Algorithm of chance

Chapter 3

08:42 — Coffee Area, Bureau of Coincidences

Morning coffee at the Bureau had no aroma.

No caramel hints, no bitterness of roasted beans—just taste. Dry, astringent, programmatically precise. As if the drink was made not to comfort but to activate. Flag: “shift change.”

Alex stood by the machine, gripping a gray plastic cup. No steam rose from it. Even the temperature was perfect, averaged, within acceptable limits. He sipped, feeling no awakening—only ritual. Empty, like everything lately.

Lio approached—cynical observer and, by his own words, “officially the best viewer of other people’s mistakes.” He yawned lazily, stretched, poured himself the same gray liquid.

“So, what now?” Lio squinted, peering into Alex’s face. “You interfered. What’s next?”

Alex didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on a distant screen—a panel with ongoing events: chains, fluctuations, probabilities. The entire mechanics of the world in one frame.

“You think no one will notice?” Lio took a sip and grimaced. “Even the coffee’s on duty here. It won’t forgive you.”

“This is not a violation,” Alex replied quietly. His voice was steady but muffled, like from the bottom of a well. “Just the wind. Registered as an atmospheric deviation. System—zero.”

Lio snorted, shook his head:

“But you’re not zero. That’s what matters. We filter reality, remember? Every touch is a stain on glass.”

He jabbed a finger into the air, as if at an invisible film.

“And the more you touch, the murkier the picture gets.”

“What if it’s already murky?” Alex looked at him. His voice barely audible.

“What?”

“What if everything’s already off the rules, Lio? And we just don’t notice? We believe we control coincidences… But what if someone controls us?”

Lio froze with his cup halfway to his lips. Then shrugged:

“That’s philosophy, brother. Not our responsibility zone. We’re not heroes. We’re a service.”

Pause. Only the hum of the machine and rare drops into the drain grate.

09:30 — Analytics Department. Observation Room

The analytics department was at the very heart of the Bureau. Deep underground. Retina scanners, two-step verification, password changing every three hours. Here they didn’t talk. Here they processed.

Here, coincidences did not exist. Only trajectories, statistics, and control.

Nathan—a young analyst with a pale face and eyes tired to transparency—sat before a holographic display. Lines, signals, pulsating nodes of probability.

“Subject: Operator Alex Ford. Sector B-24,” he dictated to the system. “Repeat observation of object X-314. Yesterday, 15:17—operator initiative. Result: behavioral deviation recorded. Today—probability of repeated activity: 41%. Risk point: in three hours.”

Sector curator Maren approached. Cold face. Precise movements. She didn’t look at the screen—it was unnecessary.

“Still within acceptable limits,” she said. “But the boundary of neutrality is already crossed. If he starts modeling directly—there will be intervention.”

“Removal?” Nathan asked.

“Not immediately,” she thought aloud. “He might be useful. But he must understand: he’s being watched.”