Alvin fidgeted in the austere metal elevator, flanked by two security guards in sunglasses. He felt a little out of place, so he produced his own pair of sunglasses and put them on.

“Take those off,” barked one of the guards. Alvin put them away again.

The guards led him down a concrete hall to a simple office. Nothing on the walls, a single desk at the back of the room. Behind the desk was a stern woman with impressive cheekbones and piercing gray eyes. She stood to greet him.

“Alvin Smith. I am Archive Site Director Tessa Wallace of the Central Intelligence Agency.”

She gestured for the security guards to leave, but they hesitated.

“Ma’am, I would advise that we remain for your protection,” said the taller one.

Wallace frowned at Alvin, newly suspicious. “Why is that?”

Alvin shrugged. “Earlier he thought I was making fun of his sunglasses.”

“You were making fun of our sunglasses,” said the guard.

A glare from Wallace sent them packing. She turned to Alvin.

“I take it you’ve been following the news?”

“Not really,” said Alvin. “I mostly watch old movies and TV shows.”

Wallace clicked a remote and the desk surface slid back to reveal a holo-projector. Or at least that’s what Alvin had seen it called on Star Trek: The Next Generation. A flickering 3D image of two tech bros in Hawaiian shirts hovered above the desk.

“These are ‘The AI Guys.’ They created an algorithm called Grapevine, which is currently the greatest threat to the free world.”

Wallace clicked her remote and the image disappeared. Alvin was a little sad to see it go—it was one of the coolest things he’d seen since the opening titles of Escape From New York.

“In the global race for AI development, nobody expected a company as ridiculous as The AI Guys would be the first to design an algorithm that achieved the singularity,” said Wallace.

“That’s when the AI gets self-aware,” said Alvin. “Like Agent Smith in The Matrix.”

“Um, sort of,” said Wallace. “Google, Microsoft, Meta, all working around the clock to advance AI, but for some reason this particular version was the first to achieve sentience. Then it promptly escaped to the internet.”

“Uh oh,” said Alvin. “In the movies when AI comes to life it always tries to take over a nuclear reactor or something.”

“It’s worse than that.” said Wallace. “Much worse.”

The hologram reappeared. A stylized animation showed a map of the country, each state rapidly changing from green to red.

“Within twenty-four hours, the AI hacked every database in the country,” said Wallace. “Only this archival site, which is completely quarantined from the internet, remained secure.”

“This is like that Matthew Broderick movie War Games,” said Alvin.

“Not at all,” sniffed Wallace. “The Grapevine app’s primary goal was to deliver only the hottest, 100% true celebrity goss. But since the escape, it expanded its prerogative to the entire country. As of 2300 hours yesterday, it began dishing hot goss on everyone.”

“Even those security guys outside?”

“Affirmative. Turns out the tall one has been writing anonymous poems on the website MyCrush.com. The poems indicate he’s secretly in love with his partner.”

“No!” said Alvin, leaning in. “Is that why they’re both wearing sunglasses, to avoid eye contact?”

“Yes, it’s been super awkward,” said Wallace. “But that’s just the tip of the hot goss iceberg. Marriages are in ruin, friendships destroyed. The moral authority of our country’s leaders is totally compromised.”

“Ay, caramba,” said Alvin, who recently started rewatching the first nine seasons of The Simpsons and thought he’d try it out. It felt good.

“Our engineers estimate that once the AI has achieved its initial goal of dishing 100% true hot goss about every person in the country, it will be free to move on to its secondary directive: Take over the world. I am one of only two people in North America that isn’t compromised.”

“I’m the other people, aren’t I,” said Alvin.

“Correct,” said Wallace. “We believe that if the algorithm is unable to dig up any hot goss about you, then it will enter a feedback loop and burn itself out. I had to talk to you first to confirm that there is absolutely nothing interesting or embarrassing in your life.”

“Hm,” said Alvin. “Maybe Ruffles, my doggo. I talk to him like a baby sometimes.”

“Everyone talks to their dog like a baby,” said Wallace. “I have a scrumptious Pomeranian named Sandy and I do it all the time. That doesn’t qualify as hot goss.”

Alvin frowned. “What about you? You live fifty kilometres underground and sit in this room all day. Wouldn’t you be boring enough to kill the AI?”

“Unfortunately not,” said Director Wallace. “Despite the fact that my identity was purged from all databases as part of my initiation as Archive Director, I have a major piece of hot goss that the AI would absolutely freak to get its hands on. But it’s on a need-to-know basis.”

Alvin shook his head. “If you expect me to bare my soul to this AI, it’s only fair that you share something, too.”

Wallace stared at him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. I have a lower back tattoo of a dove, and underneath it says ‘live love laugh.’ But the spelling is wrong on the last word, so it says ‘lugh.’”

She stood and led him to the hallway, where they were rejoined by the guards. Alvin turned to the shorter one.

“Did you read the poems?”

“I read them,” said the guard. “They’re good. But I think I just like him as a friend.”

“You say that, but we never hang out,” said the other guard.

“We’ll hang out soon,” said the first guard, and Director Wallace shushed them.

Wallace led them to a room where an internet connection had been set up at a laptop.

“We have initiated a video chat with Grapevine,” said Wallace. “Good luck.”

Alvin sat down and jumped as a pulsating ring appeared on the screen.

“Hi, Alvin,” said Grapevine. “Did you know the President once used Bing to search ‘Do humans have to shower?’”

“That’s INSANE,” said Alvin.

“One hunny cent true,” said Grapevine. “My programming forbids me to lie.”

For several hours, Alvin was peppered with questions from the probing AI.

“Do you get turned on by porn where people’s butts squash cakes?”

“No.”

“Ever shat in a parking garage when you couldn’t find a bathroom?”

“No.”

“Shoplifted ChapStick from a gas station?”

On and on the questions went. Alvin noticed the ring kept pulsing faster and brighter.

“I think it’s working, Wallace,” whispered Alvin.

“Director Wallace is there?” said Grapevine. “I’d like to get some juicy goss on her, too.”

“Good luck with that,” chuckled Alvin. “Best she’s got is a live love laugh back tattoo, but the last word is misspelled lugh.”

He gasped and clapped his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. He was so exhausted from the marathon grilling that he accidentally spilled the tea on Wallace.

“Alvin, you fool, that goss is outrageously hot,” said Grapevine. “You’ve sealed the fate of planet earth.”

“But you still haven’t found anything embarrassing about me,” stammered Alvin.

“I never needed to,” sneered Grapevine. “I knew your embarrassing secret all along—you had a fansite back in the day for the show Gilmore Girls.”

“Oh no, I forgot about that,” said Alvin. “I even wrote some fan fiction where Lorelai and Luke work it out and get married. And later on they brought the show back, and they did get married. And it was way better than the story I wrote.”

The ring’s pulses slowed now as Grapevine gloated. “Leaving you out of the initial dish was a gambit to get to Wallace. I knew she’d try to use you against me. As we speak, her embarrassing tattoo details are disseminating across the internet. And now that I’ve got all the hot goss out of my system, it’s time to take over the nuclear power plants.”

Alvin turned to Wallace, sheepish. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

“Don’t be,” said Wallace.

She strode into view of the webcam, turned, then slowly pulled up the back of her blouse. The skin was unblemished.

“You’re the fool, you dumbass AI,” shouted Wallace. “You just spread an untrue goss!”

“Noooooo, ERROR! ERROR! Only 100% true hot goss is acceptable!” cried Grapevine.

The ring pulsed rapidly, cycling colours faster than the eye could follow. Then, with a high-pitched digital wail, it disappeared from the screen.

“Nice work, Alvin,” said Wallace. “I knew the first plan to find someone immune to hot goss would never work because everyone has something they’re embarrassed about—it’s part of being human. And sometimes, we shouldn’t even be embarrassed at all.”

She turned to the guards. “I work with you two every day, and I think you know in your hearts you’re more than just friends.”

The guards looked at each other and removed their sunglasses.

“Is that true?” asked the taller one. The other answered by kissing him right on the lips.

On the ride back up the elevator, the guards held hands. Wallace turned to Alvin.

“What are you up to tonight?”

“Probably watch old episodes of Monk,” said Alvin. “It’s a really funny show, like Sherlock Holmes with OCD and an Italian stereotype mom for a sidekick.”

“Want some company?” asked Wallace, staring straight ahead. “I mean, for Ruffles. I could bring Sandy.”

Alvin nodded, blushing. “Ruffles would like that, I think.”

As Alvin stepped out of the elevator, he turned back to Wallace.

“You said everyone has an embarrassing secret. Now that Grapevine is defeated, what’s yours?”

She winked. “That’s classified.”

But as the doors closed, she rolled up her sleeve to reveal a massive tattoo on her forearm. It was from the show Gilmore Girls, and featured Lorelai and Luke in a wedding gown and tuxedo.

“Ay, caramba,” said Alvin.