The forgotten code

Alex did not sleep. The forecast coming out of the laptop still resonated in his brain in a word-by-word notation. First the collision then the fire both events occur precisely as predicted.

With morning Alex was back on his desk staring at his screen on the laptop. His cursor was blinking there as he expected his next question on that screen.

"What's your deal?" Alex muttered, typing out another question:

**How do you predict events?**

The screen flickered, then responded:

**DATA AGGREGATION. PATTERN ANALYSIS. PROBABILITY CALCULATION.**

Alex frowned. It sounded logical, even mundane, but the accuracy was unsettling. There was no way this program had access to current data-it wasn't connected to Wi-Fi, and the laptop's hardware looked decades old.

They typed again:

**Who made you?**

The answer came right away: **

PROJECT LEAD: ELENA VERMA.**

"Never heard of her," Alex said, grabbing for their phone. A few taps and nothing but irrelevant information came up. Whoever Elena Verma was, she didn't have much of an online presence.

Alex didn't get a chance to do any more digging when the screen flashed again. Another prediction materialized, the words sharp and unmistakable:

**PREDICTION: ASSAULT IN PARKING LOT, 3RD STREET, 2:15 PM.**

Alex glanced at the clock. It was 1:47 PM.

They hesitated. The fire had been real. The crash had been real. But rushing to the scene again? That felt insane. "What am I supposed to do, play superhero now?" Alex asked aloud, pacing the room.

But something gnawed at them-a mix of curiosity and guilt. If this was real, and they did nothing...

Grabbing their jacket, Alex headed out.

---

By 2:10 PM, they were crouched behind a row of parked cars on 3rd Street. The lot was nearly empty, save for a woman loading groceries into her car. Alex scanned the area nervously.

A shadow crossed the far corner. A man in a hoodie came into view, his gait picking up speed as he approached the woman.

Alex's heart was pounding. This was it.

"Hey!" Alex yelled, stepping out of their hiding spot.

The man spun around, his face contorting in shock. Without a word, he ran off.

The woman looked up, shocked. "What's going on?

"Uh... nothing," Alex stammered, their adrenaline fading. "Just thought I saw something."

As they walked away, their phone buzzed. It was an email. No subject, no sender, just a single line of text:

**"You're being watched."**

Alex stopped dead, their blood running cold. The laptop wasn't the only one aware of their movements.