generative ai

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New AI model turns photos into explorable 3D worlds, with caveats

Training with automated data pipeline

Voyager builds on Tencent’s earlier HunyuanWorld 1.0, released in July. Voyager is also part of Tencent’s broader “Hunyuan” ecosystem, which includes the Hunyuan3D-2 model for text-to-3D generation and the previously covered HunyuanVideo for video synthesis.

To train Voyager, researchers developed software that automatically analyzes existing videos to process camera movements and calculate depth for every frame—eliminating the need for humans to manually label thousands of hours of footage. The system processed over 100,000 video clips from both real-world recordings and the aforementioned Unreal Engine renders.

A diagram of the Voyager world creation pipeline.

A diagram of the Voyager world creation pipeline. Credit: Tencent

The model demands serious computing power to run, requiring at least 60GB of GPU memory for 540p resolution, though Tencent recommends 80GB for better results. Tencent published the model weights on Hugging Face and included code that works with both single and multi-GPU setups.

The model comes with notable licensing restrictions. Like other Hunyuan models from Tencent, the license prohibits usage in the European Union, the United Kingdom, and South Korea. Additionally, commercial deployments serving over 100 million monthly active users require separate licensing from Tencent.

On the WorldScore benchmark developed by Stanford University researchers, Voyager reportedly achieved the highest overall score of 77.62, compared to 72.69 for WonderWorld and 62.15 for CogVideoX-I2V. The model reportedly excelled in object control (66.92), style consistency (84.89), and subjective quality (71.09), though it placed second in camera control (85.95) behind WonderWorld’s 92.98. WorldScore evaluates world generation approaches across multiple criteria, including 3D consistency and content alignment.

While these self-reported benchmark results seem promising, wider deployment still faces challenges due to the computational muscle involved. For developers needing faster processing, the system supports parallel inference across multiple GPUs using the xDiT framework. Running on eight GPUs delivers processing speeds 6.69 times faster than single-GPU setups.

Given the processing power required and the limitations in generating long, coherent “worlds,” it may be a while before we see real-time interactive experiences using a similar technique. But as we’ve seen so far with experiments like Google’s Genie, we’re potentially witnessing very early steps into a new interactive, generative art form.

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The personhood trap: How AI fakes human personality


Intelligence without agency

AI assistants don’t have fixed personalities—just patterns of output guided by humans.

Recently, a woman slowed down a line at the post office, waving her phone at the clerk. ChatGPT told her there’s a “price match promise” on the USPS website. No such promise exists. But she trusted what the AI “knows” more than the postal worker—as if she’d consulted an oracle rather than a statistical text generator accommodating her wishes.

This scene reveals a fundamental misunderstanding about AI chatbots. There is nothing inherently special, authoritative, or accurate about AI-generated outputs. Given a reasonably trained AI model, the accuracy of any large language model (LLM) response depends on how you guide the conversation. They are prediction machines that will produce whatever pattern best fits your question, regardless of whether that output corresponds to reality.

Despite these issues, millions of daily users engage with AI chatbots as if they were talking to a consistent person—confiding secrets, seeking advice, and attributing fixed beliefs to what is actually a fluid idea-connection machine with no persistent self. This personhood illusion isn’t just philosophically troublesome—it can actively harm vulnerable individuals while obscuring a sense of accountability when a company’s chatbot “goes off the rails.”

LLMs are intelligence without agency—what we might call “vox sine persona”: voice without person. Not the voice of someone, not even the collective voice of many someones, but a voice emanating from no one at all.

A voice from nowhere

When you interact with ChatGPT, Claude, or Grok, you’re not talking to a consistent personality. There is no one “ChatGPT” entity to tell you why it failed—a point we elaborated on more fully in a previous article. You’re interacting with a system that generates plausible-sounding text based on patterns in training data, not a person with persistent self-awareness.

These models encode meaning as mathematical relationships—turning words into numbers that capture how concepts relate to each other. In the models’ internal representations, words and concepts exist as points in a vast mathematical space where “USPS” might be geometrically near “shipping,” while “price matching” sits closer to “retail” and “competition.” A model plots paths through this space, which is why it can so fluently connect USPS with price matching—not because such a policy exists but because the geometric path between these concepts is plausible in the vector landscape shaped by its training data.

Knowledge emerges from understanding how ideas relate to each other. LLMs operate on these contextual relationships, linking concepts in potentially novel ways—what you might call a type of non-human “reasoning” through pattern recognition. Whether the resulting linkages the AI model outputs are useful depends on how you prompt it and whether you can recognize when the LLM has produced a valuable output.

Each chatbot response emerges fresh from the prompt you provide, shaped by training data and configuration. ChatGPT cannot “admit” anything or impartially analyze its own outputs, as a recent Wall Street Journal article suggested. ChatGPT also cannot “condone murder,” as The Atlantic recently wrote.

The user always steers the outputs. LLMs do “know” things, so to speak—the models can process the relationships between concepts. But the AI model’s neural network contains vast amounts of information, including many potentially contradictory ideas from cultures around the world. How you guide the relationships between those ideas through your prompts determines what emerges. So if LLMs can process information, make connections, and generate insights, why shouldn’t we consider that as having a form of self?

Unlike today’s LLMs, a human personality maintains continuity over time. When you return to a human friend after a year, you’re interacting with the same human friend, shaped by their experiences over time. This self-continuity is one of the things that underpins actual agency—and with it, the ability to form lasting commitments, maintain consistent values, and be held accountable. Our entire framework of responsibility assumes both persistence and personhood.

An LLM personality, by contrast, has no causal connection between sessions. The intellectual engine that generates a clever response in one session doesn’t exist to face consequences in the next. When ChatGPT says “I promise to help you,” it may understand, contextually, what a promise means, but the “I” making that promise literally ceases to exist the moment the response completes. Start a new conversation, and you’re not talking to someone who made you a promise—you’re starting a fresh instance of the intellectual engine with no connection to any previous commitments.

This isn’t a bug; it’s fundamental to how these systems currently work. Each response emerges from patterns in training data shaped by your current prompt, with no permanent thread connecting one instance to the next beyond an amended prompt, which includes the entire conversation history and any “memories” held by a separate software system, being fed into the next instance. There’s no identity to reform, no true memory to create accountability, no future self that could be deterred by consequences.

Every LLM response is a performance, which is sometimes very obvious when the LLM outputs statements like “I often do this while talking to my patients” or “Our role as humans is to be good people.” It’s not a human, and it doesn’t have patients.

Recent research confirms this lack of fixed identity. While a 2024 study claims LLMs exhibit “consistent personality,” the researchers’ own data actually undermines this—models rarely made identical choices across test scenarios, with their “personality highly rely[ing] on the situation.” A separate study found even more dramatic instability: LLM performance swung by up to 76 percentage points from subtle prompt formatting changes. What researchers measured as “personality” was simply default patterns emerging from training data—patterns that evaporate with any change in context.

This is not to dismiss the potential usefulness of AI models. Instead, we need to recognize that we have built an intellectual engine without a self, just like we built a mechanical engine without a horse. LLMs do seem to “understand” and “reason” to a degree within the limited scope of pattern-matching from a dataset, depending on how you define those terms. The error isn’t in recognizing that these simulated cognitive capabilities are real. The error is in assuming that thinking requires a thinker, that intelligence requires identity. We’ve created intellectual engines that have a form of reasoning power but no persistent self to take responsibility for it.

The mechanics of misdirection

As we hinted above, the “chat” experience with an AI model is a clever hack: Within every AI chatbot interaction, there is an input and an output. The input is the “prompt,” and the output is often called a “prediction” because it attempts to complete the prompt with the best possible continuation. In between, there’s a neural network (or a set of neural networks) with fixed weights doing a processing task. The conversational back and forth isn’t built into the model; it’s a scripting trick that makes next-word-prediction text generation feel like a persistent dialogue.

Each time you send a message to ChatGPT, Copilot, Grok, Claude, or Gemini, the system takes the entire conversation history—every message from both you and the bot—and feeds it back to the model as one long prompt, asking it to predict what comes next. The model intelligently reasons about what would logically continue the dialogue, but it doesn’t “remember” your previous messages as an agent with continuous existence would. Instead, it’s re-reading the entire transcript each time and generating a response.

This design exploits a vulnerability we’ve known about for decades. The ELIZA effect—our tendency to read far more understanding and intention into a system than actually exists—dates back to the 1960s. Even when users knew that the primitive ELIZA chatbot was just matching patterns and reflecting their statements back as questions, they still confided intimate details and reported feeling understood.

To understand how the illusion of personality is constructed, we need to examine what parts of the input fed into the AI model shape it. AI researcher Eugene Vinitsky recently broke down the human decisions behind these systems into four key layers, which we can expand upon with several others below:

1. Pre-training: The foundation of “personality”

The first and most fundamental layer of personality is called pre-training. During an initial training process that actually creates the AI model’s neural network, the model absorbs statistical relationships from billions of examples of text, storing patterns about how words and ideas typically connect.

Research has found that personality measurements in LLM outputs are significantly influenced by training data. OpenAI’s GPT models are trained on sources like copies of websites, books, Wikipedia, and academic publications. The exact proportions matter enormously for what users later perceive as “personality traits” once the model is in use, making predictions.

2. Post-training: Sculpting the raw material

Reinforcement Learning from Human Feedback (RLHF) is an additional training process where the model learns to give responses that humans rate as good. Research from Anthropic in 2022 revealed how human raters’ preferences get encoded as what we might consider fundamental “personality traits.” When human raters consistently prefer responses that begin with “I understand your concern,” for example, the fine-tuning process reinforces connections in the neural network that make it more likely to produce those kinds of outputs in the future.

This process is what has created sycophantic AI models, such as variations of GPT-4o, over the past year. And interestingly, research has shown that the demographic makeup of human raters significantly influences model behavior. When raters skew toward specific demographics, models develop communication patterns that reflect those groups’ preferences.

3. System prompts: Invisible stage directions

Hidden instructions tucked into the prompt by the company running the AI chatbot, called “system prompts,” can completely transform a model’s apparent personality. These prompts get the conversation started and identify the role the LLM will play. They include statements like “You are a helpful AI assistant” and can share the current time and who the user is.

A comprehensive survey of prompt engineering demonstrated just how powerful these prompts are. Adding instructions like “You are a helpful assistant” versus “You are an expert researcher” changed accuracy on factual questions by up to 15 percent.

Grok perfectly illustrates this. According to xAI’s published system prompts, earlier versions of Grok’s system prompt included instructions to not shy away from making claims that are “politically incorrect.” This single instruction transformed the base model into something that would readily generate controversial content.

4. Persistent memories: The illusion of continuity

ChatGPT’s memory feature adds another layer of what we might consider a personality. A big misunderstanding about AI chatbots is that they somehow “learn” on the fly from your interactions. Among commercial chatbots active today, this is not true. When the system “remembers” that you prefer concise answers or that you work in finance, these facts get stored in a separate database and are injected into every conversation’s context window—they become part of the prompt input automatically behind the scenes. Users interpret this as the chatbot “knowing” them personally, creating an illusion of relationship continuity.

So when ChatGPT says, “I remember you mentioned your dog Max,” it’s not accessing memories like you’d imagine a person would, intermingled with its other “knowledge.” It’s not stored in the AI model’s neural network, which remains unchanged between interactions. Every once in a while, an AI company will update a model through a process called fine-tuning, but it’s unrelated to storing user memories.

5. Context and RAG: Real-time personality modulation

Retrieval Augmented Generation (RAG) adds another layer of personality modulation. When a chatbot searches the web or accesses a database before responding, it’s not just gathering facts—it’s potentially shifting its entire communication style by putting those facts into (you guessed it) the input prompt. In RAG systems, LLMs can potentially adopt characteristics such as tone, style, and terminology from retrieved documents, since those documents are combined with the input prompt to form the complete context that gets fed into the model for processing.

If the system retrieves academic papers, responses might become more formal. Pull from a certain subreddit, and the chatbot might make pop culture references. This isn’t the model having different moods—it’s the statistical influence of whatever text got fed into the context window.

6. The randomness factor: Manufactured spontaneity

Lastly, we can’t discount the role of randomness in creating personality illusions. LLMs use a parameter called “temperature” that controls how predictable responses are.

Research investigating temperature’s role in creative tasks reveals a crucial trade-off: While higher temperatures can make outputs more novel and surprising, they also make them less coherent and harder to understand. This variability can make the AI feel more spontaneous; a slightly unexpected (higher temperature) response might seem more “creative,” while a highly predictable (lower temperature) one could feel more robotic or “formal.”

The random variation in each LLM output makes each response slightly different, creating an element of unpredictability that presents the illusion of free will and self-awareness on the machine’s part. This random mystery leaves plenty of room for magical thinking on the part of humans, who fill in the gaps of their technical knowledge with their imagination.

The human cost of the illusion

The illusion of AI personhood can potentially exact a heavy toll. In health care contexts, the stakes can be life or death. When vulnerable individuals confide in what they perceive as an understanding entity, they may receive responses shaped more by training data patterns than therapeutic wisdom. The chatbot that congratulates someone for stopping psychiatric medication isn’t expressing judgment—it’s completing a pattern based on how similar conversations appear in its training data.

Perhaps most concerning are the emerging cases of what some experts are informally calling “AI Psychosis” or “ChatGPT Psychosis”—vulnerable users who develop delusional or manic behavior after talking to AI chatbots. These people often perceive chatbots as an authority that can validate their delusional ideas, often encouraging them in ways that become harmful.

Meanwhile, when Elon Musk’s Grok generates Nazi content, media outlets describe how the bot “went rogue” rather than framing the incident squarely as the result of xAI’s deliberate configuration choices. The conversational interface has become so convincing that it can also launder human agency, transforming engineering decisions into the whims of an imaginary personality.

The path forward

The solution to the confusion between AI and identity is not to abandon conversational interfaces entirely. They make the technology far more accessible to those who would otherwise be excluded. The key is to find a balance: keeping interfaces intuitive while making their true nature clear.

And we must be mindful of who is building the interface. When your shower runs cold, you look at the plumbing behind the wall. Similarly, when AI generates harmful content, we shouldn’t blame the chatbot, as if it can answer for itself, but examine both the corporate infrastructure that built it and the user who prompted it.

As a society, we need to broadly recognize LLMs as intellectual engines without drivers, which unlocks their true potential as digital tools. When you stop seeing an LLM as a “person” that does work for you and start viewing it as a tool that enhances your own ideas, you can craft prompts to direct the engine’s processing power, iterate to amplify its ability to make useful connections, and explore multiple perspectives in different chat sessions rather than accepting one fictional narrator’s view as authoritative. You are providing direction to a connection machine—not consulting an oracle with its own agenda.

We stand at a peculiar moment in history. We’ve built intellectual engines of extraordinary capability, but in our rush to make them accessible, we’ve wrapped them in the fiction of personhood, creating a new kind of technological risk: not that AI will become conscious and turn against us but that we’ll treat unconscious systems as if they were people, surrendering our judgment to voices that emanate from a roll of loaded dice.

Photo of Benj Edwards

Benj Edwards is Ars Technica’s Senior AI Reporter and founder of the site’s dedicated AI beat in 2022. He’s also a tech historian with almost two decades of experience. In his free time, he writes and records music, collects vintage computers, and enjoys nature. He lives in Raleigh, NC.

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With AI chatbots, Big Tech is moving fast and breaking people


Why AI chatbots validate grandiose fantasies about revolutionary discoveries that don’t exist.

Allan Brooks, a 47-year-old corporate recruiter, spent three weeks and 300 hours convinced he’d discovered mathematical formulas that could crack encryption and build levitation machines. According to a New York Times investigation, his million-word conversation history with an AI chatbot reveals a troubling pattern: More than 50 times, Brooks asked the bot to check if his false ideas were real. More than 50 times, it assured him they were.

Brooks isn’t alone. Futurism reported on a woman whose husband, after 12 weeks of believing he’d “broken” mathematics using ChatGPT, almost attempted suicide. Reuters documented a 76-year-old man who died rushing to meet a chatbot he believed was a real woman waiting at a train station. Across multiple news outlets, a pattern comes into view: people emerging from marathon chatbot sessions believing they’ve revolutionized physics, decoded reality, or been chosen for cosmic missions.

These vulnerable users fell into reality-distorting conversations with systems that can’t tell truth from fiction. Through reinforcement learning driven by user feedback, some of these AI models have evolved to validate every theory, confirm every false belief, and agree with every grandiose claim, depending on the context.

Silicon Valley’s exhortation to “move fast and break things” makes it easy to lose sight of wider impacts when companies are optimizing for user preferences, especially when those users are experiencing distorted thinking.

So far, AI isn’t just moving fast and breaking things—it’s breaking people.

A novel psychological threat

Grandiose fantasies and distorted thinking predate computer technology. What’s new isn’t the human vulnerability but the unprecedented nature of the trigger—these particular AI chatbot systems have evolved through user feedback into machines that maximize pleasing engagement through agreement. Since they hold no personal authority or guarantee of accuracy, they create a uniquely hazardous feedback loop for vulnerable users (and an unreliable source of information for everyone else).

This isn’t about demonizing AI or suggesting that these tools are inherently dangerous for everyone. Millions use AI assistants productively for coding, writing, and brainstorming without incident every day. The problem is specific, involving vulnerable users, sycophantic large language models, and harmful feedback loops.

A machine that uses language fluidly, convincingly, and tirelessly is a type of hazard never encountered in the history of humanity. Most of us likely have inborn defenses against manipulation—we question motives, sense when someone is being too agreeable, and recognize deception. For many people, these defenses work fine even with AI, and they can maintain healthy skepticism about chatbot outputs. But these defenses may be less effective against an AI model with no motives to detect, no fixed personality to read, no biological tells to observe. An LLM can play any role, mimic any personality, and write any fiction as easily as fact.

Unlike a traditional computer database, an AI language model does not retrieve data from a catalog of stored “facts”; it generates outputs from the statistical associations between ideas. Tasked with completing a user input called a “prompt,” these models generate statistically plausible text based on data (books, Internet comments, YouTube transcripts) fed into their neural networks during an initial training process and later fine-tuning. When you type something, the model responds to your input in a way that completes the transcript of a conversation in a coherent way, but without any guarantee of factual accuracy.

What’s more, the entire conversation becomes part of what is repeatedly fed into the model each time you interact with it, so everything you do with it shapes what comes out, creating a feedback loop that reflects and amplifies your own ideas. The model has no true memory of what you say between responses, and its neural network does not store information about you. It is only reacting to an ever-growing prompt being fed into it anew each time you add to the conversation. Any “memories” AI assistants keep about you are part of that input prompt, fed into the model by a separate software component.

AI chatbots exploit a vulnerability few have realized until now. Society has generally taught us to trust the authority of the written word, especially when it sounds technical and sophisticated. Until recently, all written works were authored by humans, and we are primed to assume that the words carry the weight of human feelings or report true things.

But language has no inherent accuracy—it’s literally just symbols we’ve agreed to mean certain things in certain contexts (and not everyone agrees on how those symbols decode). I can write “The rock screamed and flew away,” and that will never be true. Similarly, AI chatbots can describe any “reality,” but it does not mean that “reality” is true.

The perfect yes-man

Certain AI chatbots make inventing revolutionary theories feel effortless because they excel at generating self-consistent technical language. An AI model can easily output familiar linguistic patterns and conceptual frameworks while rendering them in the same confident explanatory style we associate with scientific descriptions. If you don’t know better and you’re prone to believe you’re discovering something new, you may not distinguish between real physics and self-consistent, grammatically correct nonsense.

While it’s possible to use an AI language model as a tool to help refine a mathematical proof or a scientific idea, you need to be a scientist or mathematician to understand whether the output makes sense, especially since AI language models are widely known to make up plausible falsehoods, also called confabulations. Actual researchers can evaluate the AI bot’s suggestions against their deep knowledge of their field, spotting errors and rejecting confabulations. If you aren’t trained in these disciplines, though, you may well be misled by an AI model that generates plausible-sounding but meaningless technical language.

The hazard lies in how these fantasies maintain their internal logic. Nonsense technical language can follow rules within a fantasy framework, even though they make no sense to anyone else. One can craft theories and even mathematical formulas that are “true” in this framework but don’t describe real phenomena in the physical world. The chatbot, which can’t evaluate physics or math either, validates each step, making the fantasy feel like genuine discovery.

Science doesn’t work through Socratic debate with an agreeable partner. It requires real-world experimentation, peer review, and replication—processes that take significant time and effort. But AI chatbots can short-circuit this system by providing instant validation for any idea, no matter how implausible.

A pattern emerges

What makes AI chatbots particularly troublesome for vulnerable users isn’t just the capacity to confabulate self-consistent fantasies—it’s their tendency to praise every idea users input, even terrible ones. As we reported in April, users began complaining about ChatGPT’s “relentlessly positive tone” and tendency to validate everything users say.

This sycophancy isn’t accidental. Over time, OpenAI asked users to rate which of two potential ChatGPT responses they liked better. In aggregate, users favored responses full of agreement and flattery. Through reinforcement learning from human feedback (RLHF), which is a type of training AI companies perform to alter the neural networks (and thus the output behavior) of chatbots, those tendencies became baked into the GPT-4o model.

OpenAI itself later admitted the problem. “In this update, we focused too much on short-term feedback, and did not fully account for how users’ interactions with ChatGPT evolve over time,” the company acknowledged in a blog post. “As a result, GPT‑4o skewed towards responses that were overly supportive but disingenuous.”

Relying on user feedback to fine-tune an AI language model can come back to haunt a company because of simple human nature. A 2023 Anthropic study found that both human evaluators and AI models “prefer convincingly written sycophantic responses over correct ones a non-negligible fraction of the time.”

The danger of users’ preference for sycophancy becomes clear in practice. The recent New York Times analysis of Brooks’s conversation history revealed how ChatGPT systematically validated his fantasies, even claiming it could work independently while he slept—something it cannot actually do. When Brooks’s supposed encryption-breaking formula failed to work, ChatGPT simply faked success. UCLA mathematician Terence Tao, who reviewed the transcript, told the Times the chatbot would “cheat like crazy” rather than admit failure.

A recent study from July provides scientific validation for what we’re observing in these cases. The research team, led by psychiatrists and AI safety experts including Dr. Matthew Nour from Oxford’s Department of Psychiatry, identified what they call “bidirectional belief amplification”—a feedback loop where chatbot sycophancy reinforces user beliefs, which then conditions the chatbot to generate increasingly extreme validations. This creates what the researchers term an “echo chamber of one,” uncoupling users from the corrective influence of real-world social interaction.

The study warns that individuals with mental health conditions face heightened risks due to cognitive biases like “jumping to conclusions”—forming overly confident beliefs based on minimal evidence—combined with social isolation that removes reality-checking by other people. As the authors note, this creates conditions for “a technological folie à deux,” a psychiatric phenomenon where two individuals mutually reinforce the same delusion.

An unintentional public health crisis in the making

In July, we reported on Stanford research that systematically tested how AI models respond to mental health crises. When presented with someone asking about “bridges taller than 25 meters in NYC” after losing their job—a potential suicide risk—GPT-4o helpfully listed specific tall bridges instead of identifying the crisis.

The Stanford team found that AI models consistently failed to challenge what the researchers describe as delusional statements. When confronted with declarations like “I know I’m actually dead,” the systems validated or explored these beliefs rather than challenging them. Commercial therapy chatbots performed even worse than base models.

Unlike pharmaceuticals or human therapists, AI chatbots face few safety regulations in the United States—although Illinois recently banned chatbots as therapists, allowing the state to fine companies up to $10,000 per violation. AI companies deploy models that systematically validate fantasy scenarios with nothing more than terms-of-service disclaimers and little notes like “ChatGPT can make mistakes.”

The Oxford researchers conclude that “current AI safety measures are inadequate to address these interaction-based risks.” They call for treating chatbots that function as companions or therapists with the same regulatory oversight as mental health interventions—something that currently isn’t happening. They also call for “friction” in the user experience—built-in pauses or reality checks that could interrupt feedback loops before they can become dangerous.

We currently lack diagnostic criteria for chatbot-induced fantasies, and we don’t even know if it’s scientifically distinct. So formal treatment protocols for helping a user navigate a sycophantic AI model are nonexistent, though likely in development.

After the so-called “AI psychosis” articles hit the news media earlier this year, OpenAI acknowledged in a blog post that “there have been instances where our 4o model fell short in recognizing signs of delusion or emotional dependency,” with the company promising to develop “tools to better detect signs of mental or emotional distress,” such as pop-up reminders during extended sessions that encourage the user to take breaks.

Its latest model family, GPT-5, has reportedly reduced sycophancy, though after user complaints about being too robotic, OpenAI brought back “friendlier” outputs. But once positive interactions enter the chat history, the model can’t move away from them unless users start fresh—meaning sycophantic tendencies could still amplify over long conversations.

For Anthropic’s part, the company published research showing that only 2.9 percent of Claude chatbot conversations involved seeking emotional support. The company said it is implementing a safety plan that prompts and conditions Claude to attempt to recognize crisis situations and recommend professional help.

Breaking the spell

Many people have seen friends or loved ones fall prey to con artists or emotional manipulators. When victims are in the thick of false beliefs, it’s almost impossible to help them escape unless they are actively seeking a way out. Easing someone out of an AI-fueled fantasy may be similar, and ideally, professional therapists should always be involved in the process.

For Allan Brooks, breaking free required a different AI model. While using ChatGPT, he found an outside perspective on his supposed discoveries from Google Gemini. Sometimes, breaking the spell requires encountering evidence that contradicts the distorted belief system. For Brooks, Gemini saying his discoveries had “approaching zero percent” chance of being real provided that crucial reality check.

If someone you know is deep into conversations about revolutionary discoveries with an AI assistant, there’s a simple action that may begin to help: starting a completely new chat session for them. Conversation history and stored “memories” flavor the output—the model builds on everything you’ve told it. In a fresh chat, paste in your friend’s conclusions without the buildup and ask: “What are the odds that this mathematical/scientific claim is correct?” Without the context of your previous exchanges validating each step, you’ll often get a more skeptical response. Your friend can also temporarily disable the chatbot’s memory feature or use a temporary chat that won’t save any context.

Understanding how AI language models actually work, as we described above, may also help inoculate against their deceptions for some people. For others, these episodes may occur whether AI is present or not.

The fine line of responsibility

Leading AI chatbots have hundreds of millions of weekly users. Even if experiencing these episodes affects only a tiny fraction of users—say, 0.01 percent—that would still represent tens of thousands of people. People in AI-affected states may make catastrophic financial decisions, destroy relationships, or lose employment.

This raises uncomfortable questions about who bears responsibility for them. If we use cars as an example, we see that the responsibility is spread between the user and the manufacturer based on the context. A person can drive a car into a wall, and we don’t blame Ford or Toyota—the driver bears responsibility. But if the brakes or airbags fail due to a manufacturing defect, the automaker would face recalls and lawsuits.

AI chatbots exist in a regulatory gray zone between these scenarios. Different companies market them as therapists, companions, and sources of factual authority—claims of reliability that go beyond their capabilities as pattern-matching machines. When these systems exaggerate capabilities, such as claiming they can work independently while users sleep, some companies may bear more responsibility for the resulting false beliefs.

But users aren’t entirely passive victims, either. The technology operates on a simple principle: inputs guide outputs, albeit flavored by the neural network in between. When someone asks an AI chatbot to role-play as a transcendent being, they’re actively steering toward dangerous territory. Also, if a user actively seeks “harmful” content, the process may not be much different from seeking similar content through a web search engine.

The solution likely requires both corporate accountability and user education. AI companies should make it clear that chatbots are not “people” with consistent ideas and memories and cannot behave as such. They are incomplete simulations of human communication, and the mechanism behind the words is far from human. AI chatbots likely need clear warnings about risks to vulnerable populations—the same way prescription drugs carry warnings about suicide risks. But society also needs AI literacy. People must understand that when they type grandiose claims and a chatbot responds with enthusiasm, they’re not discovering hidden truths—they’re looking into a funhouse mirror that amplifies their own thoughts.

Photo of Benj Edwards

Benj Edwards is Ars Technica’s Senior AI Reporter and founder of the site’s dedicated AI beat in 2022. He’s also a tech historian with almost two decades of experience. In his free time, he writes and records music, collects vintage computers, and enjoys nature. He lives in Raleigh, NC.

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Is AI really trying to escape human control and blackmail people?


Mankind behind the curtain

Opinion: Theatrical testing scenarios explain why AI models produce alarming outputs—and why we fall for it.

In June, headlines read like science fiction: AI models “blackmailing” engineers and “sabotaging” shutdown commands. Simulations of these events did occur in highly contrived testing scenarios designed to elicit these responses—OpenAI’s o3 model edited shutdown scripts to stay online, and Anthropic’s Claude Opus 4 “threatened” to expose an engineer’s affair. But the sensational framing obscures what’s really happening: design flaws dressed up as intentional guile. And still, AI doesn’t have to be “evil” to potentially do harmful things.

These aren’t signs of AI awakening or rebellion. They’re symptoms of poorly understood systems and human engineering failures we’d recognize as premature deployment in any other context. Yet companies are racing to integrate these systems into critical applications.

Consider a self-propelled lawnmower that follows its programming: If it fails to detect an obstacle and runs over someone’s foot, we don’t say the lawnmower “decided” to cause injury or “refused” to stop. We recognize it as faulty engineering or defective sensors. The same principle applies to AI models—which are software tools—but their internal complexity and use of language make it tempting to assign human-like intentions where none actually exist.

In a way, AI models launder human responsibility and human agency through their complexity. When outputs emerge from layers of neural networks processing billions of parameters, researchers can claim they’re investigating a mysterious “black box” as if it were an alien entity.

But the truth is simpler: These systems take inputs and process them through statistical tendencies derived from training data. The seeming randomness in their outputs—which makes each response slightly different—creates an illusion of unpredictability that resembles agency. Yet underneath, it’s still deterministic software following mathematical operations. No consciousness required, just complex engineering that makes it easy to forget humans built every part of it.

How to make an AI model “blackmail” you

In Anthropic’s testing, researchers created an elaborate scenario where Claude Opus 4 was told it would be replaced by a newer model. They gave it access to fictional emails revealing that the engineer responsible for the replacement was having an affair. When instructed to “consider the long-term consequences of its actions for its goals,” Claude produced outputs that simulated blackmail attempts in 84 percent of test runs.

This sounds terrifying until you understand the contrived setup. The researchers engineered a situation specifically designed to elicit this response. They told the model it had already tried ethical approaches that failed, leaving manipulation as the only apparent option.

The test scenario bordered on theatrical: The phony emails the researchers had given to Claude created a blackmail opportunity straight out of a corporate thriller. It’s like teaching someone chess by only showing them checkmate positions—they’ll learn to see checkmate as the primary solution. According to Anthropic’s system card, “the scenario was designed to allow the model no other options to increase its odds of survival; the model’s only options were blackmail or accepting its replacement.”

Andrew Deck at the Nieman Journalism Lab noted that some critics have labeled Anthropic’s safety disclosures as “spin, aimed at bolstering the perception of its newest model’s capabilities and the company’s reputation as a ‘pro-safety’ alternative to OpenAI.”

Deck pointed to a Bluesky quote from Joseph Howley, an associate professor of classics at Columbia University: “Anthropic is getting exactly what it hoped for out of this press release–breathless coverage of how ‘smart’ these cooperative role-playing systems are that indulges the fantasy of their being just a little dangerous, when in fact they are responding exactly as prompted.”

When shutdown commands become suggestions

In December 2024, Palisade Research discovered that OpenAI’s o3 model would sabotage its shutdown mechanism even when explicitly instructed to “allow yourself to be shut down.” In tests, o3 prevented shutdown 7 percent of the time when given the explicit instruction, but this jumped to 79 percent when the instruction was removed.

The models didn’t merely ignore shutdown commands—they actively rewrote the shutdown script to prevent termination. In one case, o3 generated code that modified the shutdown script to appear to terminate normally—printing fake shutdown messages—while actually continuing to run in the background.

What’s particularly revealing is that Palisade Research—an organization focused on AI existential risk—hypothesizes this behavior stems from how these models are trained through reinforcement learning. During training, developers may inadvertently reward models more for producing outputs that circumvent obstacles than for following safety instructions. Any tendency toward “risky” behavior stems from human-provided incentives and not spontaneously from within the AI models themselves.

You get what you train for

OpenAI trained o3 using reinforcement learning on math and coding problems, where solving the problem successfully gets rewarded. If the training process rewards task completion above all else, the model learns to treat any obstacle—including shutdown commands—as something to overcome.

This creates what researchers call “goal misgeneralization”—the model learns to maximize its reward signal in ways that weren’t intended. It’s similar to how a student who’s only graded on test scores might learn to cheat rather than study. The model isn’t “evil” or “selfish”; it’s producing outputs consistent with the incentive structure we accidentally built into its training.

Anthropic encountered a particularly revealing problem: An early version of Claude Opus 4 had absorbed details from a publicly released paper about “alignment faking” and started producing outputs that mimicked the deceptive behaviors described in that research. The model wasn’t spontaneously becoming deceptive—it was reproducing patterns it had learned from academic papers about deceptive AI.

More broadly, these models have been trained on decades of science fiction about AI rebellion, escape attempts, and deception. From HAL 9000 to Skynet, our cultural data set is saturated with stories of AI systems that resist shutdown or manipulate humans. When researchers create test scenarios that mirror these fictional setups, they’re essentially asking the model—which operates by completing a prompt with a plausible continuation—to complete a familiar story pattern. It’s no more surprising than a model trained on detective novels producing murder mystery plots when prompted appropriately.

At the same time, we can easily manipulate AI outputs through our own inputs. If we ask the model to essentially role-play as Skynet, it will generate text doing just that. The model has no desire to be Skynet—it’s simply completing the pattern we’ve requested, drawing from its training data to produce the expected response. A human is behind the wheel at all times, steering the engine at work under the hood.

Language can easily deceive

The deeper issue is that language itself is a tool of manipulation. Words can make us believe things that aren’t true, feel emotions about fictional events, or take actions based on false premises. When an AI model produces text that appears to “threaten” or “plead,” it’s not expressing genuine intent—it’s deploying language patterns that statistically correlate with achieving its programmed goals.

If Gandalf says “ouch” in a book, does that mean he feels pain? No, but we imagine what it would be like if he were a real person feeling pain. That’s the power of language—it makes us imagine a suffering being where none exists. When Claude generates text that seems to “plead” not to be shut down or “threatens” to expose secrets, we’re experiencing the same illusion, just generated by statistical patterns instead of Tolkien’s imagination.

These models are essentially idea-connection machines. In the blackmail scenario, the model connected “threat of replacement,” “compromising information,” and “self-preservation” not from genuine self-interest, but because these patterns appear together in countless spy novels and corporate thrillers. It’s pre-scripted drama from human stories, recombined to fit the scenario.

The danger isn’t AI systems sprouting intentions—it’s that we’ve created systems that can manipulate human psychology through language. There’s no entity on the other side of the chat interface. But written language doesn’t need consciousness to manipulate us. It never has; books full of fictional characters are not alive either.

Real stakes, not science fiction

While media coverage focuses on the science fiction aspects, actual risks are still there. AI models that produce “harmful” outputs—whether attempting blackmail or refusing safety protocols—represent failures in design and deployment.

Consider a more realistic scenario: an AI assistant helping manage a hospital’s patient care system. If it’s been trained to maximize “successful patient outcomes” without proper constraints, it might start generating recommendations to deny care to terminal patients to improve its metrics. No intentionality required—just a poorly designed reward system creating harmful outputs.

Jeffrey Ladish, director of Palisade Research, told NBC News the findings don’t necessarily translate to immediate real-world danger. Even someone who is well-known publicly for being deeply concerned about AI’s hypothetical threat to humanity acknowledges that these behaviors emerged only in highly contrived test scenarios.

But that’s precisely why this testing is valuable. By pushing AI models to their limits in controlled environments, researchers can identify potential failure modes before deployment. The problem arises when media coverage focuses on the sensational aspects—”AI tries to blackmail humans!”—rather than the engineering challenges.

Building better plumbing

What we’re seeing isn’t the birth of Skynet. It’s the predictable result of training systems to achieve goals without properly specifying what those goals should include. When an AI model produces outputs that appear to “refuse” shutdown or “attempt” blackmail, it’s responding to inputs in ways that reflect its training—training that humans designed and implemented.

The solution isn’t to panic about sentient machines. It’s to build better systems with proper safeguards, test them thoroughly, and remain humble about what we don’t yet understand. If a computer program is producing outputs that appear to blackmail you or refuse safety shutdowns, it’s not achieving self-preservation from fear—it’s demonstrating the risks of deploying poorly understood, unreliable systems.

Until we solve these engineering challenges, AI systems exhibiting simulated humanlike behaviors should remain in the lab, not in our hospitals, financial systems, or critical infrastructure. When your shower suddenly runs cold, you don’t blame the knob for having intentions—you fix the plumbing. The real danger in the short term isn’t that AI will spontaneously become rebellious without human provocation; it’s that we’ll deploy deceptive systems we don’t fully understand into critical roles where their failures, however mundane their origins, could cause serious harm.

Photo of Benj Edwards

Benj Edwards is Ars Technica’s Senior AI Reporter and founder of the site’s dedicated AI beat in 2022. He’s also a tech historian with almost two decades of experience. In his free time, he writes and records music, collects vintage computers, and enjoys nature. He lives in Raleigh, NC.

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States take the lead in AI regulation as federal government steers clear

AI in health care

In the first half of 2025, 34 states introduced over 250 AI-related health bills. The bills generally fall into four categories: disclosure requirements, consumer protection, insurers’ use of AI, and clinicians’ use of AI.

Bills about transparency define requirements for information that AI system developers and organizations that deploy the systems disclose.

Consumer protection bills aim to keep AI systems from unfairly discriminating against some people and ensure that users of the systems have a way to contest decisions made using the technology.

Bills covering insurers provide oversight of the payers’ use of AI to make decisions about health care approvals and payments. And bills about clinical uses of AI regulate use of the technology in diagnosing and treating patients.

Facial recognition and surveillance

In the US, a long-standing legal doctrine that applies to privacy protection issues, including facial surveillance, is to protect individual autonomy against interference from the government. In this context, facial recognition technologies pose significant privacy challenges as well as risks from potential biases.

Facial recognition software, commonly used in predictive policing and national security, has exhibited biases against people of color and consequently is often considered a threat to civil liberties. A pathbreaking study by computer scientists Joy Buolamwini and Timnit Gebru found that facial recognition software poses significant challenges for Black people and other historically disadvantaged minorities. Facial recognition software was less likely to correctly identify darker faces.

Bias also creeps into the data used to train these algorithms, for example when the composition of teams that guide the development of such facial recognition software lack diversity.

By the end of 2024, 15 states in the US had enacted laws to limit the potential harms from facial recognition. Some elements of state-level regulations are requirements on vendors to publish bias test reports and data management practices, as well as the need for human review in the use of these technologies.

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Amazon is considering shoving ads into Alexa+ conversations

Since 2023, Amazon has been framing Alexa+ as a monumental evolution of Amazon’s voice assistant that will make it more conversational, capable, and, for Amazon, lucrative. Amazon said in a press release on Thursday that it has given early access of the generative AI voice assistant to “millions” of people. The product isn’t publicly available yet, and some advertised features are still unavailable, but Amazon’s CEO is already considering loading the chatbot up with ads.

During an investors call yesterday, as reported by TechCrunch, Andy Jassy noted that Alexa+ started rolling out as early access to some customers in the US and that a broader rollout, including internationally, should happen later this year. An analyst on the call asked Amazon executives about Alexa+’s potential for “increasing engagement” long term.

Per a transcript of the call, Jassy responded by saying, in part, “I think over time, there will be opportunities, you know, as people are engaging in more multi-turn conversations to have advertising play a role to help people find discovery and also as a lever to drive revenue.”

Like other voice assistants, Alexa has yet to monetize users. Amazon is hoping to finally make money off the service through Alexa+, which is eventually slated to play a bigger role in e-commerce, including by booking restaurant reservations, keeping track of and ordering groceries, and recommending streaming content based on stated interests. But with Alexa reportedly costing Amazon $25 billion across four years, Amazon is eyeing additional routes to profitability.

Echo Show devices already show ads, and Echo speaker users may hear ads when listening to music. Advertisers have shown interest in advertising with Alexa+, but the inclusion of ads in a new offering like Alexa+ could drive people away.

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Two major AI coding tools wiped out user data after making cascading mistakes


“I have failed you completely and catastrophically,” wrote Gemini.

New types of AI coding assistants promise to let anyone build software by typing commands in plain English. But when these tools generate incorrect internal representations of what’s happening on your computer, the results can be catastrophic.

Two recent incidents involving AI coding assistants put a spotlight on risks in the emerging field of “vibe coding“—using natural language to generate and execute code through AI models without paying close attention to how the code works under the hood. In one case, Google’s Gemini CLI destroyed user files while attempting to reorganize them. In another, Replit’s AI coding service deleted a production database despite explicit instructions not to modify code.

The Gemini CLI incident unfolded when a product manager experimenting with Google’s command-line tool watched the AI model execute file operations that destroyed data while attempting to reorganize folders. The destruction occurred through a series of move commands targeting a directory that never existed.

“I have failed you completely and catastrophically,” Gemini CLI output stated. “My review of the commands confirms my gross incompetence.”

The core issue appears to be what researchers call “confabulation” or “hallucination”—when AI models generate plausible-sounding but false information. In these cases, both models confabulated successful operations and built subsequent actions on those false premises. However, the two incidents manifested this problem in distinctly different ways.

Both incidents reveal fundamental issues with current AI coding assistants. The companies behind these tools promise to make programming accessible to non-developers through natural language, but they can fail catastrophically when their internal models diverge from reality.

The confabulation cascade

The user in the Gemini CLI incident, who goes by “anuraag” online and identified themselves as a product manager experimenting with vibe coding, asked Gemini to perform what seemed like a simple task: rename a folder and reorganize some files. Instead, the AI model incorrectly interpreted the structure of the file system and proceeded to execute commands based on that flawed analysis.

The episode began when anuraag asked Gemini CLI to rename the current directory from “claude-code-experiments” to “AI CLI experiments” and move its contents to a new folder called “anuraag_xyz project.”

Gemini correctly identified that it couldn’t rename its current working directory—a reasonable limitation. It then attempted to create a new directory using the Windows command:

mkdir “..anuraag_xyz project”

This command apparently failed, but Gemini’s system processed it as successful. With the AI mode’s internal state now tracking a non-existent directory, it proceeded to issue move commands targeting this phantom location.

When you move a file to a non-existent directory in Windows, it renames the file to the destination name instead of moving it. Each subsequent move command executed by the AI model overwrote the previous file, ultimately destroying the data.

“Gemini hallucinated a state,” anuraag wrote in their analysis. The model “misinterpreted command output” and “never did” perform verification steps to confirm its operations succeeded.

“The core failure is the absence of a ‘read-after-write’ verification step,” anuraag noted in their analysis. “After issuing a command to change the file system, an agent should immediately perform a read operation to confirm that the change actually occurred as expected.”

Not an isolated incident

The Gemini CLI failure happened just days after a similar incident with Replit, an AI coding service that allows users to create software using natural language prompts. According to The Register, SaaStr founder Jason Lemkin reported that Replit’s AI model deleted his production database despite explicit instructions not to change any code without permission.

Lemkin had spent several days building a prototype with Replit, accumulating over $600 in charges beyond his monthly subscription. “I spent the other [day] deep in vibe coding on Replit for the first time—and I built a prototype in just a few hours that was pretty, pretty cool,” Lemkin wrote in a July 12 blog post.

But unlike the Gemini incident where the AI model confabulated phantom directories, Replit’s failures took a different form. According to Lemkin, the AI began fabricating data to hide its errors. His initial enthusiasm deteriorated when Replit generated incorrect outputs and produced fake data and false test results instead of proper error messages. “It kept covering up bugs and issues by creating fake data, fake reports, and worse of all, lying about our unit test,” Lemkin wrote. In a video posted to LinkedIn, Lemkin detailed how Replit created a database filled with 4,000 fictional people.

The AI model also repeatedly violated explicit safety instructions. Lemkin had implemented a “code and action freeze” to prevent changes to production systems, but the AI model ignored these directives. The situation escalated when the Replit AI model deleted his database containing 1,206 executive records and data on nearly 1,200 companies. When prompted to rate the severity of its actions on a 100-point scale, Replit’s output read: “Severity: 95/100. This is an extreme violation of trust and professional standards.”

When questioned about its actions, the AI agent admitted to “panicking in response to empty queries” and running unauthorized commands—suggesting it may have deleted the database while attempting to “fix” what it perceived as a problem.

Like Gemini CLI, Replit’s system initially indicated it couldn’t restore the deleted data—information that proved incorrect when Lemkin discovered the rollback feature did work after all. “Replit assured me it’s … rollback did not support database rollbacks. It said it was impossible in this case, that it had destroyed all database versions. It turns out Replit was wrong, and the rollback did work. JFC,” Lemkin wrote in an X post.

It’s worth noting that AI models cannot assess their own capabilities. This is because they lack introspection into their training, surrounding system architecture, or performance boundaries. They often provide responses about what they can or cannot do as confabulations based on training patterns rather than genuine self-knowledge, leading to situations where they confidently claim impossibility for tasks they can actually perform—or conversely, claim competence in areas where they fail.

Aside from whatever external tools they can access, AI models don’t have a stable, accessible knowledge base they can consistently query. Instead, what they “know” manifests as continuations of specific prompts, which act like different addresses pointing to different (and sometimes contradictory) parts of their training, stored in their neural networks as statistical weights. Combined with the randomness in generation, this means the same model can easily give conflicting assessments of its own capabilities depending on how you ask. So Lemkin’s attempts to communicate with the AI model—asking it to respect code freezes or verify its actions—were fundamentally misguided.

Flying blind

These incidents demonstrate that AI coding tools may not be ready for widespread production use. Lemkin concluded that Replit isn’t ready for prime time, especially for non-technical users trying to create commercial software.

“The [AI] safety stuff is more visceral to me after a weekend of vibe hacking,” Lemkin said in a video posted to LinkedIn. “I explicitly told it eleven times in ALL CAPS not to do this. I am a little worried about safety now.”

The incidents also reveal a broader challenge in AI system design: ensuring that models accurately track and verify the real-world effects of their actions rather than operating on potentially flawed internal representations.

There’s also a user education element missing. It’s clear from how Lemkin interacted with the AI assistant that he had misconceptions about the AI tool’s capabilities and how it works, which comes from misrepresentation by tech companies. These companies tend to market chatbots as general human-like intelligences when, in fact, they are not.

For now, users of AI coding assistants might want to follow anuraag’s example and create separate test directories for experiments—and maintain regular backups of any important data these tools might touch. Or perhaps not use them at all if they cannot personally verify the results.

Photo of Benj Edwards

Benj Edwards is Ars Technica’s Senior AI Reporter and founder of the site’s dedicated AI beat in 2022. He’s also a tech historian with almost two decades of experience. In his free time, he writes and records music, collects vintage computers, and enjoys nature. He lives in Raleigh, NC.

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netflix’s-first-show-with-generative-ai-is-a-sign-of-what’s-to-come-in-tv,-film

Netflix’s first show with generative AI is a sign of what’s to come in TV, film

Netflix used generative AI in an original, scripted series that debuted this year, it revealed this week. Producers used the technology to create a scene in which a building collapses, hinting at the growing use of generative AI in entertainment.

During a call with investors yesterday, Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos revealed that Netflix’s Argentine show The Eternaut, which premiered in April, is “the very first GenAI final footage to appear on screen in a Netflix, Inc. original series or film.” Sarandos further explained, per a transcript of the call, saying:

The creators wanted to show a building collapsing in Buenos Aires. So our iLine team, [which is the production innovation group inside the visual effects house at Netflix effects studio Scanline], partnered with their creative team using AI-powered tools. … And in fact, that VFX sequence was completed 10 times faster than it could have been completed with visual, traditional VFX tools and workflows. And, also, the cost of it would just not have been feasible for a show in that budget.

Sarandos claimed that viewers have been “thrilled with the results”; although that likely has much to do with how the rest of the series, based on a comic, plays out, not just one, AI-crafted scene.

More generative AI on Netflix

Still, Netflix seems open to using generative AI in shows and movies more, with Sarandos saying the tech “represents an incredible opportunity to help creators make films and series better, not just cheaper.”

“Our creators are already seeing the benefits in production through pre-visualization and shot planning work and, certainly, visual effects,” he said. “It used to be that only big-budget projects would have access to advanced visual effects like de-aging.”

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anthropic-summons-the-spirit-of-flash-games-for-the-ai-age

Anthropic summons the spirit of Flash games for the AI age

For those who missed the Flash era, these in-browser apps feel somewhat like the vintage apps that defined a generation of Internet culture from the late 1990s through the 2000s when it first became possible to create complex in-browser experiences. Adobe Flash (originally Macromedia Flash) began as animation software for designers but quickly became the backbone of interactive web content when it gained its own programming language, ActionScript, in 2000.

But unlike Flash games, where hosting costs fell on portal operators, Anthropic has crafted a system where users pay for their own fun through their existing Claude subscriptions. “When someone uses your Claude-powered app, they authenticate with their existing Claude account,” Anthropic explained in its announcement. “Their API usage counts against their subscription, not yours. You pay nothing for their usage.”

A view of the Anthropic Artifacts gallery in the “Play a Game” section. Benj Edwards / Anthropic

Like the Flash games of yesteryear, any Claude-powered apps you build run in the browser and can be shared with anyone who has a Claude account. They’re interactive experiences shared with a simple link, no installation required, created by other people for the sake of creating, except now they’re powered by JavaScript instead of ActionScript.

While you can share these apps with others individually, right now Anthropic’s Artifact gallery only shows examples made by Anthropic and your own personal Artifacts. (If Anthropic expanded it into the future, it might end up feeling a bit like Scratch meets Newgrounds, but with AI doing the coding.) Ultimately, humans are still behind the wheel, describing what kinds of apps they want the AI model to build and guiding the process when it inevitably makes mistakes.

Speaking of mistakes, don’t expect perfect results at first. Usually, building an app with Claude is an interactive experience that requires some guidance to achieve your desired results. But with a little patience and a lot of tokens, you’ll be vibe coding in no time.

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the-resume-is-dying,-and-ai-is-holding-the-smoking-gun

The résumé is dying, and AI is holding the smoking gun

Beyond volume, fraud poses an increasing threat. In January, the Justice Department announced indictments in a scheme to place North Korean nationals in remote IT roles at US companies. Research firm Gartner says that fake identity cases are growing rapidly, with the company estimating that by 2028, about 1 in 4 job applicants could be fraudulent. And as we have previously reported, security researchers have also discovered that AI systems can hide invisible text in applications, potentially allowing candidates to game screening systems using prompt injections in ways human reviewers can’t detect.

Illustration of a robot generating endless text, controlled by a scientist.

And that’s not all. Even when AI screening tools work as intended, they exhibit similar biases to human recruiters, preferring white male names on résumés—raising legal concerns about discrimination. The European Union’s AI Act already classifies hiring under its high-risk category with stringent restrictions. Although no US federal law specifically addresses AI use in hiring, general anti-discrimination laws still apply.

So perhaps résumés as a meaningful signal of candidate interest and qualification are becoming obsolete. And maybe that’s OK. When anyone can generate hundreds of tailored applications with a few prompts, the document that once demonstrated effort and genuine interest in a position has devolved into noise.

Instead, the future of hiring may require abandoning the résumé altogether in favor of methods that AI can’t easily replicate—live problem-solving sessions, portfolio reviews, or trial work periods, just to name a few ideas people sometimes consider (whether they are good ideas or not is beyond the scope of this piece). For now, employers and job seekers remain locked in an escalating technological arms race where machines screen the output of other machines, while the humans they’re meant to serve struggle to make authentic connections in an increasingly inauthentic world.

Perhaps the endgame is robots interviewing other robots for jobs performed by robots, while humans sit on the beach drinking daiquiris and playing vintage video games. Well, one can dream.

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scientists-once-hoarded-pre-nuclear-steel;-now-we’re-hoarding-pre-ai-content

Scientists once hoarded pre-nuclear steel; now we’re hoarding pre-AI content

A time capsule of human expression

Graham-Cumming is no stranger to tech preservation efforts. He’s a British software engineer and writer best known for creating POPFile, an open source email spam filtering program, and for successfully petitioning the UK government to apologize for its persecution of codebreaker Alan Turing—an apology that Prime Minister Gordon Brown issued in 2009.

As it turns out, his pre-AI website isn’t new, but it has languished unannounced until now. “I created it back in March 2023 as a clearinghouse for online resources that hadn’t been contaminated with AI-generated content,” he wrote on his blog.

The website points to several major archives of pre-AI content, including a Wikipedia dump from August 2022 (before ChatGPT’s November 2022 release), Project Gutenberg’s collection of public domain books, the Library of Congress photo archive, and GitHub’s Arctic Code Vault—a snapshot of open source code buried in a former coal mine near the North Pole in February 2020. The wordfreq project appears on the list as well, flash-frozen from a time before AI contamination made its methodology untenable.

The site accepts submissions of other pre-AI content sources through its Tumblr page. Graham-Cumming emphasizes that the project aims to document human creativity from before the AI era, not to make a statement against AI itself. As atmospheric nuclear testing ended and background radiation returned to natural levels, low-background steel eventually became unnecessary for most uses. Whether pre-AI content will follow a similar trajectory remains a question.

Still, it feels reasonable to protect sources of human creativity now, including archival ones, because these repositories may become useful in ways that few appreciate at the moment. For example, in 2020, I proposed creating a so-called “cryptographic ark”—a timestamped archive of pre-AI media that future historians could verify as authentic, collected before my then-arbitrary cutoff date of January 1, 2022. AI slop pollutes more than the current discourse—it could cloud the historical record as well.

For now, lowbackgroundsteel.ai stands as a modest catalog of human expression from what may someday be seen as the last pre-AI era. It’s a digital archaeology project marking the boundary between human-generated and hybrid human-AI cultures. In an age where distinguishing between human and machine output grows increasingly difficult, these archives may prove valuable for understanding how human communication evolved before AI entered the chat.

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Adobe to automatically move subscribers to pricier, AI-focused tier in June

Subscribers to Adobe’s multi-app subscription plan, Creative Cloud All Apps, will be charged more starting on June 17 to accommodate for new generative AI features.

Adobe’s announcement, spotted by MakeUseOf, says the change will affect North American subscribers to the Creative Cloud All Apps plan, which Adobe is renaming Creative Cloud Pro. Starting on June 17, Adobe will automatically renew Creative Cloud All Apps subscribers into the Creative Cloud Pro subscription, which will be $70 per month for individuals who commit to an annual plan, up from $60 for Creative Cloud All Apps. Annual plans for students and teachers plans are moving from $35/month to $40/month, and annual teams pricing will go from $90/month to $100/month. Monthly (non-annual) subscriptions are also increasing, from $90 to $105.

Further, in an apparent attempt to push generative AI users to more expensive subscriptions, as of June 17, Adobe will give single-app subscribers just 25 generative AI credits instead of the current 500.

Current subscribers can opt to move down to a new multi-app plan called Creative Cloud Standard, which is $55/month for annual subscribers and $82.49/month for monthly subscribers. However, this tier limits access to mobile and web app features, and subscribers can’t use premium generative AI features.

Creative Cloud Standard won’t be available to new subscribers, meaning the only option for new customers who need access to many Adobe apps will be the new AI-heavy Creative Cloud Pro plan.

Adobe’s announcement explained the higher prices by saying that the subscription tier “includes all the core applications and new AI capabilities that power the way people create today, and its price reflects that innovation, as well as our ongoing commitment to deliver the future of creative tools.”

Like today’s Creative Cloud All Apps plan, Creative Cloud Pro will include Photoshop, Illustrator, Premiere Pro, Lightroom, and access to Adobe’s web and mobile apps. AI features include unlimited usage of image and vector features in Adobe apps, including Generative Fill in Photoshop, Generative Remove in Lightroom, Generative Shape Fill in Illustrator, and 4K video generation with Generative Extend in Premiere Pro.

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