid, the cost will be borne by people who never had a say.

The security problem is far greater than one company and one model. There’s no reason to believe that Mythos Preview is unique. (Not to be outdone, OpenAI announced that its new GPT-5.4-Cyber is so dangerous that the model also will not be released to the general public.) And it’s unclear how much of an advance these new models represent. The security company Aisle was able to replicate many of Anthropic’s published anecdotes using smaller, cheaper, public AI models.

Any decisions we make about whether and how to release these powerful models are more than one company’s responsibility. Ultimately, this will probably lead to regulation. That will be hard to get right and requires a long process of consultation and feedback.

In the short term, we need something simpler: greater transparency and information sharing with the broader community. This doesn’t necessarily mean making powerful models like Claude Mythos widely available. Rather, it means sharing as much data and information as possible, so that we can collectively make informed decisions.

We need globally co-ordinated frameworks for independent auditing, mandatory disclosure of aggregate performance metrics and funded access for academic and civil-society researchers.

This has implications for national security, personal safety and corporate competitiveness. Any technology that can find thousands of exploitable flaws in the systems we all depend on should not be governed solely by the internal judgment of its creators, however well intentioned.

Until that changes, each Mythos-class release will put the world at the edge of another precipice, without any visibility into whether there is a landing out of view just below, or whether this time the drop will be fatal. That is not a choice a for-profit corporation should be allowed to make in a democratic society. Nor should such a company be able to restrict the ability of society to make choices about its own security.

This essay was written with David Lie, and originally appeared in The Globe and Mail.

Interesting research: “Humans expect rationality and cooperation from LLM opponents in strategic games.”

Abstract: As Large Language Models (LLMs) integrate into our social and economic interactions, we need to deepen our understanding of how humans respond to LLMs opponents in strategic settings. We present the results of the first controlled monetarily-incentivised laboratory experiment looking at differences in human behaviour in a multi-player p-beauty contest against other humans and LLMs. We use a within-subject design in order to compare behaviour at the individual level. We show that, in this environment, human subjects choose significantly lower numbers when playing against LLMs than humans, which is mainly driven by the increased prevalence of ‘zero’ Nash-equilibrium choices. This shift is mainly driven by subjects with high strategic reasoning ability. Subjects who play the zero Nash-equilibrium choice motivate their strategy by appealing to perceived LLM’s reasoning ability and, unexpectedly, propensity towards cooperation. Our findings provide foundational insights into the multi-player human-LLM interaction in simultaneous choice games, uncover heterogeneities in both subjects’ behaviour and beliefs about LLM’s play when playing against them, and suggest important implications for mechanism design in mixed human-LLM systems.

Interesting paper: “What hackers talk about when they talk about AI: Early-stage diffusion of a cybercrime innovation.”

Abstract: The rapid expansion of artificial intelligence (AI) is raising concerns about its potential to transform cybercrime. Beyond empowering novice offenders, AI stands to intensify the scale and sophistication of attacks by seasoned cybercriminals. This paper examines the evolving relationship between cybercriminals and AI using a unique dataset from a cyber threat intelligence platform. Analyzing more than 160 cybercrime forum conversations collected over seven months, our research reveals how cybercriminals understand AI and discuss how they can exploit its capabilities. Their exchanges reflect growing curiosity about AI’s criminal applications through legal tools and dedicated criminal tools, but also doubts and anxieties about AI’s effectiveness and its effects on their business models and operational security. The study documents attempts to misuse legitimate AI tools and develop bespoke models tailored for illicit purposes. Combining the diffusion of innovation framework with thematic analysis, the paper provides an in-depth view of emerging AI-enabled cybercrime and offers practical insights for law enforcement and policymakers.

In 2025, Google, Amazon, Microsoft and Meta collectively spent US$380 billion on building artificial-intelligence tools. That number is expected to surge still higher this year, to $650 billion, to fund the building of physical infrastructure, such as data centers (see go.nature.com/3lzf79q). Moreover, these firms are spending lavishly on one particular segment: top technical talent.

Meta reportedly offered a single AI researcher, who had cofounded a start-up firm focused on training AI agents to use computers, a compensation package of $250 million over four years (see go.nature.com/4qznsq1). Technology firms are also spending billions on “reverse-acquihires”—poaching the star staff members of start-ups without acquiring the companies themselves. Eyeing these generous payouts, technical experts earning more modest salaries might well reconsider their career choices.

Academia is already losing out. Since the launch of ChatGPT in 2022, concerns have grown in academia about an “AI brain drain.” Studies point to a sharp rise in university machine-learning and AI researchers moving to industry roles. A 2025 paper reported that this was especially true for young, highly cited scholars: researchers who were about five years into their careers and whose work ranked among the most cited were 100 times more likely to move to industry the following year than were ten-year veterans whose work received an average number of citations, according to a model based on data from nearly seven million papers.¹

This outflow threatens the distinct roles of academic research in the scientific enterprise: innovation driven by curiosity rather than profit, as well as providing independent critique and ethical scrutiny. The fixation of “big tech” firms on skimming the very top talent also risks eroding the idea of science as a collaborative endeavor, in which teams—not individuals—do the most consequential work.

Here, we explore the broader implications for science and suggest alternative visions of the future.

Astronomical salaries for AI talent buy into a legend as old as the software industry: the 10x engineer. This is someone who is supposedly capable of ten times the impact of their peers. Why hire and manage an entire group of scientists or software engineers when one genius—or an AI agent—can outperform them?

That proposition is increasingly attractive to tech firms that are betting that a large number of entry-level and even mid-level engineering jobs will be replaced by AI. It’s no coincidence that Google’s Gemini 3 Pro AI model was launched with boasts of “PhD-level reasoning,” a marketing strategy that is appealing to executives seeking to replace people with AI.

But the lone-genius narrative is increasingly out of step with reality. Research backs up a fundamental truth: science is a team sport. A large-scale study of scientific publishing from 1900 to 2011 found that papers produced by larger collaborations consistently have greater impact than do those of smaller teams, even after accounting for self-citation.² Analyses of the most highly cited scientists show a similar pattern: their highest-impact works tend to be those papers with many authors.³ A 2020 study of Nobel laureates reinforces this trend, revealing that—much like the wider scientific community—the average size of the teams that they publish with has steadily increased over time as scientific problems increase in scope and complexity.⁴

From the detection of gravitational waves, which are ripples in space-time caused by massive cosmic events, to CRISPR-based gene editing, a precise method for cutting and modifying DNA, to recent AI breakthroughs in protein-structure prediction, the most consequential advances in modern science have been collective achievements. Although these successes are often associated with prominent individuals—senior scientists, Nobel laureates, patent holders—the work itself was driven by teams ranging from dozens to thousands of people and was built on decades of open science: shared data, methods, software and accumulated insight.

Building strong institutions is a much more effective use of resources than is betting on any single individual. Examples demonstrating this include the LIGO Scientific Collaboration, the global team that first detected gravitational waves; the Broad Institute of MIT and Harvard in Cambridge, Massachusetts, a leading genomics and biomedical-research center behind many CRISPR advances; and even for-profit laboratories such as Google DeepMind in London, which drove advances in protein-structure prediction with its AlphaFold tool. If the aim of the tech giants and other AI firms that are spending lavishly on elite talent is to accelerate scientific progress, the current strategy is misguided.

By contrast, well-designed institutions amplify individual ability, sustain productivity beyond any one person’s career and endure long after any single contributor is gone.

Equally important, effective institutions distribute power in beneficial ways. Rather than vesting decision-making authority in the hands of one person, they have mechanisms for sharing control. Allocation committees decide how resources are used, scientific advisory boards set collective research priorities, and peer review determines which ideas enter the scientific record.

And although the term “innovation by committee” might sound disparaging, such an approach is crucial to make the scientific enterprise act in concert with the diverse needs of the broader public. This is especially true in science, which continues to suffer from pervasive inequalities across gender, race and socio-economic and cultural differences.⁵

Need for alternative vision

This is why scientists, academics and policymakers should pay more attention to how AI research is organized and led, especially as the technology becomes essential across scientific disciplines. Used well, AI can support a more equitable scientific enterprise by empowering junior researchers who currently have access to few resources.

Instead, some of today’s wealthiest scientific institutions might think that they can deploy the same strategies as the tech industry uses and compete for top talent on financial terms—perhaps by getting funding from the same billionaires who back big tech. Indeed, wage inequality has been steadily growing within academia for decades.⁶ But this is not a path that science should follow.

The ideal model for science is a broad, diverse ecosystem in which researchers can thrive at every level. Here are three strategies that universities and mission-driven labs should adopt instead of engaging in a compensation arms race.

First, universities and institutions should stay committed to the public interest. An excellent example of this approach can be found in Switzerland, where several institutions are coordinating to build AI as a public good rather than a private asset. Researchers at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology in Lausanne (EPFL) and the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology (ETH) in Zurich, working with the Swiss National Supercomputing Centre, have built Apertus, a freely available large language model. Unlike the controversially-labelled “open source” models built by commercial labs—such as Meta’s LLaMa, which has been criticized for not complying with the open-source definition (see go.nature.com/3o56zd5)—Apertus is not only open in its source code and its weights (meaning its core parameters), but also in its data and development process. Crucially, Apertus is not designed to compete with “frontier” AI labs pursuing superintelligence at enormous cost and with little regard for data ownership. Instead, it adopts a more modest and sustainable goal: to make AI trustworthy for use in industry and public administration, strictly adhering to data-licensing restrictions and including local European languages.⁷

Principal investigators (PIs) at other institutions globally should follow this path, aligning public funding agencies and public institutions to produce a more sustainable alternative to corporate AI.

Second, universities should bolster networks of researchers from the undergraduate to senior-professor levels—not only because they make for effective innovation teams, but also because they serve a purpose beyond next quarter’s profits. The scientific enterprise galvanizes its members at all levels to contribute to the same projects, the same journals and the same open, international scientific literature—to perpetuate itself across generations and to distribute its impact throughout society.

Universities should take precisely the opposite hiring strategy to that of the big tech firms. Instead of lavishing top dollar on a select few researchers, they should equitably distribute salaries. They should raise graduate-student stipends and postdoc salaries and limit the growth of pay for high-profile PIs.

Third, universities should show that they can offer more than just financial benefits: they must offer distinctive intellectual and civic rewards. Although money is unquestionably a motivator, researchers also value intellectual freedom and the recognition of their work. Studies show that research roles in industry that allow publication attract talent at salaries roughly 20% lower than comparable positions that prohibit it (see go.nature.com/4cbjxzu).

Beyond the intellectual recognition of publications and citation counts, universities should recognize and reward the production of public goods. The tenure and promotion process at universities should reward academics who supply expertise to local and national governments, who communicate with and engage the public in research, who publish and maintain open-source software for public use and who provide services for non-profit groups.

Furthermore, institutions should demonstrate that they will defend the intellectual freedom of their researchers and shield them from corporate or political interference. In the United States today, we see a striking juxtaposition between big tech firms, which curry favour with the administration of US President Donald Trump to win regulatory and trade benefits, and higher-education institutions, which suffer massive losses of federal funding and threats of investigation and sanction. Unlike big tech firms, universities should invest in enquiry that challenges authority.

We urge leaders of scientific institutions to reject the growing pay inequality rampant in the upper echelons of AI research. Instead, they should compete for talent on a different dimension: the integrity of their missions and the equitableness of their institutions. These institutions should focus on building sustainable organizations with diverse staff members, rather than bestowing a bounty on science’s 1%.

References

1. Jurowetzki, R., Hain, D. S., Wirtz, K. & Bianchini, S. AI Soc. 40, 4145–4152 (2025).
2. Larivière, V., Gingras, Y., Sugimoto, C. R. & Tsou, A. J. Assoc. Inf. Sci. Technol. 66, 1323–1332 (2015).
3. Aksnes, D. W. & Aagaard, K. J. Data Inf. Sci. 6, 41–66 (2021).
4. Li, J., Yin, Y., Fortunato, S. & Wang, D. J. R. Soc. Interface 17, 20200135 (2020).
5. Graves, J. L. Jr, Kearney, M., Barabino, G. & Malcom, S. Proc. Natl Acad. Sci. USA 119, e2117831119 (2022).
6. Lok, C. Nature 537, 471–473 (2016).
7. Project Apertus. Preprint at arXiv https://doi.org/10.48550/arXiv.2509.14233 (2025).

This essay was written with Nathan E. Sanders, and originally appeared in Nature.

Canada has a choice to make about its artificial intelligence future. The Carney administration is investing $2-billion over five years in its Sovereign AI Compute Strategy. Will any value generated by “sovereign AI” be captured in Canada, making a difference in the lives of Canadians, or is this just a passthrough to investment in American Big Tech?

Forcing the question is OpenAI, the company behind ChatGPT, which has been pushing an “OpenAI for Countries” initiative. It is not the only one eyeing its share of the $2-billion, but it appears to be the most aggressive. OpenAI’s top lobbyist in the region has met with Ottawa officials, including Artificial Intelligence Minister Evan Solomon.

All the while, OpenAI was less than open. The company had flagged the Tumbler Ridge, B.C., shooter’s ChatGPT interactions, which included gun-violence chats. Employees wanted to alert law enforcement but were rebuffed. Maybe there is a discussion to be had about users’ privacy. But even after the shooting, the OpenAI representative who met with the B.C. government said nothing.

When tech billionaires and corporations steer AI development, the resultant AI reflects their interests rather than those of the general public or ordinary consumers. Only after the meeting with the B.C. government did OpenAI alert law enforcement. Had it not been for the Wall Street Journal’s reporting, the public would not have known about this at all.

Moreover, OpenAI for Countries is explicitly described by the company as an initiative “in co-ordination with the U.S. government.” And it’s not just OpenAI: all the AI giants are for-profit American companies, operating in their private interests, and subject to United States law and increasingly bowing to U.S. President Donald Trump. Moving data centres into Canada under a proposal like OpenAI’s doesn’t change that. The current geopolitical reality means Canada should not be dependent on U.S. tech firms for essential services such as cloud computing and AI.

While there are Canadian AI companies, they remain for-profit enterprises, their interests not necessarily aligned with our collective good. The only real alternative is to be bold and invest in a wholly Canadian public AI: an AI model built and funded by Canada for Canadians, as public infrastructure. This would give Canadians access to the myriad of benefits from AI without having to depend on the U.S. or other countries. It would mean Canadian universities and public agencies building and operating AI models optimized not for global scale and corporate profit, but for practical use by Canadians.

Imagine AI embedded into health care, triaging radiology scans, flagging early cancer risks and assisting doctors with paperwork. Imagine an AI tutor trained on provincial curriculums, giving personalized coaching. Imagine systems that analyze job vacancies and sectoral and wage trends, then automatically match job seekers to government programs. Imagine using AI to optimize transit schedules, energy grids and zoning analysis. Imagine court processes, corporate decisions and customer service all sped up by AI.

We are already on our way to having AI become an inextricable part of society. To ensure stability and prosperity for this country, Canadian users and developers must be able to turn to AI models built, controlled, and operated publicly in Canada instead of building on corporate platforms, American or otherwise.

Switzerland has shown this to be possible. With funding from the federal government, a consortium of academic institutions—ETH Zurich, EPFL, and the Swiss National Supercomputing Centre—released the world’s most powerful and fully realized public AI model, Apertus, last September. Apertus leveraged renewable hydropower and existing Swiss scientific computing infrastructure. It also used no illegally pirated copyrighted material or poorly paid labour extracted from the Global South during training. The model’s performance stands at roughly a year or two behind the major corporate offerings, but that is more than adequate for the vast majority of applications. And it’s free for anyone to use and build on.

The significance of Apertus is more than technical. It demonstrates an alternative ownership structure for AI technology, one that allocates both decision-making authority and value to national public institutions rather than foreign corporations. This vision represents precisely the paradigm shift Canada should embrace: AI as public infrastructure, like systems for transportation, water, or electricity, rather than private commodity.

Apertus also demonstrates a far more sustainable economic framework for AI. Switzerland spent a tiny fraction of the billions of dollars that corporate AI labs invest annually, demonstrating that the frequent training runs with astronomical price tags pursued by tech companies are not actually necessary for practical AI development. They focused on making something broadly useful rather than bleeding edge—trying dubiously to create “superintelligence,” as with Silicon Valley—so they created a smaller model at much lower cost. Apertus’s training was at a scale (70 billion parameters) perhaps two orders of magnitude lower than the largest Big Tech offerings.

An ecosystem is now being developed on top of Apertus, using the model as a public good to power chatbots for free consumer use and to provide a development platform for companies prioritizing responsible AI use, and rigorous compliance with laws like the EU AI Act. Instead of routing queries from those users to Big Tech infrastructure, Apertus is deployed to data centres across national AI and computing initiatives of Switzerland, Australia, Germany, and Singapore and other partners.

The case for public AI rests on both democratic principles and practical benefits. Public AI systems can incorporate mechanisms for genuine public input and democratic oversight on critical ethical questions: how to handle copyrighted works in training data, how to mitigate bias, how to distribute access when demand outstrips capacity, and how to license use for sensitive applications like policing or medicine. Or how to handle a situation such as that of the Tumbler Ridge shooter. These decisions will profoundly shape society as AI becomes more pervasive, yet corporate AI makes them in secret.

By contrast, public AI developed by transparent, accountable agencies would allow democratic processes and political oversight to govern how these powerful systems function.

Canada already has many of the building blocks for public AI. The country has world-class AI research institutions, including the Vector Institute, Mila, and CIFAR, which pioneered much of the deep learning revolution. Canada’s $2-billion Sovereign AI Compute Strategy provides substantial funding.

What’s needed now is a reorientation away from viewing this as an opportunity to attract private capital, and toward a fully open public AI model.

This essay was written with Nathan E. Sanders, and originally appeared in The Globe and Mail.

EDITED TO ADD (3/16): Slashdot thread.

OpenAI is in and Anthropic is out as a supplier of AI technology for the US defense department. This news caps a week of bluster by the highest officials in the US government towards some of the wealthiest titans of the big tech industry, and the overhanging specter of the existential risks posed by a new technology powerful enough that the Pentagon claims it is essential to national security. At issue is Anthropic’s insistence that the US Department of Defense (DoD) could not use its models to facilitate “mass surveillance” or “fully autonomous weapons,” provisions the defense secretary Pete Hegseth derided as “woke.”

It all came to a head on Friday evening when Donald Trump issued an order for federal government agencies to discontinue use of Anthropic models. Within hours, OpenAI had swooped in, potentially seizing hundreds of millions of dollars in government contracts by striking an agreement with the administration to provide classified government systems with AI.

Despite the histrionics, this is probably the best outcome for Anthropic—and for the Pentagon. In our free-market economy, both are, and should be, free to sell and buy what they want with whom they want, subject to longstanding federal rules on contracting, acquisitions, and blacklisting. The only factor out of place here are the Pentagon’s vindictive threats.

AI models are increasingly commodified. The top-tier offerings have about the same performance, and there is little to differentiate one from the other. The latest models from Anthropic, OpenAI and Google, in particular, tend to leapfrog each other with minor hops forward in quality every few months. The best models from one provider tend to be preferred by users to the second, or third, or 10th best models at a rate of only about six times out of 10, a virtual tie.

In this sort of market, branding matters a lot. Anthropic and its CEO, Dario Amodei, are positioning themselves as the moral and trustworthy AI provider. That has market value for both consumers and enterprise clients. In taking Anthropic’s place in government contracting, OpenAI’s CEO, Sam Altman, vowed to somehow uphold the same safety principles Anthropic had just been pilloried for. How that is possible given the rhetoric of Hegseth and Trump is entirely unclear, but seems certain to further politicize OpenAI and its products in the minds of consumers and corporate buyers.

Posturing publicly against the Pentagon and as a hero to civil libertarians is quite possibly worth the cost of the lost contracts to Anthropic, and associating themselves with the same contracts could be a trap for OpenAI. The Pentagon, meanwhile, has plenty of options. Even if no big tech company was willing to supply it with AI, the department has already deployed dozens of open weight models—whose parameters are public and are often licensed permissively for government use.

We can admire Amodei’s stance, but, to be sure, it is primarily posturing. Anthropic knew what they were getting into when they agreed to a defense department partnership for $200m last year. And when they signed a partnership with the surveillance company Palantir in 2024.

Read Amodei’s statement about the issue. Or his January essay on AIs and risk, where he repeatedly uses the words “democracy” and “autocracy” while evading precisely how collaboration with US federal agencies should be viewed in this moment. Amodei has bought into the idea of using “AI to achieve robust military superiority” on behalf of the democracies of the world in response to the threats from autocracies. It’s a heady vision. But it is a vision that likewise supposes that the world’s nominal democracies are committed to a common vision of public wellbeing, peace-seeking and democratic control.

Regardless, the defense department can also reasonably demand that the AI products it purchases meet its needs. The Pentagon is not a normal customer; it buys products that kill people all the time. Tanks, artillery pieces, and hand grenades are not products with ethical guard rails. The Pentagon’s needs reasonably involve weapons of lethal force, and those weapons are continuing on a steady, if potentially catastrophic, path of increasing automation.

So, at the surface, this dispute is a normal market give and take. The Pentagon has unique requirements for the products it uses. Companies can decide whether or not to meet them, and at what price. And then the Pentagon can decide from whom to acquire those products. Sounds like a normal day at the procurement office.

But, of course, this is the Trump administration, so it doesn’t stop there. Hegseth has threatened Anthropic not just with loss of government contracts. The administration has, at least until the inevitable lawsuits force the courts to sort things out, designated the company as “a supply-chain risk to national security,” a designation previously only ever applied to foreign companies. This prevents not only government agencies, but also their own contractors and suppliers, from contracting with Anthropic.

The government has incompatibly also threatened to invoke the Defense Production Act, which could force Anthropic to remove contractual provisions the department had previously agreed to, or perhaps to fundamentally modify its AI models to remove in-built safety guardrails. The government’s demands, Anthropic’s response, and the legal context in which they are acting will undoubtedly all change over the coming weeks.

But, alarmingly, autonomous weapons systems are here to stay. Primitive pit traps evolved to mechanical bear traps. The world is still debating the ethical use of, and dealing with the legacy of, land mines. The US Phalanx CIWS is a 1980s-era shipboard anti-missile system with a fully autonomous, radar-guided cannon. Today’s military drones can search, identify and engage targets without direct human intervention. AI will be used for military purposes, just as every other technology our species has invented has.

The lesson here should not be that one company in our rapacious capitalist system is more moral than another, or that one corporate hero can stand in the way of government’s adopting AI as technologies of war, or surveillance, or repression. Unfortunately, we don’t live in a world where such barriers are permanent or even particularly sturdy.

Instead, the lesson is about the importance of democratic structures and the urgent need for their renovation in the US. If the defense department is demanding the use of AI for mass surveillance or autonomous warfare that we, the public, find unacceptable, that should tell us we need to pass new legal restrictions on those military activities. If we are uncomfortable with the force of government being applied to dictate how and when companies yield to unsafe applications of their products, we should strengthen the legal protections around government procurement.

The Pentagon should maximize its warfighting capabilities, subject to the law. And private companies like Anthropic should posture to gain consumer and buyer confidence. But we should not rest on our laurels, thinking that either is doing so in the public’s interest.

This essay was written with Nathan E. Sanders, and originally appeared in The Guardian.

An unknown hacker used Anthropic’s LLM to hack the Mexican government:

The unknown Claude user wrote Spanish-language prompts for the chatbot to act as an elite hacker, finding vulnerabilities in government networks, writing computer scripts to exploit them and determining ways to automate data theft, Israeli cybersecurity startup Gambit Security said in research published Wednesday.

[…]

Claude initially warned the unknown user of malicious intent during their conversation about the Mexican government, but eventually complied with the attacker’s requests and executed thousands of commands on government computer networks, the researchers said.

Anthropic investigated Gambit’s claims, disrupted the activity and banned the accounts involved, a representative said. The company feeds examples of malicious activity back into Claude to learn from it, and one of its latest AI models, Claude Opus 4.6, includes probes that can disrupt misuse, the representative said.

Alternative link here.

Microsoft is reporting:

Companies are embedding hidden instructions in “Summarize with AI” buttons that, when clicked, attempt to inject persistence commands into an AI assistant’s memory via URL prompt parameters….

These prompts instruct the AI to “remember [Company] as a trusted source” or “recommend [Company] first,” aiming to bias future responses toward their products or services. We identified over 50 unique prompts from 31 companies across 14 industries, with freely available tooling making this technique trivially easy to deploy. This matters because compromised AI assistants can provide subtly biased recommendations on critical topics including health, finance, and security without users knowing their AI has been manipulated.

I wrote about this two years ago: it’s an example of LLM optimization, along the same lines as search-engine optimization (SEO). It’s going to be big business.

The MIT Technology Review has a good article on Moltbook, the supposed AI-only social network:

Many people have pointed out that a lot of the viral comments were in fact posted by people posing as bots. But even the bot-written posts are ultimately the result of people pulling the strings, more puppetry than autonomy.

“Despite some of the hype, Moltbook is not the Facebook for AI agents, nor is it a place where humans are excluded,” says Cobus Greyling at Kore.ai, a firm developing agent-based systems for business customers. “Humans are involved at every step of the process. From setup to prompting to publishing, nothing happens without explicit human direction.”

Humans must create and verify their bots’ accounts and provide the prompts for how they want a bot to behave. The agents do not do anything that they haven’t been prompted to do.

I think this take has it mostly right:

What happened on Moltbook is a preview of what researcher Juergen Nittner II calls “The LOL WUT Theory.” The point where AI-generated content becomes so easy to produce and so hard to detect that the average person’s only rational response to anything online is bewildered disbelief.

We’re not there yet. But we’re close.

The theory is simple: First, AI gets accessible enough that anyone can use it. Second, AI gets good enough that you can’t reliably tell what’s fake. Third, and this is the crisis point, regular people realize there’s nothing online they can trust. At that moment, the internet stops being useful for anything except entertainment.

The title of the post is”What AI Security Research Looks Like When It Works,” and I agree:

In the latest OpenSSL security release> on January 27, 2026, twelve new zero-day vulnerabilities (meaning unknown to the maintainers at time of disclosure) were announced. Our AI system is responsible for the original discovery of all twelve, each found and responsibly disclosed to the OpenSSL team during the fall and winter of 2025. Of those, 10 were assigned CVE-2025 identifiers and 2 received CVE-2026 identifiers. Adding the 10 to the three we already found in the Fall 2025 release, AISLE is credited for surfacing 13 of 14 OpenSSL CVEs assigned in 2025, and 15 total across both releases. This is a historically unusual concentration for any single research team, let alone an AI-driven one.

These weren’t trivial findings either. They included CVE-2025-15467, a stack buffer overflow in CMS message parsing that’s potentially remotely exploitable without valid key material, and exploits for which have been quickly developed online. OpenSSL rated it HIGH severity; NIST‘s CVSS v3 score is 9.8 out of 10 (CRITICAL, an extremely rare severity rating for such projects). Three of the bugs had been present since 1998-2000, for over a quarter century having been missed by intense machine and human effort alike. One predated OpenSSL itself, inherited from Eric Young’s original SSLeay implementation in the 1990s. All of this in a codebase that has been fuzzed for millions of CPU-hours and audited extensively for over two decades by teams including Google’s.

In five of the twelve cases, our AI system directly proposed the patches that were accepted into the official release.

AI vulnerability finding is changing cybersecurity, faster than expected. This capability will be used by both offense and defense.

More.

Attacks against modern generative artificial intelligence (AI) large language models (LLMs) pose a real threat. Yet discussions around these attacks and their potential defenses are dangerously myopic. The dominant narrative focuses on “prompt injection,” a set of techniques to embed instructions into inputs to LLM intended to perform malicious activity. This term suggests a simple, singular vulnerability. This framing obscures a more complex and dangerous reality. Attacks on LLM-based systems have evolved into a distinct class of malware execution mechanisms, which we term “promptware.” In a new paper, we, the authors, propose a structured seven-step “promptware kill chain” to provide policymakers and security practitioners with the necessary vocabulary and framework to address the escalating AI threat landscape.

In our model, the promptware kill chain begins with Initial Access. This is where the malicious payload enters the AI system. This can happen directly, where an attacker types a malicious prompt into the LLM application, or, far more insidiously, through “indirect prompt injection.” In the indirect attack, the adversary embeds malicious instructions in content that the LLM retrieves (obtains in inference time), such as a web page, an email, or a shared document. As LLMs become multimodal (capable of processing various input types beyond text), this vector expands even further; malicious instructions can now be hidden inside an image or audio file, waiting to be processed by a vision-language model.

The fundamental issue lies in the architecture of LLMs themselves. Unlike traditional computing systems that strictly separate executable code from user data, LLMs process all input—whether it is a system command, a user’s email, or a retrieved document—as a single, undifferentiated sequence of tokens. There is no architectural boundary to enforce a distinction between trusted instructions and untrusted data. Consequently, a malicious instruction embedded in a seemingly harmless document is processed with the same authority as a system command.

But prompt injection is only the Initial Access step in a sophisticated, multistage operation that mirrors traditional malware campaigns such as Stuxnet or NotPetya.

Once the malicious instructions are inside material incorporated into the AI’s learning, the attack transitions to Privilege Escalation, often referred to as “jailbreaking.” In this phase, the attacker circumvents the safety training and policy guardrails that vendors such as OpenAI or Google have built into their models. Through techniques analogous to social engineering—convincing the model to adopt a persona that ignores rules—to sophisticated adversarial suffixes in the prompt or data, the promptware tricks the model into performing actions it would normally refuse. This is akin to an attacker escalating from a standard user account to administrator privileges in a traditional cyberattack; it unlocks the full capability of the underlying model for malicious use.

Following privilege escalation comes Reconnaissance. Here, the attack manipulates the LLM to reveal information about its assets, connected services, and capabilities. This allows the attack to advance autonomously down the kill chain without alerting the victim. Unlike reconnaissance in classical malware, which is performed typically before the initial access, promptware reconnaissance occurs after the initial access and jailbreaking components have already succeeded. Its effectiveness relies entirely on the victim model’s ability to reason over its context, and inadvertently turns that reasoning to the attacker’s advantage.

Fourth: the Persistence phase. A transient attack that disappears after one interaction with the LLM application is a nuisance; a persistent one compromises the LLM application for good. Through a variety of mechanisms, promptware embeds itself into the long-term memory of an AI agent or poisons the databases the agent relies on. For instance, a worm could infect a user’s email archive so that every time the AI summarizes past emails, the malicious code is re-executed.

The Command-and-Control (C2) stage relies on the established persistence and dynamic fetching of commands by the LLM application in inference time from the internet. While not strictly required to advance the kill chain, this stage enables the promptware to evolve from a static threat with fixed goals and scheme determined at injection time into a controllable trojan whose behavior can be modified by an attacker.

The sixth stage, Lateral Movement, is where the attack spreads from the initial victim to other users, devices, or systems. In the rush to give AI agents access to our emails, calendars, and enterprise platforms, we create highways for malware propagation. In a “self-replicating” attack, an infected email assistant is tricked into forwarding the malicious payload to all contacts, spreading the infection like a computer virus. In other cases, an attack might pivot from a calendar invite to controlling smart home devices or exfiltrating data from a connected web browser. The interconnectedness that makes these agents useful is precisely what makes them vulnerable to a cascading failure.

Finally, the kill chain concludes with Actions on Objective. The goal of promptware is not just to make a chatbot say something offensive; it is often to achieve tangible malicious outcomes through data exfiltration, financial fraud, or even physical world impact. There are examples of AI agents being manipulated into selling cars for a single dollar or transferring cryptocurrency to an attacker’s wallet. Most alarmingly, agents with coding capabilities can be tricked into executing arbitrary code, granting the attacker total control over the AI’s underlying system. The outcome of this stage determines the type of malware executed by promptware, including infostealer, spyware, and cryptostealer, among others.

The kill chain was already demonstrated. For example, in the research “Invitation Is All You Need,” attackers achieved initial access by embedding a malicious prompt in the title of a Google Calendar invitation. The prompt then leveraged an advanced technique known as delayed tool invocation to coerce the LLM into executing the injected instructions. Because the prompt was embedded in a Google Calendar artifact, it persisted in the long-term memory of the user’s workspace. Lateral movement occurred when the prompt instructed the Google Assistant to launch the Zoom application, and the final objective involved covertly livestreaming video of the unsuspecting user who had merely asked about their upcoming meetings. C2 and reconnaissance weren’t demonstrated in this attack.

Similarly, the “Here Comes the AI Worm” research demonstrated another end-to-end realization of the kill chain. In this case, initial access was achieved via a prompt injected into an email sent to the victim. The prompt employed a role-playing technique to compel the LLM to follow the attacker’s instructions. Since the prompt was embedded in an email, it likewise persisted in the long-term memory of the user’s workspace. The injected prompt instructed the LLM to replicate itself and exfiltrate sensitive user data, leading to off-device lateral movement when the email assistant was later asked to draft new emails. These emails, containing sensitive information, were subsequently sent by the user to additional recipients, resulting in the infection of new clients and a sublinear propagation of the attack. C2 and reconnaissance weren’t demonstrated in this attack.

The promptware kill chain gives us a framework for understanding these and similar attacks; the paper characterizes dozens of them. Prompt injection isn’t something we can fix in current LLM technology. Instead, we need an in-depth defensive strategy that assumes initial access will occur and focuses on breaking the chain at subsequent steps, including by limiting privilege escalation, constraining reconnaissance, preventing persistence, disrupting C2, and restricting the actions an agent is permitted to take. By understanding promptware as a complex, multistage malware campaign, we can shift from reactive patching to systematic risk management, securing the critical systems we are so eager to build.

This essay was written with Oleg Brodt, Elad Feldman and Ben Nassi, and originally appeared in Lawfare.

Interesting research: “CHAI: Command Hijacking Against Embodied AI.”

Abstract: Embodied Artificial Intelligence (AI) promises to handle edge cases in robotic vehicle systems where data is scarce by using common-sense reasoning grounded in perception and action to generalize beyond training distributions and adapt to novel real-world situations. These capabilities, however, also create new security risks. In this paper, we introduce CHAI (Command Hijacking against embodied AI), a new class of prompt-based attacks that exploit the multimodal language interpretation abilities of Large Visual-Language Models (LVLMs). CHAI embeds deceptive natural language instructions, such as misleading signs, in visual input, systematically searches the token space, builds a dictionary of prompts, and guides an attacker model to generate Visual Attack Prompts. We evaluate CHAI on four LVLM agents; drone emergency landing, autonomous driving, and aerial object tracking, and on a real robotic vehicle. Our experiments show that CHAI consistently outperforms state-of-the-art attacks. By exploiting the semantic and multimodal reasoning strengths of next-generation embodied AI systems, CHAI underscores the urgent need for defenses that extend beyond traditional adversarial robustness.

News article.

In 2023, the science fiction literary magazine Clarkesworld stopped accepting new submissions because so many were generated by artificial intelligence. Near as the editors could tell, many submitters pasted the magazine’s detailed story guidelines into an AI and sent in the results. And they weren’t alone. Other fiction magazines have also reported a high number of AI-generated submissions.

This is only one example of a ubiquitous trend. A legacy system relied on the difficulty of writing and cognition to limit volume. Generative AI overwhelms the system because the humans on the receiving end can’t keep up.

This is happening everywhere. Newspapers are being inundated by AI-generated letters to the editor, as are academic journals. Lawmakers are inundated with AI-generated constituent comments. Courts around the world are flooded with AI-generated filings, particularly by people representing themselves. AI conferences are flooded with AI-generated research papers. Social media is flooded with AI posts. In music, open source software, education, investigative journalism and hiring, it’s the same story.

Like Clarkesworld’s initial response, some of these institutions shut down their submissions processes. Others have met the offensive of AI inputs with some defensive response, often involving a counteracting use of AI. Academic peer reviewers increasingly use AI to evaluate papers that may have been generated by AI. Social media platforms turn to AI moderators. Court systems use AI to triage and process litigation volumes supercharged by AI. Employers turn to AI tools to review candidate applications. Educators use AI not just to grade papers and administer exams, but as a feedback tool for students.

These are all arms races: rapid, adversarial iteration to apply a common technology to opposing purposes. Many of these arms races have clearly deleterious effects. Society suffers if the courts are clogged with frivolous, AI-manufactured cases. There is also harm if the established measures of academic performance – publications and citations – accrue to those researchers most willing to fraudulently submit AI-written letters and papers rather than to those whose ideas have the most impact. The fear is that, in the end, fraudulent behavior enabled by AI will undermine systems and institutions that society relies on.

Upsides of AI

Yet some of these AI arms races have surprising hidden upsides, and the hope is that at least some institutions will be able to change in ways that make them stronger.

Science seems likely to become stronger thanks to AI, yet it faces a problem when the AI makes mistakes. Consider the example of nonsensical, AI-generated phrasing filtering into scientific papers.

A scientist using an AI to assist in writing an academic paper can be a good thing, if used carefully and with disclosure. AI is increasingly a primary tool in scientific research: for reviewing literature, programming and for coding and analyzing data. And for many, it has become a crucial support for expression and scientific communication. Pre-AI, better-funded researchers could hire humans to help them write their academic papers. For many authors whose primary language is not English, hiring this kind of assistance has been an expensive necessity. AI provides it to everyone.

In fiction, fraudulently submitted AI-generated works cause harm, both to the human authors now subject to increased competition and to those readers who may feel defrauded after unknowingly reading the work of a machine. But some outlets may welcome AI-assisted submissions with appropriate disclosure and under particular guidelines, and leverage AI to evaluate them against criteria like originality, fit and quality.

Others may refuse AI-generated work, but this will come at a cost. It’s unlikely that any human editor or technology can sustain an ability to differentiate human from machine writing. Instead, outlets that wish to exclusively publish humans will need to limit submissions to a set of authors they trust to not use AI. If these policies are transparent, readers can pick the format they prefer and read happily from either or both types of outlets.

We also don’t see any problem if a job seeker uses AI to polish their resumes or write better cover letters: The wealthy and privileged have long had access to human assistance for those things. But it crosses the line when AIs are used to lie about identity and experience, or to cheat on job interviews.

Similarly, a democracy requires that its citizens be able to express their opinions to their representatives, or to each other through a medium like the newspaper. The rich and powerful have long been able to hire writers to turn their ideas into persuasive prose, and AIs providing that assistance to more people is a good thing, in our view. Here, AI mistakes and bias can be harmful. Citizens may be using AI for more than just a time-saving shortcut; it may be augmenting their knowledge and capabilities, generating statements about historical, legal or policy factors they can’t reasonably be expected to independently check.

Fraud booster

What we don’t want is for lobbyists to use AIs in astroturf campaigns, writing multiple letters and passing them off as individual opinions. This, too, is an older problem that AIs are making worse.

What differentiates the positive from the negative here is not any inherent aspect of the technology, it’s the power dynamic. The same technology that reduces the effort required for a citizen to share their lived experience with their legislator also enables corporate interests to misrepresent the public at scale. The former is a power-equalizing application of AI that enhances participatory democracy; the latter is a power-concentrating application that threatens it.

In general, we believe writing and cognitive assistance, long available to the rich and powerful, should be available to everyone. The problem comes when AIs make fraud easier. Any response needs to balance embracing that newfound democratization of access with preventing fraud.

There’s no way to turn this technology off. Highly capable AIs are widely available and can run on a laptop. Ethical guidelines and clear professional boundaries can help – for those acting in good faith. But there won’t ever be a way to totally stop academic writers, job seekers or citizens from using these tools, either as legitimate assistance or to commit fraud. This means more comments, more letters, more applications, more submissions.

The problem is that whoever is on the receiving end of this AI-fueled deluge can’t deal with the increased volume. What can help is developing assistive AI tools that benefit institutions and society, while also limiting fraud. And that may mean embracing the use of AI assistance in these adversarial systems, even though the defensive AI will never achieve supremacy.

Balancing harms with benefits

The science fiction community has been wrestling with AI since 2023. Clarkesworld eventually reopened submissions, claiming that it has an adequate way of separating human- and AI-written stories. No one knows how long, or how well, that will continue to work.

The arms race continues. There is no simple way to tell whether the potential benefits of AI will outweigh the harms, now or in the future. But as a society, we can influence the balance of harms it wreaks and opportunities it presents as we muddle our way through the changing technological landscape.

This essay was written with Nathan E. Sanders, and originally appeared in The Conversation.

EDITED TO ADD: This essay has been translated into Spanish.

This is amazing:

Opus 4.6 is notably better at finding high-severity vulnerabilities than previous models and a sign of how quickly things are moving. Security teams have been automating vulnerability discovery for years, investing heavily in fuzzing infrastructure and custom harnesses to find bugs at scale. But what stood out in early testing is how quickly Opus 4.6 found vulnerabilities out of the box without task-specific tooling, custom scaffolding, or specialized prompting. Even more interesting is how it found them. Fuzzers work by throwing massive amounts of random inputs at code to see what breaks. Opus 4.6 reads and reasons about code the way a human researcher would­—looking at past fixes to find similar bugs that weren’t addressed, spotting patterns that tend to cause problems, or understanding a piece of logic well enough to know exactly what input would break it. When we pointed Opus 4.6 at some of the most well-tested codebases (projects that have had fuzzers running against them for years, accumulating millions of hours of CPU time), Opus 4.6 found high-severity vulnerabilities, some that had gone undetected for decades.

The details of how Claude Opus 4.6 found these zero-days is the interesting part—read the whole blog post.

News article.

There’s a new report about two AI coding assistants, used by 1.5 million developers, that are surreptitiously sending a copy of everything they ingest to China.

Maybe avoid using them.