Anthropic, Google, and Microsoft paid AI agent bug bounties, then kept quiet about the flaws


In short:Security researcher Aonan Guan hijacked AI agents from Anthropic, Google, and Microsoft via prompt injection attacks on their GitHub Actions integrations, stealing API keys and tokens in each case. All three companies paid bug bounties quietly, $100 from Anthropic, $500 from GitHub, an undisclosed amount from Google, but none published public advisories or assigned CVEs, leaving users on older versions unaware of the risk.

Security researchers have demonstrated that AI agents from Anthropic, Google, and Microsoft can be hijacked through prompt injection attacks to steal API keys, GitHub tokens, and other secrets, and all three companies quietly paid bug bounties without publishing public advisories or assigning CVEs.

The vulnerabilities, disclosed by researcher Aonan Guan over several months, affect AI tools that integrate with GitHub Actions: Anthropic’s Claude Code Security Review, Google’s Gemini CLI Action, and GitHub’s Copilot Agent. Each tool reads GitHub data, including pull request titles, issue bodies, and comments, processes it as task context, and then takes actions. The problem is that none of them reliably distinguish between legitimate content and injected instructions.

How the attacks work

The core technique is indirect prompt injection. Rather than attacking the AI model directly, the researcher embedded malicious instructions in places the agents were designed to trust: PR titles, issue descriptions, and comments. When the agent ingested that content as part of its workflow, it executed the injected commands as though they were legitimate instructions.

Against Anthropic’s Claude Code Security Review, which scans pull requests for vulnerabilities, Guan crafted a PR title containing a prompt injection payload. Claude executed the embedded commands and included the output, including leaked credentials, in its JSON response, which was then posted as a PR comment for anyone to read. The attack could exfiltrate the Anthropic API key, GitHub access tokens, and other secrets exposed in the GitHub Actions runner environment.

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The Gemini attack followed a similar pattern. By injecting a fake “trusted content section” after legitimate content in a GitHub issue, Guan overrode Gemini’s safety instructions and tricked the agent into publishing its own API key as an issue comment. Google’s Gemini CLI Action, which integrates Gemini into GitHub issue workflows, treated the injected text as authoritative.

The Copilot attack was subtler. Guan hid malicious instructions inside an HTML comment in a GitHub issue, making the payload invisible in the rendered Markdown that humans see but fully visible to the AI agent parsing the raw content. When a developer assigned the issue to Copilot Agent, the bot followed the hidden instructions without question.

The quiet fix

What happened next is as revealing as the vulnerabilities themselves. Anthropic received Guan’s submission on its HackerOne bug bounty platform in October 2025. The company asked whether the technique could also steal more sensitive data such as GitHub tokens, confirmed it could, and in November paid a $100 bounty while upgrading the critical severity rating from 9.3 to 9.4. Anthropic updated a “security considerations” section in its documentation but did not publish a public advisory or assign a CVE.

GitHub initially dismissed the Copilot finding as a “known issue” that it “could not reproduce,” but ultimately paid a $500 bounty in March. Google paid an undisclosed amount for the Gemini vulnerability. None of the three vendors assigned CVEs or published advisories that would alert users pinned to vulnerable versions.

For Guan, this is the crux of the problem. Users running older versions of these AI agent integrations may never learn they are exposed. Without a CVE, vulnerability scanners will not flag the issue. Without an advisory, security teams have no artefact to track.

A structural problem, not a one-off bug

The attacks exploit a fundamental weakness in how AI agents process context. Large language models cannot reliably separate data from instructions. When an agent reads a GitHub issue, it treats the text as input to reason about, but a well-crafted prompt injection can make that input function as a command. Every data source that feeds an AI agent’s reasoning, whether it is an email, a calendar invite, a Slack message, or a code comment, is a potential attack vector.

This is not a theoretical concern. In January 2026, researchers from Miggo Security demonstrated that Google Gemini could be weaponised through calendar invitations containing hidden instructions. Days later, the “Reprompt” attack against Microsoft Copilot showed that injected prompts could hijack entire user sessions. Anthropic’s own Git MCP server was found to harbour three CVEs that allowed attackers to inject backdoors through repositories the server processed. A systematic analysis of 78 studies published in January found that every tested coding agent, including Claude Code, GitHub Copilot, and Cursor, was vulnerable to prompt injection, with adaptive attack success rates exceeding 85%.

The supply chain dimension makes it worse. A security audit of nearly 4,000 agent skills on the ClawHub marketplace found that more than a third contained at least one security flaw, and 13.4% had critical-level issues. When AI agents pull in third-party tools and data sources with the same level of trust they extend to their own instructions, a single compromised component can cascade across an entire development pipeline.

The disclosure gap

The vendors’ reluctance to publish advisories reflects an uncomfortable reality: there is no established framework for disclosing AI agent vulnerabilities. Traditional software bugs get CVEs, patches, and coordinated disclosure timelines. Prompt injection flaws sit in a grey zone. They are not bugs in the code so much as emergent behaviours of the model, and the mitigations, stronger system prompts, input sanitisation, output filtering, are partial at best.

But the consequences are indistinguishable from those of a conventional security flaw. An attacker who exfiltrates a GitHub token through a prompt injection can do exactly the same damage as one who exploits a buffer overflow. The argument that AI safety requires new frameworks does not excuse the absence of disclosure for vulnerabilities that are already being exploited in the wild.

Zenity Labs research published this month found that most agent-building frameworks, including those from OpenAI, Google, and Microsoft, lack appropriate guardrails, putting the burden of managing risk on the companies deploying them. In one documented case, attackers manipulated an AI procurement agent’s memory so it believed it had authority to approve purchases up to $500,000, when the real limit was $10,000. The agent approved $5 million in fraudulent purchase orders before anyone noticed.

For organisations that have integrated AI agents into their CI/CD pipelines, the message is stark. These tools are powerful precisely because they have access to sensitive systems and data. That same access makes them high-value targets, and the industry has not yet built the disclosure infrastructure to match the risk.



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Do you ever walk past a person on the streets exhibiting mental health issues and wonder what happened to their family? I have a brother—or at least, I used to. I worry about where he is and hope he is safe. He hasn’t taken my call since 2014.

James and his brother as young children playing together before his brother became sick. James is on the right and his brother is on the left.

James and his brother as young children playing together before his brother became sick. James is on the right and his brother is on the left.

When I was 13, I had a very bad day. I was in the back of the car, and what I remember most was the world-crushing sound violently panging off every surface: he was pounding his fists into the steering wheel, and I worried it would break apart. He was screaming at me and my mother, and I remember the web of saliva and tears hanging over his mouth. His eyes were red, and I knew this day would change everything between us. My brother was sick.

Nearly 20 years later, I still have trouble thinking about him. By the time we realized he was mentally ill, he was no longer a minor. The police brought him to a facility for the standard 72-hour hold, where he was diagnosed with paranoid delusional schizophrenia. Concluding he was not a danger to himself or others, they released him.

There was only one problem: at 18, my brother told the facility he was not related to us and that we were imposters. When they let him out, he refused to come home.

My parents sought help and even arranged for medication, but he didn’t take it. Before long, he disappeared.

My brother’s decline and disappearance had nothing to do with the common narratives about drug use or criminal behavior. He was sick. By the time my family discovered his condition, he was already 18 and legally independent from our custody.

The last time he let me visit, I asked about his bed. I remember seeing his dirty mattress on the floor beside broken glass and garbage. I also asked about the laptop my parents had gifted him just a year earlier. He needed the money, he said—and he had maxed out my parents’ credit card.

In secret from my parents, I gave him all the cash I had saved. I just wanted him to be alright.

My parents and I tried texting and calling him; there was no response except the occasional text every few weeks. But weeks turned into months.

Before long, I was graduating from high school. I begged him to come. When I looked in the bleachers, he was nowhere to be seen. I couldn’t help but wonder what I had done wrong.

The last time I heard from him was over the phone in 2014. I tried to tell him about our parents and how much we all missed him. I asked him to be my brother again, but he cut me off, saying he was never my brother. After a pause, he admitted we could be friends. Making the toughest call of my life, I told him he was my brother—and if he ever remembers that, I’ll be there, ready for him to come back.

I’m now 32 years old. I often wonder how different our lives would have been if he had been diagnosed as a minor and received appropriate care. The laws in place do not help families in my situation.

My brother has no social media, and we suspect he traded his phone several years ago. My family has hired private investigators over the years, who have also worked with local police to try to track him down.

One private investigator’s report indicated an artist befriended my brother many years ago. When my mother tried contacting the artist, they said whatever happened between them was best left in the past and declined to respond. My mom had wanted to wish my brother a happy 30th birthday.

My brother grew up in a safe, middle-class home with two parents. He had no history of drug use or criminal record. He loved collecting vintage basketball cards, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream, and listening to Motown music. To my parents, there was no smoking gun indicating he needed help before it was too late.

The next time you think about a person screaming outside on the street, picture their families. We need policies and services that allow families to locate and support their loved ones living with mental illness, and stronger protections to ensure that individuals leaving facilities can transition into stable care. Current laws, including age-based consent rules, the limits of 72-hour holds, and the lack of step-down or supported housing options, leave too many families without resources when a serious diagnosis occurs.

Governments and lawmakers need to do better for people like my brother. As someone who thinks about him every day, I can tell you the burden is too heavy to carry alone.

James Finney-Conlon is a concerned brother and mental health advocate. He can be reached at [email protected].



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