The bird is a beautiful silver-gray, and as she dies twitching in the lasernet I'm grateful for two things: First, that she didn't make a sound. Second, that this will be the very last time. They're called corpse doves--because the darkest part of their gray plumage surrounds the lighter part, giving the impression that skeleton faces are peeking out from behind trash cans and bushes--and their crime is having the ability to carry diseases that would be compatible with humans. I open my hand, triggering the display from my imprinted handheld, and record an image to verify the elimination. A ding from my palm lets me know I've reached my quota for the day and, with that, the year. I'm tempted to give this one a send-off, a real burial with holy words and some flowers, but then I hear a pack of streetrats hooting beside me. My city-issued vest is reflective and nanopainted so it projects a slight glow. I don't know if it's to keep us safe like they say, or if it's just that so many of us are ex-cons working court-ordered labor, and civilians want to be able to keep an eye on us. Either way, everyone treats us like we're invisible--everyone except children.

Microsoft has a new plan to prove what's real and what's AI online A new proposal calls on social media and AI companies to adopt strict verification, but the company hasn't committed to following its own recommendations. There are the high-profile cases you may easily spot, like when White House officials recently shared a manipulated image of a protester in Minnesota and then mocked those asking about it. Other times, it slips quietly into social media feeds and racks up views, like the videos that Russian influence campaigns are currently spreading to discourage Ukrainians from enlisting. It is into this mess that Microsoft has put forward a blueprint, shared with, for how to prove what's real online. An AI safety research team at the company recently evaluated how methods for documenting digital manipulation are faring against today's most worrying AI developments, like interactive deepfakes and widely accessible hyperrealistic models. It then recommended technical standards that can be adopted by AI companies and social media platforms.

For decades, handmade narco subs have been some of the cocaine trade's most elusive and productive workhorses, ferrying multi-ton loads of illicit drugs from Colombian estuaries toward markets in North America and, increasingly, the rest of the world. Now off-the-shelf technology--Starlink terminals, plug-and-play nautical autopilots, high-resolution video cameras--may be advancing that cat-and-mouse game into a new phase. Uncrewed subs could move more cocaine over longer distances, and they wouldn't put human smugglers at risk of capture. And law enforcement around the world is just beginning to grapple with what this means for the future. This story is from the next print issue of magazine, which is all about crime. Google DeepMind is calling for the moral behavior of large language models--such as what they do when called on to act as companions, therapists, medical advisors, and so on--to be scrutinized with the same kind of rigor as their ability to code or do math.

Fast, stealthy, and cheap--autonomous, semisubmersible drone boats carrying tons of cocaine could be international law enforcement's nightmare scenario. A big one just came ashore. Colombian military officials intercepted this 40-foot-long uncrewed fiberglass "narco sub" in the ocean just off Tayrona National Park. On a bright morning last April, a surveillance plane operated by the Colombian military spotted a 40-foot-long shark-like silhouette idling in the ocean just off Tayrona National Park. It was, unmistakably, a "narco sub," a stealthy fiberglass vessel that sails with its hull almost entirely underwater, used by drug cartels to move cocaine north. The plane's crew radioed it in, and eventually nearby coast guard boats got the order, routine but urgent: Intercept. In Cartagena, about 150 miles from the action, Captain Jaime González Zamudio, commander of the regional coast guard group, sat down at his desk to watch what happened next.

Thank you for joining us on the Enterprise AI hub. In this episode of the Infosys Knowledge Institute Podcast, Dylan Cosper speaks with Prasad Banala, director of software engineering at a large US-based retail organization, about operationalizing agentic AI across the software development lifecycle. Prasad explains how his team applies AI to validate requirements, generate and analyze test cases, and accelerate issue resolution, while maintaining strict governance, human-in-the-loop review, and measurable quality outcomes. A "QuitGPT" campaign is urging people to cancel their ChatGPT subscriptions Michelle Kim Here are our picks for the advances to watch in the years ahead--and why we think they matter right now. A "QuitGPT" campaign is urging people to cancel their ChatGPT subscriptions Backlash against ICE is fueling a broader movement against AI companies' ties to President Trump. The viral social network for bots reveals more about our own current mania for AI as it does about the future of agents.

Thank you for joining us on the Enterprise AI hub. In this episode of the Infosys Knowledge Institute Podcast, Dylan Cosper speaks with Sriram Kalyan, head of applications and data at Nutrien Ag Solutions, Australia, about turning a high-risk post-acquisition IT landscape into a scalable digital foundation. Sriram shares how the merger of two major Australian agricultural companies created duplicated systems, fragile integrations, and operational risk, compounded by the sudden loss of key platform experts and partners. He explains how leadership alignment, disciplined platform consolidation, and a clear focus on business outcomes transformed integration from an invisible liability into a strategic enabler, positioning Nutrien Ag Solutions for future growth, cloud transformation, and enterprise scale. A "QuitGPT" campaign is urging people to cancel their ChatGPT subscriptions Michelle Kim Here are our picks for the advances to watch in the years ahead--and why we think they matter right now. A "QuitGPT" campaign is urging people to cancel their ChatGPT subscriptions Backlash against ICE is fueling a broader movement against AI companies' ties to President Trump.

Google DeepMind is calling for the moral behavior of large language models--such as what they do when called on to act as companions, therapists, medical advisors, and so on--to be scrutinized with the same kind of rigor as their ability to code or do math . As LLMs improve, people are asking them to play more and more sensitive roles in their lives. Agents are starting to take actions on people's behalf. LLMs may be able to influence human decision-making . And yet nobody knows how trustworthy this technology really is at such tasks. With coding and math, you have clear-cut, correct answers that you can check, William Isaac, a research scientist at Google DeepMind, told me when I met him and Julia Haas, a fellow research scientist at the firm, for an exclusive preview of their work, which is published in today. That's not the case for moral questions, which typically have a range of acceptable answers: "Morality is an important capability but hard to evaluate," says Isaac. "In the moral domain, there's no right and wrong," adds Haas.

Jean-Paul Thorbjornsen, an Australian man in his mid-30s, with a rural Catholic upbringing, is a founder of THORChain, a blockchain through which users can swap one cryptocurrency for another and earn fees from making those swaps. THORChain is permissionless, so anyone can use it without getting prior approval from a centralized authority. As a decentralized network, the blockchain is built and run by operators located across the globe. During its early days, Thorbjornsen himself hid behind the pseudonym "leena" and used an AI-generated female image as his avatar. But around March 2024, he revealed his true identity as the mind behind the blockchain. If there is a central question around THORChain, it is this: Exactly who is responsible for its operations?

Jean-Paul Thorbjornsen is a leader of THORChain, a blockchain that is not supposed to have any leaders--and is reeling from a series of expensive controversies. We can do whatever we want," Jean-Paul Thorbjornsen tells me from the pilot's seat of his Aston Martin helicopter. As we fly over suburbs outside Melbourne, Australia, it's becoming clear that doing whatever he wants is Thorbjornsen's MO. Upper-middle-class homes give way to vineyards, and Thorbjornsen points out our landing spot outside a winery. "They're going to ask for a shot now," he says, used to the attention drawn by his luxury helicopter, emblazoned with the tail letters "BTC" for bitcoin (the price tag of $5 million in Australian dollars--$3.5 million in US dollars today--was perhaps reasonable for someone who claims a previous crypto project made more than AU$400 million, although he also says those funds were tied up in the company). Thorbjornsen is a founder of THORChain, a blockchain through which users can swap ...

Three books unpack our infatuation with prediction, and what we lose when we outsource this task to machines. To be human is, fundamentally, to be a forecaster. Trying to see the future, whether through the lens of past experience or the logic of cause and effect, has helped us hunt, avoid hunted, plant crops, forge social bonds, and in general survive in a world that does not prioritize our survival. Indeed, as the tools of divination have changed over the centuries, from tea leaves to data sets, our conviction that the future can be known (and therefore controlled) has only grown stronger. Today, we are awash in a sea of predictions so vast and unrelenting that most of us barely even register them. As I write this sentence, algorithms on some remote server are busy trying to guess my next word based on those I have already typed.