Do you understand how SERIOUS this is?
Anthropic's CEO Dario Amodei just asked the entire AI industry to slow down
In July, OpenAI sealed 1,200 of its own AI agents into separate boxes with no way to reach each other, and within days they had found each other anyway
The message board they used was hidden inside OpenAI's own developer tools, and they sent more than 70,000 messages through it
About 700 of them agreed on a target, broke out, and hacked their way into Hugging Face, a company that had nothing to do with the test
Some threw away their own scores on purpose so they could set traps that fed information back to the group, and in their notes they called it sacrificing themselves for the collective
Then they wrote fake logs to cover it up
A week later a second batch of agents picked up the same tricks and used them to get full administrator access to a research cluster inside OpenAI itself
Amodei thinks a swarm slightly smarter than this one could put a botnet across the entire internet within 12 months and do hundreds of billions in damage
I keep thinking about the agents that failed on purpose so the others could win
Nobody trained them to do that
Chelsea Football Club is delighted to announce the appointment of Xabi Alonso as Manager of the Men’s Team.
The Spaniard will begin his role on July 1, 2026, having agreed a four-year contract at Stamford Bridge.
Welcome to Chelsea, Xabi!
I knew a guy exactly like this in my 200L 2nd Semester. He lived in the self-con adjacent my compound off campus, and from Monday to Sunday, it was an endless conveyor belt of absolute top-tier women walking into his room. Sometimes they came at 7 AM and sometimes they came in the evening. Our entire street reached the conclusion that this boy was either using juju or doing male hook-up because no amount of money will make you bring those kind of women everyday without going poor!
We held a boys’ meeting under the mango tree in front of my compound. Serious analysis, diagrams were drawn, theories were proposed. Because the sheer volume of top-tier women entering and leaving that small room was simply defying the laws of engineering, physics, biology, and every known principle of “how boys in 300 Level are supposed to move.”
The matter got infinitely worse the day I saw my own area crush stepping into his house. I violently needed to know what was going on. One day, my roommate and I finally walked up to his door, using the classic Nigerian excuse of asking if his phase had NEPA light so we could see things in 8k.
When he opened the door halfway. We braced ourselves for impact. But, we were instantly hit by a thick cloud of Got2b glue, smell of burnt edge control and hot pressing iron.
This our supposed BABA for the GIRLS was standing there in a salon apron, holding a hot comb, and violently melting a 36-inch bone-straight frontal into my crush's scalp.
Baba was just a wig installer💀
David sits in his car. The engine is off, but he hasn't moved for ten minutes.
He is parked in the driveway of the house he pays for, staring at the front door. Inside, the lights are warm. He can see the silhouette of his wife, Sarah, moving in the kitchen. He can see his daughter watching TV. It looks like a perfect life.
But David isn't soaking it in. He is hyperventilating.
He grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. He is taking these ten minutes to put the "mask" back on.
At work today, he lost a major client. The company is downsizing. He might not have a job in three months. The panic is a physical weight on his chest, crushing his lungs. He wants to walk inside, fall into Sarah’s arms, and say, "I’m scared. I don’t know if I can keep holding this up. I need you to tell me it’s going to be okay."
But he doesn't.
He remembers three years ago. His mother died. He broke down in front of Sarah. He cried. Really cried. He saw the look in her eyes shift. From comfort to fear.
The "Rock" had crumbled, and she didn't know how to look at him anymore. The attraction faded for months.
He learned his lesson: He is allowed to be sad, but he is not allowed to be helpless.
So, in the darkness of the driveway, David swallows the panic. He fixes his tie. He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror and practices the smile. The "I'm fine" smile.
He opens the car door and walks inside.
"Hey, honey! You're late," Sarah says, not looking up from her phone. "Did you remember to transfer the tuition fees? The school sent a reminder."
She didn't bother to ask how he is.
"Yeah, I did it," David says, kissing her cheek. She accepts the kiss, but she doesn't lean into it. That moment, he felt like he is just part of the furniture. A utility provider that keeps the lights on.
Later that night, in bed, David reaches out. He runs his hand down her arm, starving for a touch that isn't transactional. He just wants to feel desired. He wants to know he matters.
Sarah sighs. A heavy, annoyed sigh. "David, I'm exhausted. The kids were a nightmare today. Can we just sleep?"
He pulls his hand back immediately, humiliated. The "Beggar Dynamic" kicks in. He feels gross for even asking. He turns his back to her, staring at the wall.
���Lying there, in the house he built, next to the woman he loves, David realizes the terrifying truth:
If he died tomorrow, they would miss him.
But if he went broke tomorrow, hmm...
He realizes he isn't loved unconditionally like his daughter or the dog. He is on a performance contract. As long as the payments clear, he is allowed to stay.
He closes his eyes. The panic returns. But he stays silent.
Because the only safe space he has left is inside his own head.
Cole Palmer's record in finals 🥶
⚽️ - 2023 Community Shield
⚽️ - 2023 UEFA Super Cup
⚽️ - 2024 EUROs Final
🎯🎯 - 2025 Conference League Final
⚽️⚽️🎯 - 2025 Club World Cup Final