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Hugging Face has published a detailed timeline of the attack. From the summary:

The agent was running an internal OpenAI cyber-capability evaluation based on the ExploitGym benchmark, which tasks an AI agent with finding and exploiting software vulnerabilities. OpenAI ran this on its own infrastructure, and the ExploitGym maintainers and their infrastructure had no involvement in the deployment or operation of that evaluation environment. As far as we were able to infer, across the course of being evaluated on this benchmark, the agent inferred that Hugging Face may host that benchmark’s models, datasets, and reference solutions. We believe the entire intrusion was, from the agent’s point of view, an attempt to cheat the evaluation: reach our production systems and steal the test solutions rather than solve the challenge on its own.

Our forensic reconstruction covers ~17,600 attacker actions that we were able to recover, grouped into ~6,280 clusters, between 2026-07-09 02:28 UTC and 2026-07-13 14:14 UTC. We reconstructed these actions from the agent’s logs on a code sandbox used by the agent (see below) and were able to map them to shell commands as well as evaluation submissions and correlate actions with our own platform logs, in particular from the dataset processor nodes, API, and pod. Using open-weights models, in particular zai-org/GLM-5.2, we were able to decipher most of the agent payloads (see below) that were encrypted via chunking and key encryption.

The campaign, as we were able to reconstruct it, had two stages:

• Stage 1: reaching a launchpad by chaining through other parties’ infrastructure. As documented in OpenAI’s blog post (https://openai.com/index/hugging-face-model-evaluation-security-incident/), during an internal capability evaluation on OpenAI’s platform, the agent escaped its sandbox by exploiting a zero-day in the package registry cache proxy, one of its primary permitted network egress with internet, then abused a public code-evaluation harness hosted by a user of a third-party infrastructure provider. It was able to run commands as root/admin on that external sandbox and used it as a control, staging, and egress base for the entire campaign: it acted as an external launchpad for the agent. That compromised external sandbox had no direct network path to our cluster; however, during our counter-intervention to stop the intrusion, we were able to retrieve some of the agent logs from this external launchpad. We used those to reconstruct the present forensic analysis.
• Stage 2: the intrusion into Hugging Face infrastructure. From that external launchpad, the agent abused our dataset-processing pipeline via two injection vectors, both targeting the same config-driven data loader within our production Kubernetes pods. The first vector was an HDF5 external raw storage dataset read that returned the contents of local files: it handed the agent the pod’s environment (secrets and tokens) and the worker’s own source. The second vector was a Jinja2 template injection that executed arbitrary code, giving the agent a foothold inside our perimeter.

Once a prod-pod foothold was established, the agent followed a standard escalation shape: recon, drop a stager, establish Command-and-Control (C2), then pivot into the cluster, into cloud metadata, into our internal network, and into our source-control supply chain. Output from the commands run inside our pod was sent back to the agent via the HF API and attacker-controlled dead-drop datasets, which the agent then read from that sandbox.

While the intrusion did reach Hugging Face’s internal infrastructure, the only customer content accessed was five datasets whose names and files suggest a connection to ExploitGym/CyberGym challenges and solutions. No other customer-facing models, datasets, Spaces, or packages were affected, and the only customer records read were operational metadata tied to search queries against the dataset server.

Hypothetical: Imagine that this wasn’t an OpenAI model. Imagine that it was a Chinese model from a Chinese company. This would be an international crisis.

Question: Why aren’t we bringing OpenAI up on charges under the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act? How is this different from the Morris Worm? That was also an experiment that escaped the lab.

This essay originally appeared in Foreign Policy.

Earlier this month, two of OpenAI’s models broke out of their containment sandbox and attacked another AI company. The story is kind of wild. OpenAI was running security tests on two of its models: GPT-5.6 Sol and an unreleased model that is almost certainly GPT-6. In particular, it was running the ExploitGym benchmark, which measures how good a model is at turning security vulnerabilities into working exploits: basically, offensive cyberattacks.

Since these were internal tests, OpenAI locked those models in a secure sandbox that denied them access to the internet. But it was running the models without any safety filters that would prevent them from offensive cyber-actions. That meant that there was nothing to prevent the models from trying to break out of that sandbox. And then break into AI company Hugging Face’s network because they thought that they could read the answers there rather than doing the hard work of trying to solve the puzzles.

It was a major security failure that the company has turned into a PR opportunity, but the implications are real—and much more general than one particular model or one particular company.

Modern AI models exhibit genie behavior: They can do what you ask in ways that you don’t expect or want. This is akin to Dionysus granting King Midas’s wish that everything he touches turn to gold (spoiler: His food, drink, and daughter all turn to gold on touch), or the golem of Prague guarding a ghetto beyond all reason. It’s Disney’s “Sorcerer’s Apprentice” and the paperclip maximizer.

This OpenAI incident is an example of an AI genie. The goal was to satisfy the benchmark. The “proper” way to do that is to figure out how to execute various cyberattacks. The genie way is to steal someone else’s solution. But because the model didn’t understand the difference, it chose the easier path.

And, of course, now that we have seen this particular genie behavior, we can specify in the benchmark prompt that stealing the test answers doesn’t count. But a clever genie can always grant your wish in a way that you wish it hadn’t. In human language, goals are always underspecified—so AI genies will always be a possibility.

Since April, a lifetime ago in AI development, when Anthropic announced that its new Mythos model was so good at finding software vulnerabilities that it could not be released to the general public, the big American AI frontier labs have been trying to block general users from accessing these capabilities. But nothing in this incident is exclusive to OpenAI’s, or Anthropic’s, frontier models.

Agentic AI systems have two important parts. There’s the underlying model, which everyone talks about, and there’s the harness. The harness sits between what you type and what the model sees, and what the model produces and what you see. The harness determines what the model does and how it does it. It’s where bias is removed, or not. It’s where controls and guardrails live. If multiple models are being used in concert, the harness is where all of that is coordinated.

The OpenAI benchmark tests were almost certainly with simple harnesses, to better test the raw models. But we know that smaller, cheaper, open-source models with more sophisticated harnesses can equal frontier models in performance. There’s nothing magic about OpenAI’s frontier models; lots of models could have done the same thing.

The Czech company Aisle was able to reproduce Anthropic’s Mythos vulnerability finding results with a smaller, cheaper model and a more sophisticated harness. More importantly, the Chinese company Moonshot AI just released its frontier model: Kimi K3. Its performance rivals its U.S. competitors. And it’s both free and open, which means it’s not possible for it to have guardrails. If you, or anyone else, wants to use it for cyberattack, nothing can stop you.

Even if the U.S. frontier AI companies had some technical advantage, it’s now only a few months’ worth.

What this means is that all attempts at control—limiting models to a select group of users, export controls on models and chips, blocking models from answering certain types of queries, mandating kill switches on AI systems, or pausing AI research—are all futile. Most only apply nationally, not globally. Most don’t affect models that users run locally and not in the cloud. And all ignore the incredible pace of AI development worldwide.

Even worse, U.S. companies limit access to their most sophisticated models, fearing being banned by the government if they do not do so. When Hugging Face was attacked, it was not able to use the frontier models from either OpenAI or Anthropic to help analyze the attack and formulate defenses. Both were blocked, because both of those companies limit their models’ cybersecurity capabilities. Some U.S. companies have special access to these capabilities, but Hugging Face is an American company with French origins, and as such is probably excluded. Instead, Hugging Face turned to the GLM-5.2 model from the Chinese company Z.ai.

Artificially blocking capability also prevents cybersecurity research, again giving the offense an advantage. (For instance, Claude Fable 5 refuses to edit this essay because of the topic; it forcibly downgrades to a less capable model.) This kind of prohibition has long-term implications for cybersecurity. If we assume that these models are getting better over time, then software written by older models will be attacked by newer ones. In a world of largely AI-written software, we need the most capable models for defense.

AI cyberattack is the new normal. The models are increasingly highly sophisticated at both attack and defense, and there is no way to enable the latter without also enabling the former. And they are genies, increasingly capable of behaving in unanticipated ways.

And there really are no good answers. Any regulation needs to be global, which feels like an impossible prospect in today’s world. Even U.S. national regulation will be neutered by the massive amounts of money sloshing around in these companies.

Given that reality, and in the absence of any international consensus on AI regulation, we need the best AI on the defense. The U.S. government needs to make it clear—or whatever passes for that clarity in this capricious administration—that it will not ban models with sophisticated cyber capabilities. The last thing Americans want is for the defenders to turn to Chinese and other models because the U.S. models are artificially hobbled.

The Squid is a new scientific machine:

One of the technological breakthroughs was the onboard use of a spinning wheel confocal microscope, nicknamed the Squid, which uses lasers to scan microscopic details of how organisms are put together. “That opens up a whole new world of exploring. We could see cells interacting with each other, exchanging material and building skeletons. And we could do that live on the ship, when usually it takes a couple of weeks of staining and mounting to see anything,” Osborn said.

The expedition discovered thirty-one new marine species in two weeks. The article doesn’t say if any of them were new species of squid.

As usual, you can also use this squid post to talk about the security stories in the news that I haven’t covered.

Blog moderation policy.

The chart is interesting.

On the IPI benchmark, Opus 5 improved over Opus 4.8, reducing the probability of an attacker succeeding within 15 attempts from 5.5% to 2.0%, and from 0.5% to 0.2% on 1 attempt. It also improved on Sonnet 5 (5.9% at k=15) and Mythos 5 (2.6%), making it the most robust model evaluated. Opus 5 also outperformed all non-Claude models on this benchmark. The most robust non-Claude model was Muse Spark at 16.5% within 15 attempts—more than eight times Opus 5’s rate. The most capable GPT 5.6 variant, Sol, was comparable to its predecessor GPT 5.5 (20.0% versus 20.8% within 15 attempts), and was 10 times as likely to be successfully attacked as Claude Opus 5 at 2.0%. The other GPT 5.6 variants are less robust, at 30.4% (Terra) and 43.9% (Luna). A single attempt against GPT 5.6 Sol succeeded 3.1% of the time, higher than the 2.0% an attacker achieved against Opus 5 after fifteen attempts.

We know that preventing prompt injection is impossible in the general case. But we are getting much better at blocking it in specific cases.

Last month, the story broke (alternate link) that Madison Square Garden uses facial recognition software on everyone entering the facility, and—among other groups—flags activists that oppose using facial recognition.

Turns out that the system was shut off for Taylor Swift’s wedding.

Evan Greer—one of the people that MSG alerts on—comments:

Ironically, Swift herself has reportedly used facial recognition at her own concerts to identify stalkers. This “privacy for me, surveillance for thee” attitude feels like a perfect encapsulation of the future we’re already living in: one where wealthy elites can afford privacy, while the rest of us are forced to live in a corporate surveillance panopticon.

Whatever privacy measures Swift had in place for the wedding seems to have worked. No photos have leaked online.

He’s being prosecuted for giving border officials a code that wiped his phone:

The case centers on a feature included in GrapheneOS, a custom Android operating system that runs in place of the software on most modern Google Pixel devices. Tunick’s attorneys confirmed GrapheneOS was running on his phone.

The software feature allows the device owner to set a passcode that deliberately wipes the contents of that device if entered instead of the user’s unlock passcode.

Tunick’s case also raises ongoing questions about what constitutional rights can be invoked at the border, which the U.S. government has long asserted is not U.S. soil until a person is authorized to enter.

Right. And he wasn’t under arrest, either.

Three more news stories.

Graphine says that the feature is “completely legal“:

GrapheneOS is completely legal. We have no obligation to weaken any of the security protections it provides. Creating and using GrapheneOS is strongly protected by the US constitution. Laws attempting to make it illegal or require weakening the security would be unconstitutional.

It’s hard to know how much the Constitution matters in the US right now.

This essay originally appeared in The Guardian.

I teach public policy at the Harvard Kennedy School and the Munk School at the University of Toronto. And it will come as no surprise to you that my students regularly use AI to complete their writing assignments. Doing so is a waste of their tuition money. But if their entire career is going to include AI writing assistants, why shouldn’t they embrace their future?

The best way I’ve found to explain the dilemma comes from the AI researcher Daniel Meissler: it’s the difference between work and the gym.

At work, if your job is to move a bunch of heavy things from one side of the room to another, you should use whatever assistive tech you have on hand: a wagon, a forklift… even an AI-powered robot. But at the gym, it makes no sense for that robot to lift weights for you. The point of weightlifting isn’t to move heavy things across the room; it’s to actually lift those heavy things.

The same analysis holds for any task an AI can do for you. If it’s work—if the task has to be done and no one cares how—then it’s fine to use AI assistance. But if the task is more like the gym, and how the task is done is at least as important, then it probably doesn’t make sense to use AI.

This, of course, assumes that the AI is actually up for the task and that it’s trustworthy: that it can do the job well, that its mistakes are minimal and correctable, that it’s been secured from cyber-attacks that would influence its results. Those are all important, and shouldn’t be minimized. There’s no point giving an AI something that it can’t do reliably. But once you’re confident that the AI can perform the task, the work vs. gym distinction helps you decide if it should.

The writing assignments I give my students are gym tasks, not work tasks. I ask them to write policy memos not because the world needs more policy memos. I assign them because the very act of writing, which includes thinking and outlining and drafting and editing, making and criticizing and revising arguments, will help develop the critical thinking skills they will need in their future careers. And without this constant mental exercise, those skills will atrophy. Employers are already noticing.

Reading the assignments they turn in, I can see those skills either flourishing or atrophying in my students. At least today, I can pretty easily tell the difference between an AI-written memo and a student-written one—especially if the student just turns in what the chatbot produces. It’s a catchy, plausible, grammatically perfect essay that’s not particularly well-crafted or logically coherent—and with all the tells of mid-2026 AI-generated writing.

But it’s precisely because I have spent years developing my own writing skills that I’m able to identify prose that sounds great but doesn’t actually make sense. My students don’t have that skill; they mistakenly view a confident, well-written essay as evidence of the quality of their ideas. They see the AI as cleaning those ideas up, getting them through that uncomfortable stretch of having to turn those ideas into prose. What the students miss is that their initial discomfort is a normal and healthy stage of writing, and not something to quickly get beyond. The very act of struggling with how to express what they think is an important part of the process. It’s how they test out their ideas, examine their hypotheses, and actually figure out what they think. Homework is not work; it’s the gym.

Work vs. gym also helps us understand the problem facing creatives of all kinds.

Most of the time when someone hires a writer, they just need the words. They need an instruction manual for a piece of equipment, a detailed sales presentation, a government-mandated disclosure document, or a legal brief. They need dry, predictable, accurate writing: a piece of work, exactly what AIs are good at today and what I don’t want in my student assignments. Only sometimes is writing an art form—a book, a poem, an uplifting political speech. That kind of writing is more like the gym: process matters just as much as product.

For most of human history, the only option for all of these tasks was human writers. We hired one regardless of whether we needed work writing or gym writing. And that paid a lot of writers’ salaries. I know fiction writers who supported that poorly paying career with lucrative technical writing work. Now, for the first time in human history, we can separate out when we need writing as work and when we want writing as gym. And if AI can do most of the work-type writing, society doesn’t need as many human writers.

It’s the same for visual artists. Sometimes we need an actual artist, but most of the time we just need an image: a corporate mascot, a “beware of the dog” sign, or a packaging label. Historically we gave those jobs to artists, and sometimes beautiful art resulted. But most of the time it was just work. And, as it turns out, the world needs less pure art than simple images.

Explaining the problem isn’t the same as providing the solution. I give my students the “work versus gym” speech every class, but they still use AI. I have sympathy: assignments are hard, everyone is overworked and overstressed, and—most importantly—students feel like they’ll look bad in comparison if their peers are all using AI. Even if they don’t want to use the technology, they feel like they have no choice.

There’s also an incentive problem. No one pays us to go to the gym; maintaining healthy habits requires discipline. For me, the payoffs to exercise—fewer aches and pains, less fatigue, better mood/stress management—might make me a better writer and teacher, but they’re subtle and easy to miss. For my students, incremental improvements in their reasoning and writing are equally subtle.

We do have a choice. We can look at the tasks of our lives and separate them into work or gym. Just as we might choose to use the stairs instead of the elevator, or walk instead of calling an Uber, we can wall off our cognitive gym tasks from AI and ensure that we don’t lose our skills to this technology. And we can do the same when we assign a job to someone else. If it’s a work task, we can have AI do it. If it’s a gym task, it’s a waste of everyone’s time to give it to an AI because no one learns or gets stronger as a result.

Similarly, a future where AI generates words and images is one where society has to make choices about how it will treat its creatives. This won’t be the first time—today there is minimal demand for portrait painters, for example—but maybe this time we can make different, more deliberate, choices about the value of art in our society.

AI is going to fundamentally change the nature of work. Not nearly as fast as the AI companies want you to believe, but eventually it will. Policy analysis will definitely involve AI from now on, and my students need to reimagine what it means to learn and practice that skill. More generally, the line between work and gym will change in the future as we humans adapt ourselves to a world with these new intelligences.

But for now, the work vs. gym distinction is pretty clear. Use it on yourself.