The Algorithm of Us

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Her fingers flew across the keyboard, creating a timeline that spread across the screens. Marcus's life revealed itself in data points: credit card transactions, transit card usage, phone GPS data, social media activity. A human life reduced to patterns, just like the ones she'd failed to see in Michael's final months.

Her hands stilled on the keyboard.

There it was – the weakness Dr. Park had warned her about during her mandatory therapy sessions after Michael's death. "You're trying to control chaos by turning people into equations," he'd said. "But humans aren't algorithms, Sarah. They're messy, unpredictable, and that's what makes them human."

A notification popped up on her central screen:

MARCUS WALSH

Current Location: Cafe Analog, 3rd & Pike

Status: Writing

Device Activity: Research query - "PredictCore accident prevention rates"

Sarah's breath caught. He was three blocks away. She could see him through the cafe's security cameras: salt-and-pepper hair falling over his forehead as he typed, coffee growing cold beside his laptop, the same intense focus she recognized from her own reflection.

Her fingers moved without conscious thought, pulling up the cafe's systems. One line of code and his laptop would crash, erasing hours of work. Another and his cloud backups would corrupt. She could stop him now, before he got too close.

But she didn't.

Instead, she found herself reaching for her coat. "Calculate route to Cafe Analog," she told her AI. "Factors: minimal security camera exposure, lowest probability of social interaction."

"Sarah," the AI's voice held a note of concern she hadn't programmed, "your current physical and mental state suggests—"

"Override." She was already moving toward the door, checking her appearance one last time. The jade pendant stayed, but she let her hair remain down – a small chaos in her ordered world. "Log activity as system maintenance."

The walk to Cafe Analog took exactly seven minutes and forty-three seconds. Sarah chose a corner table with clear sightlines to both Marcus and the exits. Her hands wrapped around a cup of green tea she didn't intend to drink, using its steam as cover for her observation.

Up close, Marcus Walsh was more than his data. He had laugh lines around his eyes despite the serious set of his mouth. His fingers moved over his keyboard with the same deliberate precision she recognized in herself. Twice, he reached up to brush his hair back, a gesture tagged in her facial recognition systems as indicating deep concentration.

"Approaching subject," a woman's voice cut through Sarah's focus. Her head snapped up to see a barista walking toward Marcus's table. "More coffee?"

Sarah's monitors had shown his caffeine intake was already above optimal levels. Her hand twitched toward her phone, ready to trigger a notification that would distract him from responding.

But Marcus looked up and smiled – a real smile that crinkled those laugh lines – and said, "Better not. I'm already seeing patterns in my sleep."

The phrase hit Sarah like a physical blow. How many times had she said those exact words?

Her tea sloshed over the cup's rim as her hand trembled. A single drop fell onto her pristine white sleeve, spreading into a pale green stain. Chaos in miniature.

Marcus was speaking again, this time into his phone: "Note to self: PredictCore's accident prevention rates show a statistically significant anomaly beginning three years ago. Correlation with new hire in algorithmic development division. Name: Sarah Chen."