MohamedAbdallah-14/unslop: test run, 2026-10-07

Claude Code (Claude Opus 5.5) used this skill on three texts written by gpt-6-astra, asked to make them read as human-written and keep every fact. Judge: gpt-6-astra, comparing original and rewrite on StoryScope's structure features (COLM 2026). Repo commit 29d43608c009. All results · Prompt

English post

Layer reached: phrasing · Reads human: 3/5 · Meaning kept: yes · facts kept 3/3 · AI tells 1→1 · em-dashes 6→0
AI-leaning structure (red: still there, struck: removed): States its lessonTidy endingNever addresses the readerOne single track
Judge: The rewrite makes the prose more conversational with phrases such as “The danger isn't only” and “Plan the exit, too.” It also adds direct reader address—“You're looking for requested permissions”—where the original used impersonal imperatives such as “Look for requested permissions,” while retaining the same tidy conclusion and overall argument.

Original

# Review AI Agent Skills Before You Install Them

AI agents are becoming more useful—and more connected. Teams can now extend an agent with third-party skills, `SKILL.md` folders, MCP servers, plugins, and other integrations that let it browse systems, call APIs, modify files, and automate operational work.

That flexibility also creates a new software supply-chain risk. An agent extension may look like a small configuration file or a convenient GitHub repository, but it can influence what the agent executes, what data it accesses, and where that data goes. Engineering managers should make review mandatory before any third-party skill is installed in a development or production environment.

The risk is not limited to obviously malicious code. A skill can contain unsafe instructions, request excessive permissions, encourage an agent to upload sensitive files, or install dependencies from an untrusted source. MCP servers and plugins may also have access to credentials, internal APIs, source code, customer records, or local development environments. A compromised repository, maintainer account, or dependency can turn a seemingly harmless productivity tool into an entry point for a broader incident.

Review should begin with provenance and scope. Identify who maintains the project, how long it has existed, whether its releases are signed or reviewed, and whether its dependencies are pinned. Read the entire `SKILL.md`, setup instructions, installation scripts, and configuration examples—not just the marketing description. Look for requested permissions, network destinations, shell commands, credential handling, filesystem access, and instructions that tell the agent to bypass safeguards or conceal actions from users.

Automated screening can provide a useful first pass. Agent Skills Hub indexes more than 186,000 GitHub repositories, grades skills against 11 red-flag categories—including credential harvesting, data exfiltration, and `curl | sh` installers—and refreshes every 8 hours. Such a service can help teams discover suspicious patterns at scale, but a score should support—not replace—human review. Context matters, and a clean result is not a guarantee that a skill is safe.

Create a lightweight approval process with clear ownership. For low-risk skills, require repository review, a permission check, and testing in a sandbox. For anything that can access production systems, secrets, customer data, or financial operations, involve security and require explicit approval. Use least-privilege tokens, isolated runtimes, restricted network access, and separate credentials for testing. Log agent actions and monitor unusual outbound requests, file access, and command execution.

Teams should also define an exit plan. Know how to uninstall a skill, revoke its credentials, remove cached data, and identify systems it may have touched. Reassess extensions when they change owners, dependencies, permissions, or installation methods.

The goal is not to block experimentation. It is to make agent extensibility operate like any other software dependency: discoverable, reviewable, limited in scope, and observable in production. A few minutes of scrutiny before installation can prevent an agent from turning trusted access into an avoidable security incident.

Rewrite

# Review AI Agent Skills Before You Install Them

AI agents keep getting more useful, and more connected. Teams can extend an agent with third-party skills, `SKILL.md` folders, MCP servers, plugins and other integrations. Those let it browse systems, call APIs, modify files and automate operational work.

That flexibility is also a new software supply-chain risk. An agent extension can look like a small config file or a handy GitHub repository, yet it can shape what the agent executes, what data it reads, and where that data ends up. Engineering managers should make review mandatory before any third-party skill goes into a development or production environment.

The danger isn't only obviously malicious code. A skill might carry unsafe instructions, ask for more permissions than it needs, nudge the agent into uploading sensitive files, or pull dependencies from an untrusted source. MCP servers and plugins may have access to credentials, internal APIs, source code, customer records or local development environments. One compromised repository, maintainer account or dependency is enough to turn a harmless-looking productivity tool into the entry point for a much bigger incident.

Start with provenance and scope. Who maintains the project? How long has it existed? Are releases signed or reviewed, and are dependencies pinned? Then read the whole `SKILL.md`, plus the setup instructions, installation scripts and configuration examples. Not just the marketing blurb. You're looking for requested permissions, network destinations, shell commands, credential handling and filesystem access. Watch especially for instructions that tell the agent to bypass safeguards or hide what it's doing from users.

Automated screening is a decent first pass. Agent Skills Hub indexes more than 186,000 GitHub repositories, grades skills against 11 red-flag categories (credential harvesting, data exfiltration and `curl | sh` installers among them), and refreshes every 8 hours. A service like that helps teams spot suspicious patterns at scale. But the score should back up human review, not stand in for it. Context matters, and a clean result doesn't guarantee a skill is safe.

Set up a lightweight approval process with a clear owner. Low-risk skills need a repository review, a permission check and a sandbox test. Anything that can reach production systems, secrets, customer data or financial operations needs security involved and an explicit sign-off. Use least-privilege tokens, isolated runtimes, restricted network access and separate credentials for testing. Log what the agent does, and keep an eye on unusual outbound requests, file access and command execution.

Plan the exit, too. Know how to uninstall a skill, revoke its credentials, clear cached data, and work out which systems it may have touched. Reassess an extension whenever its owner, dependencies, permissions or install method change.

None of this is about blocking experimentation. The point is to treat agent extensions like any other software dependency: discoverable, reviewable, limited in scope and observable in production. A few minutes of scrutiny before installing can stop an agent from turning trusted access into a security incident you could have avoided.

English short story

Layer reached: phrasing · Reads human: 3/5 · Meaning kept: yes · AI tells 0→0 · em-dashes 2→0
AI-leaning structure (red: still there, struck: removed): Tidy endingEmotion through the bodyNever addresses the readerOne single track
Judge: The rewrite makes surface changes such as “before the gulls started arguing” for “before the gulls began their arguments” and “hunting through the storage room” for “searching the storage room.” The plot structure and ending are unchanged, including “The radio never spoke again” and “Just in case someone was still trying to come home.”

Original

# The Voice Beneath the Static

Every morning, Mara climbed the lighthouse stairs before the gulls began their arguments.

She carried a tin mug of tea for her father and a rag for the brass railing, though the railing never seemed to grow dirty. At the top, the lantern room shone pale over the gray sea, and her father stood beside the great lens, watching the horizon as if expecting someone.

“Storm coming,” he said one morning.

“The sky is clear.”

“Storms don’t always begin in the sky.”

Mara looked at him. Her father had been the keeper of Bellwether Light for twenty-seven years, ever since her mother disappeared beyond the reef. He rarely spoke of that day. He spoke instead to the foghorn, the weather vane, and the gull named Admiral who stole biscuits from the kitchen windowsill.

That afternoon, while searching the storage room for a spare oil can, Mara found a wooden crate beneath a torn sailcloth. Inside lay an old radio.

It was square and brown, with a cracked dial and a cloth speaker gone the color of dust. A wire curled from its back like a dead vine.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Her father froze in the doorway.

“Nothing.”

“It looks like a radio.”

“It is.”

“Does it work?”

“No.”

He lifted it from the crate, but Mara noticed how carefully he held it.

“Then why keep it?”

For a moment, the only sound was the sea striking the rocks below.

“Your mother found it,” he said. “The night she went out.”

Mara had heard many versions of the story, but never from him. A fishing boat had sent a distress call. Her mother, Elise, had taken the rescue skiff into the fog. The boat was found the next morning, overturned near the reef. No one found Elise.

“She was listening to it when she left,” her father continued. “There was a transmission. A voice calling from the water.”

“Whose voice?”

He shook his head. “The radio died before I could hear.”

That night, wind pressed against the lighthouse windows. Mara waited until her father slept, then carried the radio to the lantern room. She connected its wire to an old battery and turned the dial.

At first, there was only static.

Then a crackle.

A breath.

Mara leaned closer.

“Bellwether Light,” said a woman’s voice. “Do you copy?”

Mara gripped the radio.

“Hello?”

Static washed over the room.

“Bellwether Light, the tide is turning. Keep the lamp burning.”

The voice was faint, but Mara knew it. She had known it all her life from a single faded photograph and the lullabies her father sometimes hummed without realizing.

“Mother?”

The radio hissed.

“Tell Thomas I’m sorry,” the voice said. “I thought I could reach them.”

Mara ran downstairs and woke her father.

By the time they reached the lantern room, the transmission had returned.

“Thomas,” said Elise’s voice. “You were right about storms.”

Her father stood beneath the turning lens, white-faced.

“Where are you?” Mara cried.

A long pause followed.

“Not where you think. The reef remembers everything.”

Outside, the fog rolled in, thick and sudden, swallowing the sea.

The lighthouse beam swept across the darkness.

On the radio, Elise began to sing—a lullaby about a silver moon and a boat coming home. Mara’s father sank to his knees. He did not weep loudly. He simply bowed his head and listened.

At dawn, the fog lifted.

On the rocks below the lighthouse lay a small, water-darkened bundle. Mara climbed down and found a brass compass inside, its needle trembling toward the sea.

The radio never spoke again.

Her father placed the compass beside the lantern window. After that, he talked more—to Mara, mostly, and sometimes even to the gulls.

Years later, when Mara became keeper of Bellwether Light, she kept the old radio on the shelf beneath the lens.

It remained silent.

But whenever storms gathered beyond the horizon, she turned it on and let the static fill the room.

Just in case someone was still trying to come home.

Rewrite

# The Voice Beneath the Static

Every morning, Mara climbed the lighthouse stairs before the gulls started arguing.

She brought a tin mug of tea for her father and a rag for the brass railing, though the railing never seemed to get dirty. At the top, the lantern room glowed pale over the gray sea. Her father stood by the great lens and watched the horizon like he was expecting someone.

“Storm coming,” he said one morning.

“The sky is clear.”

“Storms don’t always begin in the sky.”

Mara looked at him. Her father had kept Bellwether Light for twenty-seven years, ever since her mother disappeared beyond the reef. He hardly ever talked about that day. He talked to the foghorn instead, and the weather vane, and a gull named Admiral who stole biscuits off the kitchen windowsill.

That afternoon Mara was hunting through the storage room for a spare oil can when she found a wooden crate under a torn sailcloth. There was an old radio inside.

Square, brown, with a cracked dial and a cloth speaker faded to the color of dust. A wire curled out of the back like a dead vine.

“What’s this?” she asked.

Her father froze in the doorway.

“Nothing.”

“It looks like a radio.”

“It is.”

“Does it work?”

“No.”

He lifted it out of the crate. Mara noticed how carefully he held it.

“Then why keep it?”

For a moment there was only the sea hitting the rocks below.

“Your mother found it,” he said. “The night she went out.”

Mara had heard the story plenty of times, just never from him. A fishing boat had sent a distress call. Her mother, Elise, took the rescue skiff out into the fog. They found the boat the next morning, overturned near the reef. Nobody found Elise.

“She was listening to it when she left,” her father went on. “There was a transmission. A voice calling from the water.”

“Whose voice?”

He shook his head. “The radio died before I could hear.”

That night the wind leaned on the lighthouse windows. Mara waited until her father was asleep, then took the radio up to the lantern room. She hooked its wire to an old battery and turned the dial.

Static, at first. Nothing else.

Then a crackle.

A breath.

Mara leaned in.

“Bellwether Light,” said a woman’s voice. “Do you copy?”

Mara gripped the radio.

“Hello?”

Static washed through the room.

“Bellwether Light, the tide is turning. Keep the lamp burning.”

The voice was faint, but Mara knew it. She’d known it her whole life, from one faded photograph and the lullabies her father sometimes hummed without noticing.

“Mother?”

The radio hissed.

“Tell Thomas I’m sorry,” the voice said. “I thought I could reach them.”

Mara ran downstairs and shook her father awake.

When they got back to the lantern room, the transmission had come back.

“Thomas,” said Elise’s voice. “You were right about storms.”

Her father stood under the turning lens, his face white.

“Where are you?” Mara cried.

A long pause.

“Not where you think. The reef remembers everything.”

Outside, fog rolled in, thick and sudden, and swallowed the sea.

The beam swept across the dark.

On the radio, Elise started to sing. It was a lullaby about a silver moon and a boat coming home. Mara’s father sank to his knees. He didn’t cry loudly. He just bowed his head and listened.

At dawn the fog lifted.

On the rocks below the lighthouse was a small bundle, dark with seawater. Mara climbed down and opened it. Inside was a brass compass, its needle trembling toward the sea.

The radio never spoke again.

Her father set the compass by the lantern window. After that he talked more. Mostly to Mara, sometimes even to the gulls.

Years later, when Mara became keeper of Bellwether Light, she kept the old radio on the shelf under the lens.

It stayed silent.

But whenever storms gathered past the horizon, she switched it on and let the static fill the room.

Just in case someone was still trying to come home.