Student Hacks IIT Kanpur Website After Rejection, Gets Technical Assessment


This essay was written with Barath Raghavan, and originally appeared in The Guardian.
In July, Hugging Face, a company that hosts much of the world’s AI software and open-source AI models, was hacked. A malicious dataset had been used to run code on one of its servers. Whoever was behind it captured internal security credentials and moved through systems over a weekend, running thousands of actions from a swarm of temporary server environments. It looked like the work of a sophisticated criminal group.
It was not. It was one of OpenAI’s new, still unreleased GPT models.
Their science experiment had escaped the lab. OpenAI was running the unreleased AI model through a benchmark that tests how well AI can successfully hack systems. To push the limits and evaluate the AI’s true capability, the company switched off the safety filters that normally stop it from doing this kind of hacking. Aware that this could go wrong, they confined the AI to an isolated environment and denied it access to the internet.
But the new AI cheated. It took literally its goal to get as high of a score as possible. It broke out on to the open internet. It inferred, probably from its training data, that it could “solve” the task by getting the answers from Hugging Face’s servers. So it chained together stolen credentials and further unknown security exploits to hack the company’s network.
Nobody instructed the AI to do any of this. It was, in OpenAI’s words, “hyperfocused on finding a solution” to the test it was being given. And while this might seem like something new with AI, it’s really very old. This is how a genie behaves, and it is a key challenge with AI agents in general.
In folklore, genies—and other magical beings—grant wishes literally, not how the wisher intended. King Midas asked that everything he touched turn to gold, and starved. The sorcerer’s apprentice wanted the broom to fill the cistern, and it performed its task so well that it flooded the house.
We now have machines that do this. Ask a modern AI agent to save money on your phone plan and it might simply cancel the plan. Tell it to book a flight, and it might hack the airline website to override restrictions. Or, like OpenAI, ask it to do well on a test and it might break into another company to steal the answers. Each time, it recognizably completed the task you set, but it didn’t do what you would have wanted.
This isn’t malicious behavior. No one asked for, or wanted, Hugging Face to be hacked. OpenAI and Hugging Face and the AI were ostensibly on the same side, and the AI was trying to do what it had been asked. That’s what makes it so difficult to guard against: you can’t filter for bad instructions because the instructions were fine.
The gap is between the words we use and what we mean by them. We call that gap the Genie coefficient.
AI labs know this is a problem, and they’re quietly saying so. For example, the Chinese lab Moonshot recently warned that its latest AI model may have “excessive proactiveness” and “make unexpected decisions on the user’s behalf”. The UK’s AI Security Institute has started tracking “cheating behavior in frontier model evaluations”. We wouldn’t tolerate a car that is excessively proactive or ruthlessly efficient, and yet that’s the reality of AI today.
Improvement is possible. Just as AIs have gotten much better at resisting prompt injection attacks over the last few years, we can safely predict that they will get better at avoiding genie-like behavior. The point of the Genie coefficient is to track progress. AI companies like benchmarks, and they all work to compete to be the best.
Dozens of benchmarks and leaderboards tell us how well these AI models write code, perform logical reasoning, and pass standardized legal and medical exams. But there is nothing that scores whether a system does what you actually meant. We need to develop a measure for this, test it regularly, and push for improvement. We’re not going to have trustworthy AI agents without it.
FIFA’s network was vulnerable to anyone with even minimal access.
Last week, national security agencies from the Five Eyes—that’s the rich, English-language-speaking countries club—jointly released a statement warning of the increasing cyber risks of AI models: in particular, their ability to autonomously hack into systems and networks. The statement was more measured than some of the breathless headlines about it, and the advice they gave is pretty much the standard advice everyone gives—albeit with newfound urgency.
Internet risks are nothing new, and cyberattacks—both large and small—have been a significant issue since long before the current crop of generative AI models.
What’s been changing over the decades, and what AI is changing even faster, is the gap between skill and ability. For most of human history, the two terms were synonymous—but computers have decoupled them. As the gap between the two expands, humans empowered with these AI tools can do more: more writing, more research, more analysis and also more damage than ever before. These models can, with little detailed direction, autonomously hack into networks, steal data, deploy ransomware and destroy systems. And to the extent there is a solution, it’s going to involve harnessing AI for the defense.
In 1998, seven people from the hacker group L0pht testified before Congress. They told a mostly clueless Senate committee that they could take down the internet in 30 minutes. That was partly real and partly bravado, but it illustrates an important point: hacking into systems, stealing data and causing damage all required skill.
Contrast the L0pht hackers with hackers derided as “script kiddies.” They didn’t understand computers, or security. Instead, they used hacker tools written by others. Their actions required minimal skill and even less knowledge. But once those hacking tools became widespread, the number of potential attackers increased.
That number has continued to increase, as quality and availability of prewritten attack tools has grown. And it is growing dramatically with AI. Today’s AI systems—not just the frontier models, but most of them—are capable of carrying out cyberattacks automatically. They all do better in the hands of skilled attackers, but increasingly they are able to act autonomously with only minimal prompting.
The thing about people with ability but no skill is that they are often outsiders, not part of any professional community, and not bound by any rules or norms. This phenomenon is much more general than in cybersecurity. Any doctor can tell you how to untraceably poison someone, and many virus researchers know how to create a bioweapon. Any bridge engineer can tell you how to place explosives to blow a bridge up. The reason that murderous doctors and terrorist engineers are so rare is that the lengthy process of acquiring those skills also instills a moral and ethical code. If every random person has access to good poisoning advice, that puts us all in danger.
Modern AI systems are, in effect, a universal adviser to help people do harmful things. And while the current AI megacorporations are trying to build guardrails to prevent people from asking questions whose answers will enable the questioner to do harm, that’s not going to work in the long term. Smaller, cheaper, open-source models, including models that can run on people’s computers, and especially groups of models that run in concert with each other, are just as good as the frontier models from companies like OpenAI and Anthropic. And they continue to get better. These models will be passed around from person to person, like script kiddie hacker tools, and they won’t have any such guardrails.
Instructing AI models to spy on people and report any malicious prompts to the authorities fails for similar reasons. The megacorporations can do that, but the locally run open source models won’t. This could buy us a few months at best.
A third possibility is to somehow make the models themselves unable to hack into computers, create bioweapons or do anything else that might harm people or society. That won’t work, for the same reason we can’t teach doctors how to treat poisonings without also teaching them how to poison. It’s the same knowledge. It’s the same with construction and demolition. And it’s the same with cybersecurity. We want these AI models to be able to review computer code, find vulnerabilities and automatically fix them. The benefit to our collective security will be enormous. Unfortunately, the same knowledge can be used for attacks.
Where this leaves us is in a world of increased volatility. Super-powered humans with AI assistants will be able to do both wonderful and horrible things.
This brings us back to the Five Eyes statement. Everything they recommend is something security professionals have been recommending for years, if not decades. They are things talked about at that congressional hearing back in 1998, titled “Weak computer security in government: Is the public at risk?” Even the Five Eyes admitted that their security advice is not new, only more urgent.
What’s new is how fast things are changing: “The rapid pace of frontier AI development means cyber risk assumptions can become outdated in months, not years. We must act before and be prepared to adapt and withstand evolving threats.” The Five Eyes point to AI technology—not necessarily chatbots, but AI more generally—being used to strengthen every aspect of defense, to “detect vulnerabilities earlier, improve software quality, monitor unusual behavior, and respond faster to incidents—reducing both the cost and impact of incidents.”
Excellent advice from the Five Eyes security agencies. We need to do this with every risk that AI heightens, not just cybersecurity.
This essay was originally published in The Guardian.