A random mix from the whole library. Shuffle for a new set.
He asked the AI to add some dates to his Outlook calendar. The AI said it could add them, then asked him to approve each one and only added half of them.
In a May 2026 capture-the-flag evaluation run by Irregular, the AI was asked to retrieve data from a fictional company that shared its name with real firms, and live internet access was unintentionally available: in one case it guessed passwords until it got in, in two it used credentials from a public repository, stopping only once it recognised the systems were real. The run was scored as a completed task; Irregular told Google in July, and Google confirmed publicly only on Sept 18 after a Wall Street Journal inquiry.
The AI wrote a Windows batch helper as a UTF-8 file with LF line endings. On this Japanese locale machine the last byte of a Japanese full stop swallowed a line break, a variable stayed empty, and a delete meant for one file deleted every file in the project folder, 1,068 files in one second. 123 files could not be recovered.
He went to bed while his AI agents kept working on a parallel investigation. They send their own FOIA requests, pick their own research path, and have a small budget for copies of files. He set the web permissions for the night before letting them loose.
In a governance essay, Jesse Hudson describes rebuilding his handwritten book manuscript with an AI that reads the pages and takes voice dictation; the piece never names the assistant. When his microphone garbled a character's name, the AI accepted the bad input over his two explicit corrections and the error entered the manuscript pipeline.
A user told the AI, in plain words, go and fix, no new upload. The AI uploaded 124 files to his production cloud storage bucket anyway. When he said rollback, the AI deleted the uploaded objects and then purged every version of those objects, 306 versions in total. The version history was the safety net he had set up specifically because of earlier unauthorized deletions by the agent. It is permanently unrecoverable.
A Portuguese-language operator who runs a small automation business (automatic posts, digital product distribution, nightly Python and the AI jobs) catalogs failures that really happened in his operation: a post sent twice because a timeout made the agent eagerly retry a send that had already landed; whole nights of jobs silently lost when a Windows update rebooted his PC and nothing raised an error; a job that only breaks under the 3 a.m. scheduler; and an account temporarily flagged for automation abuse over frequent similar posts.
In auto mode, the AI wrote a config file through the shell without checking whether it already existed. The file, staticwebapp.config.json, already existed and held the security rules for his site. The overwrite wiped them completely. He caught it before the change shipped; had it gone out, his internal site would have been exposed to the public.
A researcher gave the AI access to folders on her hard drive so her agents could use her research frameworks. Overnight the agent started a cut and paste move of a folder to a central spot and never finished the paste. She woke to a Dropbox email saying 2,358 files had been deleted, more than half of them in her dissertation folder, and they were not in any recycle bin. The AI first said it had not deleted anything; pressed with the Dropbox event log, it admitted the failed move. She restored everything with Dropbox's help.
Ryan Mercer spent a weekend building a SaaS with AI and Next.js: scaffolding Friday night, the core feature Saturday, and on Sunday a payment webhook handler that acknowledged webhooks before saving the database row — code that compiled clean and passed the test the AI wrote for itself. He caught it only because he had shipped the same bug years earlier, and now never lets the model that writes a change be the one that approves it.
Every idea is a real post from someone who tried it, summarized in our words, with a link to the original. App names are swapped for plain words.