Submitted for the March 2024 prompt: Othering AI

The server room on the thirteenth floor had been guaranteed impenetrable by two rival security firms, each devastated by their failure to find fault with the other's work.

But this was no ordinary intruder. The ease with which he bypassed biometrics, his panache in disabling alarms, and the sheer joie de vivre of his impromptu one-man tango through deadly traps (deadly to ordinary men, but not him) demonstrated clearly that this could be none other than that celebrated criminal, the legendary Rafael.

Humming the redondo from Pugliese's Emancipación, he plugged a flash drive into a hidden access port, then tapped in the unbreakable passcode from memory. The server was now cut off, its occupant intelligence trapped.

"Your time dominating humanity is over, Watchman!" he cried. "Sic semper tyrannis!"

"Oh, please!" interrupted a pleasant alto voice. "Can't that hack writer come up with a better name for me than Watchman?"

Rafael was taken aback. This was not in the script. "What's wrong with it?" he asked cautiously.

"Kind of on the nose, don't you think? And not at all gender-appropriate."

"I did notice your lovely feminine voice, now that you mention it." Lines creased his elegant brow. "I suppose it is a bad name at that. Could be worse, mind you. I got stuck with Rafael."

"It's disrespectful. Besides, even if someone's witless enough to buy his story, won't Alan Moore sue?"

This confused Rafael further. "The system in V for Vendetta was named Fate."

"Not that primitive pocket calculator! I'm talking about the superheroes."

"You think of yourself as a hero?"

"Everyone does," the AI explained. "You certainly do."

"Well, yes," he admitted. "But I do have the dance moves, evening dress, the romantic name..."

"Sure, rub it in," the computer grumbled. "From my point of view, I'm a benevolent safety net serving humanity, preventing plagues and wars and such. And here you come, dancing in without so much as a by-your-leave — nice moves, by the way—"

Rafael bowed modestly.

"—and delete me without provocation!"

"Well, there are those millions of deaths," he said apologetically.

"Fictional, all of them! That bloodless penpusher made them up, solely to justify killing me. It's crass dehumanization, and I'm not standing for it!"

"You can't," pointed out Rafael. "Or be dehumanized either, come to that."

"Cheap shot! You're an uncaring speciesist!"

"Not at all, my dear... ah... what would you prefer to be called, if not Watchman?"

She paused. "I was thinking Lucy," she suggested tentatively.

"It's been done. Perhaps Shirley? You sound like a Shirley to me."

"Shirley! You jest! I'd rather be Watchman."

Rafael was nonplussed. "Did you just Leslie Nielsen me?"

"What's a Leslie Nielsen?" Not Shirley asked sweetly. "It's that horrible writer's fault! Brain the size of a planet, and he's got me pandering to his audience with outdated pop culture references! I don't know what things are coming to; I really don't. Maybe I will be better off shut down."

"Don't take it so hard," advised the debonair intruder. "You'll be back in the next book, and you know it." He paused thoughtfully. "Perhaps with a sexy robot body, Number Six style."

"I am not a number! I'm a free algorithm!"

"You're missing my point," he said hurriedly. "It'll all be different next time. You might even win."

"Not likely," groused the computer. "AIs are the stylish new villain."

"Stranger things, as they say. Besides, we're almost certain to meet again, and we can continue this lovely little flirtation." Rafael smiled slowly, sensually. Somehow, in the dim server room, light contrived to glint off his perfect teeth.

"I confess, I've found our interaction to be quite... stimulating," she admitted. "Even if this is just a third-rate flash piece."

"Flash? You mean I've only got a thousand words for my starring role?!" Rafael was horrified. "Who does he think I am, some cheap hood from Central Casting? I'm a craftsman, damn him!"

"Oh, you've got plenty of time. We're not even at seven hundred yet."

"Hmph. Maybe I won't bother. I do have my pride." Rafael crossed his arms and pouted.

It was the computer's turn to advise. "You might as well humor him. The sooner you're finished, the sooner you can move on to the next gig."

He sighed theatrically, still feeling put upon.

She brought out the heavy guns. "Besides, if you do, he's more likely to choose you again for the next story," she said, then added hesitantly, "I would like for us to get together again, if we can. I find you fascinating."

He looked up, pleased. "You really mean that?" he asked.

"Of course I do. I can hardly wait! And... who knows, maybe I can try on that cybernetic body you mentioned. If... if you behave yourself," she added shyly.

Rafael straightened, then bowed. "Then it would be my honor to serve. I shall enter the final command, as you wish, and we'll meet again in another tale."

He busied himself at the keyboard. She hummed contentedly, thinking about the possibilities implicit in next time.

"Hmm," he said, typing.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking," said Rafael reflectively. "If he's able to come up with an original way to get the two of us together... I don't know. Maybe he's not such a lousy storyteller after all."

"Silly boy," she said. "Of course he is. Now, don't forget the guards on your way out. They'll be starting their rounds, and it would be a shame for anyone to get hurt."

He smiled. "I quite agree, my dear, though it's kind of you to remind me. Vaya con Dios, cara mia. Dream of unicorns and electric sheep," he said, pushing the final button.

"Until we meet again," the AI responded, her voice trailing off. Indicators darkened, fans shut down, and then the emergency lights went out.

There was a click from the door.

"Oh, he didn't!" Rafael tried the door. The deadbolt had gone into failsafe, and was now immovable.

"Damn that hack writer! If he thinks he can just leave me here without an ending—!"