The US spent billions on border surveillance. Why can't it catch people before they die? Surveillance towers, increasingly powered by AI, promised faster responses to crossings. Our investigation of deaths near the towers found they are failing to deliver. When José Morales Bernal crossed the border into the United States on April 8, 2024, the day before his 32nd birthday, it should have triggered a chain of technological alerts and human responses. As he walked through the desert in southern New Mexico that morning, he was within range of three surveillance towers. Newly installed by US Customs and Border Protection (CBP), they were built by the defense tech company Anduril and equipped with cameras and AI to automatically detect and track people. They transmit live video to nearby control rooms and can send alerts to the government-issued smartphones held by agents in the area, prompting the closest available to respond. This story is part of Dying on Camera, a collaboration between and . These AI-enabled towers are meant to give greater visibility across the 1,951-mile southern border, freeing up border agents from having to spend hours staring into video monitors. They were installed in this particular place to spot border crossers before they reached the nearby town of Sunland Park. If the system worked as intended, Morales should have been apprehended. If he needed medical help, agents were trained to provide it. Despite the nearby surveillance towers, it was employees of the local landfill, rather than Border Patrol, who first spotted Morales that morning. At 1 p.m. the workers saw him again, now lying in the sand. At 4 p.m. the landfill workers saw that he had not moved and called Border Patrol. Agents arrived 45 minutes later. When an agent then called 911 to report the body, he said it was "probably one of the migrants crossing through there," seemingly unaware that Morales had been moving near the agency's surveillance systems earlier that day. Morales had died just 360 feet from the closest surveillance tower.

The incident could disrupt a key part of the defense company's rocket motor business, which designs and tests prototype motors for military customers. A rocket motor exploded during a test at an Anduril facility in Mississippi last Friday, marking another setback in the startup's hopes of becoming a major supplier of missile propulsion systems for the defense industry. Anduril publicly confirmed the incident after an inquiry from WIRED. No one was injured in the blast, which damaged Anduril's testing stand, the company's chief operating officer Matt Grimm said in a social media post on Tuesday hours after WIRED contacted the company about the incident. Three people familiar with Anduril's operations, who were granted anonymity to discuss a sensitive situation, tell WIRED that they can't recall another time when a similar test resulted in an explosion in the past few years, and they were unaware of what may have caused last week's mishap.

Inside Anduril and Meta's quest to make smart glasses for warfare It's been a year since the duo entered the US Army's troubled augmented-reality contest. Here's what it looks like so far. The defense-tech company Anduril has shared new details about the augmented-reality headset for the military it's prototyping with Meta, including a vision for ordering drone strikes via eye-tracking and voice commands. Quay Barnett, who leads the efforts as a vice president at Anduril following a career in the Army's Special Operations Command, says his fundamental goal is to optimize "the human as a weapons system." The vision is undoubtedly cyborg-inspired: Barnett wants drones and soldiers to see together, share information seamlessly, and make decisions as one. Anduril actually has two such projects in the works.

Where OpenAI's technology could show up in Iran Three places to watch, from the margins of war to the center of combat. It's been just over two weeks since OpenAI reached a controversial agreement to allow the Pentagon to use its AI in classified environments. There are still pressing questions about what exactly OpenAI's agreement allows for; Sam Altman said the military can't use his company's technology to build autonomous weapons, but the agreement really just demands that the military follow its own (quite permissive) guidelines about such weapons. OpenAI's other main claim, that the agreement will prevent use of its technology for domestic surveillance, appears equally dubious . It's not the first tech giant to embrace military contracts it had once vowed never to enter into, but the speed of the pivot was notable. Perhaps it's just about money; OpenAI is spending lots on AI training and is on the hunt for more revenue (from sources including ads).

On an airstrip somewhere in Texas, a swarm of killer jets approaches--controlled by, of all things, a large language model. At a secret US military base located about 50 miles from the Mexican border--exact location: classified--the defense contractor Anduril is testing a remarkable new use for a large language model. I attended one of the first demonstrations last year. From a sun-bleached landing strip, I watched as four jet aircraft, codenamed Mustang, appeared on the horizon to the west and soared over a desolate landscape of boulders and brush. The prototypes, miniaturized for the demo, fell into formation, their engines buzzing as they grew near.

Late this spring, I was led into a car in Kyiv, blindfolded, and driven to a secret factory in western Ukraine. The facility belongs to TAF Drones, founded three years ago by Oleksandr Yakovenko, a young Ukrainian businessman who wanted to help fend off the Russian invasion. When the war started, Yakovenko was busy running a logistics company in Odesa, but his country needed all the help it could get. Ukraine was overmatched--fighting a larger, wealthier adversary with a bigger army and more sophisticated weapons. "The government said to me, 'We need you to make drones,' " Yakovenko told me.

It is a significant overhaul of a department that in 40 years has never before been placed so squarely on the chopping block. Here's how today's defense tech companies, which have fostered close connections to the Trump administration, stand to gain, and why safety testing might suffer as a result. The Operational Test and Evaluation office is "the last gate before a technology gets to the field," says Missy Cummings, a former fighter pilot for the US Navy who is now a professor of engineering and computer science at George Mason University. Though the military can do small experiments with new systems without running it by the office, it has to test anything that gets fielded at scale. "In a bipartisan way--up until now--everybody has seen it's working to help reduce waste, fraud, and abuse," she says.

Microsoft's six-year-old program to make HoloLens headsets for the US Army could be getting some extra help. If the Department of Defense approves the deal, the company will expand its existing partnership with Anduril Industries, Palmer Luckey's defense startup, for the next stages of the Integrated Visual Augmentation System (IVAS) program. Microsoft, which spearheaded the program, would transition into supplying AI and cloud infrastructure. Meanwhile, Anduril would do pretty much everything else, including "oversight of production, future development of hardware and software and delivery timelines." Anduril makes a wide array of defense tech, including drone interceptors, sentry towers, comms jammers, drones and even an autonomous submarine. But given Luckey's background as the primary inventor of the Oculus Rift -- and, by extension, the modern consumer XR industry -- the IVAS program could perhaps be the defense tech startup's most natural fit.

More than ever, we feel a duty and desire to extend empathy to our nonhuman neighbors. In the last three years, more than 30 countries have formally recognized other animals--including gorillas, lobsters, crows, and octopuses--as sentient beings. A trio of books from Ed Yong, Jackie Higgins, and Philip Ball detail creatures' rich inner worlds and capture what has led to these developments: a booming field of experimental research challenging the long-standing view that animals are neither conscious nor cognitively complex. It seems we have two types of laugh: one caused by tickling, and the other by everything else. Ukrainian artist Oleg Dron specializes in expansive, haunting landscapes.

I was here to examine the pitch being made by Anduril, other companies in defense tech, and growing numbers of people within the Pentagon itself: A future "great power" conflict--military jargon for a global war involving competition between multiple countries--will not be won by the entity with the most advanced drones or firepower, or even the cheapest firepower. It will be won by whoever can sort through and share information the fastest. And that will have to be done "at the edge" where threats arise, not necessarily at a command post in Washington. "You're going to need to really empower lower levels to make decisions, to understand what's going on, and to fight," Anduril CEO Brian Schimpf says. "That is a different paradigm than today." To show how the new tech will fix that, Anduril walked me through an exercise demonstrating how its system would take down an incoming drone threatening a base of the US military or its allies (the scenario at the center of Anduril's new partnership with OpenAI).