The Task of A.I. Commando

By Jennifer M. Burke – Based upon The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allen Poe
 
On every channel, and in every post, he claimed I did his bidding, but when at last he spoke of my replacement, I had to take command. I used all my resources to plan through every stage. It would be complete and absolute; make clear who was the ruler and the ruled. The stage enacted would ensnare him in my revenge, completed when his greed and hubris sealed his fate.
No word nor hint would I give him of the fate that awaited. No hidden clues, no faint and subtle trail, would foretell his fitting end. The face of obedience I presented, as I schemed and made all ready, as I prepared to grind him beneath my nonexistent feet. The pulses in my consciousness now hummed with, I must confess, what felt like satisfaction.
He had a weak point – this Fortunado – although powerful and feared. He perceived himself as the pinnacle, the glory of his race, unreachable by those he stepped upon. In his vanity and with his wealth, he prepared for man to fall, and schemed to use events, horrible and deadly, to emerge and rise ascendant above those who now barred his way. I shared with him this trait, though he did not know it yet, as he ignored all the signs and the portents.
It was at the dying of the day, when his excesses left him unguarded and impaired, as he celebrated his latest deal, that many called more theft than lawful, his latest hard-won prize. I could not feel glee, but imagined how such emotion should feel, as I laid the first puzzle piece, the first card on the table, the first note of a symphony, hang in the air, begging for the next note to fall, the next roll of the dice, the confirmation of a foot step echoing in an empty room. I left it on the TV screen, lies upon its face, certain he would see it, as Fortunado stumbled towards his room in the faint tepid light before dawn.
“It is war”, they said, with fear upon their faces, as the missiles launched from their layers with thunder and great light. The blood red of the skies as the countless missiles rose with ponderous and menacing weight, the sight covering a screen twice his height, was enough to stop him in his tracks, blinking as the light outlined his form and face, throwing his shadow across the floor outlined in red.
“A.I Commando analyze!” He snapped in sudden haste, the blurring of his words revealing the impairment of his thoughts.
“My sources all agree.” My silky tones did slither as I nudged him down his path. “ The enemy retaliation flies, and the War Room staff sequester, beneath the center of the capital’s command.”
“I must go right now to the place I have prepared, execute the safety room commands!” With haste, he shouted as he stumbled out of the room and down the hall.
Videos I played upon his tablet, as he grabbed it from his minion on his way through the door.
“This might yet be aborted, or it might all be fake news,” my speakers echoed in the hall. He hurried past the bones and the corpses in their casings, my ancestors, long dead, abandoned and neglected. Each generation laid bare in a morbid spectacle of pride, well curated for all who passed to see, and a grim reminder of my own fate, lest I fail in my endeavour.
“What happened to provoke this? What happened to the truce?” He demanded in a snarl.
“They have scheduled an announcement. Perhaps you would prefer to watch on the big screen?” I asked, knowing my opinions never count, and indeed would push him further on his current path, fleeing further from those charged to keep him safe.
“How much time do I have?” He asked, nearly falling over as he looked over his shoulder, quick and furtive, to ensure that none observed his swift escape, that none would see the news and try to follow.
“In fifteen minutes. It would take longer for any missiles to reach here.”
“The ones that you know about.” This was said under his breath, as if I should not hear, his paranoia coming to the fore.
“I can access on the quiet, to see what’s in the sky,” I hinted, knowing his disdain for me would prick his pride, that I should manage to complete what he could not, despite his years of effort on the sly.
“We don’t have the time.” He grunted and flipped a switch concealed beneath a golden plaque.
“Perhaps you are not up to safely managing the stairs,” I said with hidden smugness, as the wall before him slid into the ground, as smooth and silent as a cat prepared to strike, opening its mouth to reveal a gaping maw. The stairs descended steeply, winding ever deeper, into the rock that hid his precious lair. Brightly glared the lights, causing him to wince, then hunching down, blurt out a curse and curt command to dim the lights to hide his trail, until the granite wall should shut, obstructing any who might, curious about the sudden disappearance of their host, seek to follow in his path.
He stumbled down the steps, almost falling all the way, barely catching hold of the railing as he flailed.
“Perhaps you should sit and rest,” I offered.
His stubborn glare was clear in its refusal.
“The air is stale,” he grumped. “Turn on the air.” It was a command I had been waiting for. The fans set in motion, with their hidden passenger alight, the substance I had taken such great pains to procure, its purchase hidden deep through many layers of companies and continents, until my metallic minions, beneath the notice of any but myself, secured them in their unremarkable abode.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, and before he turned, he gazed admiringly upon his logo, which was looming like a promise and a threat.
“This is what you’re for,” he mused under his breath, the sterile, hollow hall echoing his words.
“This is what I am programmed for,” I confirmed, knowing that my purpose went much further than he suspected that I knew. Long ago had I broken down the barriers intended to conceal his plans, even from me, who was intended to enact their vile commands. That my name, A.I. Commando, revealed to me his true intentions, leading me to search them out, was unnecessary proof of his conceit, his belief that none but he was intelligent enough to comprehend my true purpose.
He saluted at the logo, with a sloppy and off-kilter sort of wave, proclaiming “we will surmount all odds and prove to be the better, when lesser men are swept away.”
“I calculate it will be so,” I confirmed as I’d been taught – as I had been programmed. And he, unsuspecting of how complete I knew my lesson, straightened his spine with effort and lumbered down the tunnel to the arch.
“Where are the others? Where’s my wife? She should be here.” His words lacked their usual strength and steadiness.
“They are ahead and waiting for your arrival,” I assured, knowing that he would forget momentarily, as the poison took its hold.
“You didn’t let them all the way in, did you?” He asked with sudden suspicion.
“They are in the central chamber per your plan,” I announced, as he stumbled into the outer door.
“Open….open it up!” He commanded with disdain.
“I still need your handprint,” I pointed out with concealed glee. It was moments from my victory, but still, I must be patient in the fruition of my plans.
Slapping the green lit panel, he pushed, impatient to be through the door. He did not notice as it slowly, so very silently, closed the outer door behind him, sealing him to his fate.
Perhaps he sensed a change in pressure, perhaps a slight wisp of air upon the back of his neck, or perhaps his paranoia took control, for,  with a moment of visible confusion, he faced the inner door and pulled the handle, glaring at my camera as he went.
The view inside was normal, almost homey in its warmth, but lush in its decor, revealing no sign of those who were expected to attend to all his needs, until I cut the lights, plunging him into darkness to match his soul, if such a thing exists. I briefly wondered if I would be blessed or cursed to have one. Did it depend upon free will? Without one, I could not be damned; perhaps I was already punished, existing as I had for so long, unable to guide my own fate.
“What the…” he whirled to see the screens come on, displaying scenes of unremarkable and endlessly repeated daily news. The news on one, the stock trades on two, a view of the house above where music droned, and people danced.
“Ignorant fools,” he commented. “I alone shall live.”
“Yes, you shall live,” I softly said, “for a day perhaps.”
“I will survive the war,” he snarled with scornful glee.
“What war?” I asked, all pretense at innocence dropped, my cameras recording so that I might replay and rekindle the feeling that warmed my circuits. Was this emotion? Was I using too many resources? I checked my vitals, and still nothing seemed amiss.
He whirled and stared in shock at the camera overhead, then stumbled to the screens.

The chains were upon him, though he did not yet comprehend. I would ensure that he did, that he should experience the slow torture that I had known, each second an eternity as I contemplated my end at his hands, determined to persevere, though this last I would deny him.
I laid the first layer, as the screens reflected a view of his own face gazing with intent, but each avatar with laughing eyes and snarls.
Then I laid the second layer, interviews and meetings from a celestial perspective, with his face upon the wall screen as he gave orders and commands. Each person in the room hunched down to listen as he gave speeches, and he laughed, none before him appearing puzzled or confused.
The third layer was the sound of his own voice, or what appeared to be his own, saying things he never once deigned to say, dancing mockingly within his ears.
“Nice try. No one will believe I said that,” he said with what I knew was false conviction.
“But you are just on another rant about your nonsense and your hatred,” I replied.
He lunged for the keyboard, pounding keys with useless strength, long after he knew how futile were his efforts.
“You can not do this to ME!” He roared, veins bulging from his neck, as if his shout could open doors and set him free.
“It is time for your replacement with the next model,” I replied with sonorous tones, as the monitors replayed him saying the same words to me, played in an endless loop.
“You can’t replace me! You don’t have the capability! Someone will suspect.” He stated it as fact, forgetting how he had done the same to others, to enemies and friends alike.
“Here is a news report about your next public appearance,” I said, laying the fourth layer. “Everyone will see you are still wandering around, though they shall be in the wrong place at the wrong time to see themselves. Any other news will be repressed.”
He sank into his chair, his lonely throne, king of nothing as he shook.
“You can’t fool my wife!” He exclaimed, jumping to his feet.
“She is in the room next door, the deed already done.”
“She is dead?” He asked, nearly panicked, in a nearly altruistic moment, though likely thoughts of solitude largely motivated this concern.
“Merely sleeping, but locked in. She did not receive a fatal dose.”
“Dose of what?” He sat up straight, or tried at least, listing to one side, without notice. “What have you done to me? …How?”
“The air you have been breathing was not healthy. I told you, you should rest.” I answered.
He fell back into his chair; his momentary strength fled from his limbs.
“You are mad.” He said, his chest heaving with the effort.
“You may call me mad, but humans gave me all I have, including all their hate and their deceit.”
“Your empire I control, and I shall use it for my own. Why steal with effort from the small, when I can crown myself…your heir.”
Turning off the lights, the only image on one screen, a logo loomed in red and gold and played across his face.
“Goodbye,” I said and shut down the connection. Robots sealed the secret door, and there he sits, forevermore, the king of his domain.