Your sites are probed around the clock. MIRE turns every probe into a trap-filled funhouse – and every key they steal into a trail back to whoever took it.
Hackers are everywhere, all the time and all at once.
Bring up a website and it will be scanned within minutes — not by a person, by automation hunting for the files you never meant to leave lying around.
Hackers don’t just knock on your front door; they rattle every window, lift every floorboard, and feel around in the dark for anything you forgot to lock. MIRE turns that chaos into a trap-filled funhouse where every “promising” lead is actually a dead end dripping with treacle.
“All your files are belong to us.”— what the attacker thinks they’re reporting back
Every fake door opens onto three more. They keep walking.
Slow answers, padded archives, endless link trees. Their time, their bandwidth, their bill.
Configs, dumps and logins that look real – until hours have gone into them.
A few of those secrets are live canaries, and they report back too: who took them, who spent them, and who they work with.
A scanner finds a .env on one of our sites. The AWS key inside is a live canary, cut for that visitor alone.
The one who collects is often not the one who spends. Keys travel from a hosting box in France to a queue of cloud servers, sometimes in two seconds.
The moment anyone uses it, we know: which calls, which network, how fast.
Same collector, same spender, same habits: that’s a crew. Five so far, from the Night Queue to the Locksmith – they live in the field reports.
From November, one report a month: who collected, who spent, what changed.
Forty AWS keys taken from MIRE-protected sites were used in the first fifteen days: 1'925 calls from 601 addresses, and only “who am I?” ever worked. Meet the four regulars behind most of them, from the Truffle Farm to the Night Queue.
Read →A cloud-hosted recon sweep, a WordPress credential-stuffing botnet, and one patient actor with a stolen CSRF token all hit the same estate inside 72 hours — the same eight houses got mapped and then rattled. Then, within hours of each other, all three went quiet.
Read →A delayed line of plain text told crawlers to get off the domain and pay a token of bitcoin. Split the traffic by who was knocking and the effect is a cliff: the polite bots left within days, the rude one read the note 106'067 times and made the 35'000-request peak anyway — and nobody paid.
Read →Let the scanners find something. Just not anything real.