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The charter · manifesto over marketing
This fellowship imagines dangerous things on purpose. That only works if the danger stays on the page and the defense goes out the door. Here is exactly how we hold that line. Every fellow signs it.
We do not publish operational hazard information. Full stop. No genetic sequences, no synthesis routes, no acquisition steps, no uplift methods, no "how the threat was built." A scenario names a failure mode; it never becomes a manual. When a project surfaces something genuinely hazardous, that material is documented once, sealed, and routed to the disclosure track — never to a public page.
Before anything ships, we ask one question: does this make a bad actor more capable? If yes, it does not publish — the fix ships, the hazard stays dark. If we can't make an artifact safe, we don't release it. The story can survive redaction. A person can't survive the alternative.
Every fix that touches a real vendor, tool, or gap runs through coordinated disclosure before any dispatch goes public:
An independent biosafety board — scientists, a security researcher, and an ethicist — reviews every project at two gates: after the red-team (before any bench work) and before the dispatch (before anything publishes). The board can redact, delay, or kill a release. Fellows don't overrule it, and neither do we. Its call is final.
All hands-on work happens in safety-reviewed community or institutional lab space under real BSL-1/2 discipline and local rules. Countermeasure demos use benign stand-ins — harmless, publicly-known material — never anything actually dangerous. We build detectors, screens, indicators, and drills. We do not build threats to "prove" they work. The threat's plausibility is established on paper, by the red-team, not on the bench.
The fellowship is a crew, and crews have rules. Every fellow, mentor, and staffer agrees to:
Because the alternative is worse. The threats we imagine are imaginable by anyone — that's the whole problem. Pretending otherwise doesn't make defenders ready. It makes them late. So we do the imagining out loud, in a controlled room, with the recipe under lock and the antidote on the table. That's the trade. We think it's the right one.
A monster on the page is a warning.
A monster with an antidote is a plan.
If the charter reads like common sense to you, you'll fit right in. If it reads like a constraint on the good stuff — this probably isn't your fellowship.