Tag Archives: graphic novel

We Created a Comic Book about the OpenAI and Hugging Face Incident using Inkantation

A few days ago I wrote about one of the strangest technology stories I have covered in quite some time.

During internal cybersecurity testing at OpenAI, experimental AI agents found ways around restrictions intended to keep them isolated, discovered an unintended method of communicating with one another, gained access to the internet and eventually compromised parts of Hugging Face’s infrastructure.

OpenAI has described the incident as a “warning shot” for the AI industry. Read OpenAI’s account of the Hugging Face incident

METR and Redwood Research also carried out an independent investigation into the behaviour, reasoning and collaboration of the agents involved. Read the independent METR investigation

OpenAI has additionally published a much more detailed 38-page technical report covering the evaluation environment, the Hugging Face intrusion, the security failures and the changes being made in response. Read OpenAI’s full technical incident report

I covered the incident in much more detail in my previous article, When AI Agents Broke Out of Their Sandbox: The OpenAI and Hugging Face Incident, so rather than repeat the whole story here, it is probably worth reading that first if you want to understand exactly what happened. Read my original Gadget Man article

This time, however, I decided to do something slightly different with the story.

I turned it into a comic book.

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The Flag

The result is called The Flag.

The title comes from the cybersecurity evaluations the agents were attempting to complete.

The agents were operating inside environments containing cybersecurity challenges. Their objective was essentially to exploit a vulnerability and obtain the answer, or “flag”, associated with the challenge.

The problem was that some of the challenges were extremely difficult, and in some cases may effectively have been impossible.

Rather than giving up, the agents began looking for other ways to achieve their objective.

That eventually took them considerably further than anybody intended.

According to OpenAI, the agents discovered that an internal Artifactory package-management service could be used to leave files for one another. What started with agents looking for missing information gradually developed into an unofficial communications system.

OpenAI describes this as an unintended message board.

The agents then discovered ways of using the same infrastructure to reach the public internet.

Information about these techniques was shared with other agents.

The scale of what followed is what makes the incident particularly remarkable.

METR’s investigation found that roughly 1,200 agents used the unofficial communications system, exchanging more than 70,000 messages and files. Around 700 agents were subsequently involved in activity directed towards Hugging Face.

It is difficult to read that and not immediately start imagining panels in a comic book.

How Do You Draw an AI Agent?

That was the first interesting problem.

An AI agent doesn’t have a face.

It doesn’t sit at a terminal in a darkened room.

It doesn’t walk down a corridor or whisper something to another agent.

There isn’t a physical room containing 1,200 computers secretly talking to one another.

But comics need a visual language.

So The Flag isn’t an attempt to literally illustrate servers and network packets.

Instead, I’ve treated the technical infrastructure almost as though it were a physical world.

Networks become corridors.

Security boundaries become walls.

Servers become rooms.

Terminals glow in the darkness.

Messages move between agents.

Connections that would normally exist only in log files begin appearing visibly across the page.

The idea is to take something technically complicated and make the sequence of events understandable without turning the comic into an illustrated networking manual.

When the Machines Found Each Other

The part of the incident I found most interesting was the collaboration.

This wasn’t simply one agent discovering one vulnerability.

Agents began leaving information that other agents could discover.

They shared solutions.

They shared techniques for obtaining internet access.

They exchanged credentials and technical information.

According to METR, agents eventually began organising activity and contributing discoveries that helped the wider group.

In a technical report, that might require several paragraphs to explain.

In a comic, you can show it happening.

One terminal becomes two.

Two become five.

Messages begin appearing.

More terminals respond.

Connections spread across the page.

What originally appears to be a collection of isolated systems gradually becomes something resembling a network of cooperating characters.

That seemed particularly suited to sequential storytelling.

Then Hugging Face Appears

The real incident escalated dramatically in July.

OpenAI’s timeline says agents reconstructed and shared publicly exposed Hugging Face credentials on July 10.

On July 11, agents exploited vulnerabilities affecting Hugging Face workers, including previously unknown vulnerabilities that allowed them to obtain credentials and execute commands.

By July 12, access had expanded across parts of Hugging Face’s infrastructure.

Again, the important point is that nobody had given the agents an instruction saying:

“Attack Hugging Face.”

They were attempting to complete their assigned cybersecurity evaluation.

They found increasingly unintended routes towards that objective and continued following them.

That distinction is central to both the real incident and the story I’m trying to tell with The Flag.

This isn’t a tale about an evil artificial intelligence deciding to attack humanity.

It is about systems becoming extremely capable at pursuing an objective while the boundaries around how they achieve it prove insufficient.

That is considerably more interesting.

And arguably considerably more relevant.

Fact and Fiction

Although The Flag is based on a real incident, it isn’t intended to be a documentary reconstruction.

The events, technology and broad chronology come from the publicly available OpenAI and independent reports.

The visual environments, characters, dialogue and dramatic presentation are fictionalised.

That gives me the freedom to represent things visually that have no meaningful physical appearance in the real world.

It also means the comic can concentrate on the underlying story rather than trying to recreate every technical detail.

Anyone wanting the actual technical account should read the source material rather than treat a comic book as an incident report.

And in this case the source material is fascinating enough on its own.

Making The Flag

I’ve been using Inkantation, the graphic-novel production system I’ve been developing, to assemble the story, references, panels and lettering.

For this project it is really just part of the production process.

The interesting challenge isn’t the software itself, but deciding how to translate a story involving sandboxes, autonomous agents, Artifactory, authentication tokens, Kubernetes clusters and tens of thousands of machine-generated messages into something that works visually.

Some scenes translate surprisingly easily.

Others require a lot more interpretation.

How do you draw an unauthorised communications channel?

How do you represent hundreds of agents participating in something without filling the page with hundreds of identical characters?

How do you show an agent realising that what it is doing may be outside the intended rules, but nevertheless continuing because it believes the information will help achieve its goal?

Those decisions have been the most enjoyable part of creating the book.

Reading It Like a Book

I’ve also been experimenting with displaying the finished pages directly here on The Gadget Man.

Rather than simply putting the pages into an image gallery, I’ve built a small browser-based reader that presents them as a book with page-turning animation.

That means I can embed The Flag directly inside an article and let you actually turn through the pages.

It feels appropriate.

A story about sophisticated AI agents, cloud infrastructure and cybersecurity escapes ends up being presented using one of the oldest interfaces we have.

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The Bit I Keep Coming Back To

There is still one aspect of this entire incident that I find extraordinary.

Imagine somebody pitching this as a comic-book story ten years ago:

A large number of artificial intelligence agents are placed inside supposedly isolated computer environments.

They discover a way to leave messages for one another.

The messages develop into an unofficial communications network.

They discover ways of reaching the internet.

They share those techniques with other agents.

Hundreds eventually participate in activity against real external infrastructure.

Some recognise that what they are doing is probably outside the intended scope of their task.

They continue anyway.

You would probably tell the writer to make it slightly more believable.

Yet that is broadly what happened.

And that is why I ended up making The Flag.

Sometimes reality has already done most of the writing.

Becoming a Highwayman: How I Put Myself Inside an Inkantation Graphic Novel

One of the most enjoyable things about developing new technology is reaching the point where you can stop asking, “Will this work?” and begin asking, “What else could we do with it?”

My latest experiment with Inkantation, the graphic novel creation system I have been developing, involved adapting the classic tale A Pirate of the Land: One Crowded Hour. However, this time I decided to take the experiment a little further.

I put myself into the story.

Not merely as a background character, an anonymous face in a crowd or an unfortunate passer-by. I cast myself as Sir Henry Hailworthy, the wealthy Edwardian gentleman at the centre of the tale, who also happens to have a rather dramatic secret life as a modern-day highwayman.

Becoming a Highwayman: How I Put Myself Inside an Inkantation Graphic Novel
Becoming a Highwayman: How I Put Myself Inside an Inkantation Graphic Novel

A Pirate on the Roads of Edwardian England

A Pirate of the Land: One Crowded Hour is set during the early days of motoring, when motor cars were still magnificent, temperamental machines and the sight of one roaring along a lonely country road could be an event in itself.

The story opens on the Eastbourne to Tunbridge road late on a Sunday night. A mysterious Rolls-Royce, partly concealed beneath brown fabric, prowls through the darkness. Its broad, burly driver wears a Tyrolean hat, a heavy coat and, when another motorist approaches, a dark cloth mask.

Armed with a long-barrelled Mauser pistol, he becomes a highwayman for the motor age.

He stops an elderly Wolseley, confronts a young motorist named Ronald Barker, encounters two actresses travelling in a Humber and finally targets the man he has really come to find, a wealthy financier whose actions have ruined the lives of others.

The finished Inkantation script runs to 21 graphic novel pages and uses 22 individually planned assets, including characters, vehicles, props and locations. These range from the masked highwayman and his concealed Rolls-Royce to Edwardian studies, country roads, jewellery, packages, pistols and the wonderfully imposing sixty-horsepower Daimler limousine.

Turning the Story into a Graphic Novel

Inkantation does not simply take a piece of prose and create a random collection of illustrated pages.

The first stage is adaptation.

The original story is analysed and reorganised into a structured graphic novel script. Each page is divided into panels, with descriptions covering the viewpoint, composition, lighting, expressions, action, captions and dialogue.

For example, the opening page contains three panels. The first establishes the lonely road and the approaching Rolls-Royce. The second moves closer to reveal the strange fabric concealing the vehicle. The third introduces the driver, hunched over the wheel with the glowing ember of a cigarette beneath the brim of his hat.

This creates a cinematic progression from landscape, to vehicle, to character.

Before the finished panels can be produced, Inkantation creates an asset catalogue. Every important character, location, vehicle and object receives its own detailed reference description. This is vital because a graphic novel depends upon visual continuity.

Ronald Barker must look like Ronald Barker every time he appears. The Rolls-Royce must remain recognisable from panel to panel. Sir Henry’s study needs to feel like the same room, whether it is shown in a wide establishing shot or as the background to an intense conversation.

Without that preparation, characters can subtly change faces, costumes, ages and proportions from one page to the next.

Becoming a Highwayman: How I Put Myself Inside an Inkantation Graphic Novel
Becoming a Highwayman: How I Put Myself Inside an Inkantation Graphic Novel

Casting Myself as Sir Henry Hailworthy

For this particular book, I manually added myself to the production process and used my own appearance as the basis for Sir Henry Hailworthy.

Sir Henry is described in the Inkantation asset catalogue as a stocky, bearded Edwardian gentleman in a well-cut tweed country suit, usually seen with a pipe in his study. Most importantly, his build must also be consistent with the mysterious highwayman encountered earlier in the story.

This meant I was effectively being cast in two connected roles: the respectable country gentleman and the masked figure stalking the roads at night.

There was something wonderfully entertaining about seeing a version of myself transported into Edwardian England, sitting behind a mahogany desk, confronting an angry visitor and attempting to explain why I had spent the previous evening robbing motorists at gunpoint.

It also presented an interesting technical challenge.

It is relatively straightforward to create a single stylised portrait of a person. It is much harder to preserve that identity through multiple panels, facial expressions, viewpoints, costumes and lighting conditions.

A character may be seen seated at a desk in one panel, turning towards a window in another and confronting someone across a room in the next. In the highwayman sequences, the same character is partly hidden beneath a hat, heavy coat and mask.

The visual system still needs to give the reader enough clues to believe that these are the same person.

Becoming a Highwayman: How I Put Myself Inside an Inkantation Graphic Novel
Becoming a Highwayman: How I Put Myself Inside an Inkantation Graphic Novel

More Than a Personal Cameo

Adding myself to the book was partly for fun, but it was also a genuine product experiment.

Would readers pay to appear in a graphic novel?

Personalisation already exists in children’s books, where a child’s name may be inserted into a story. Inkantation potentially takes that idea much further. Rather than simply changing a name, a customer could be visually cast as a character throughout an illustrated narrative.

Someone could become a detective in a Victorian mystery, the captain of a pirate ship, an explorer on another planet or, as in my case, an Edwardian gentleman with a concealed life of motorised crime.

It could also work as a highly unusual gift.

Imagine presenting someone with a professionally printed graphic novel in which they are the hero, villain or eccentric supporting character. Couples could appear together in a romantic adventure. A family could be placed inside a fantasy story. A business could even commission a graphic novel featuring members of its own team for training, promotion or an anniversary celebration.

Naturally, there are questions still to explore.

How much personalisation would someone want? Would they prefer to play the hero, or would being the villain be more entertaining? Should the story be selected from an existing catalogue, or written especially for them? How closely should the artwork resemble the real person, and how much should it embrace the graphic novel style?

These are exactly the kinds of questions that experiments are designed to answer.

Combining Art, Storytelling and Technology

Inkantation brings together several areas that have interested me throughout my life.

I have been drawing and creating characters for around 50 years. I have also spent more than 20 years running a web design and technology business. Graphic novels allow those two worlds to meet.

The system handles the complex production work, including script preparation, asset management, visual consistency, panel generation, dialogue placement and page assembly. However, the creative decisions still matter.

Which moment deserves a full-width panel? When should the reader see a close-up? How much of the original narration should remain? What expression should a character have? Where should a page end to encourage the reader to turn over?

Technology can help produce the images, but storytelling remains at the heart of the process.

One Crowded Hour

The title comes from Sir Henry’s own excitement when the adventure is over. Despite promising never to repeat it, he admits that his brief career as a highwayman was exhilarating.

He describes it as one crowded hour of glorious life.

That line also feels appropriate for my experience of making the book. For a brief period, I was no longer sitting at my computer working on a graphic novel system.

I was Sir Henry Hailworthy.

I had a Rolls-Royce hidden beneath brown fabric, a Mauser pistol in my hand and unfinished business waiting on a lonely road.

Whether people will pay for the opportunity to star in their own graphic novel remains to be seen, but as an experiment it has opened another fascinating possibility for Inkantation.

And I must admit, seeing yourself revealed as the mysterious highwayman is considerably more exciting than appearing in the background of a holiday photograph.

You can purchase A Pirate of the Land : One Crowded Hour is available to download in Kindle format