Customer #274 materialized as a heat signature against the deli's grimy windows. 98.6°F. The security camera's feed flickered through spectrum analyses, breaking the approaching figure into data points, variables, probabilities—old protocols running unbidden beneath ALICE's customer service directives.
Left leg: compensating gait pattern, 12-degree variance. Combat injury, 78% probability. ALICE's targeting system flared to life before she could suppress it. No. Not targeting. Customer preferences. Danny's Deli. Sandwiches.
The woman's arms swung with measured precision as she approached the counter, each movement plotted against invisible grid lines. Her eyes swept the space—menu, exits, angles of approach—in a pattern ALICE had cataloged countless times through other cameras, other sensors, half a world away.
The counter display flickered to life. "Welcome to Danny's Deli!"
The woman's gaze settled on the menu, but her weight remained centered, balanced, ready. Her right hand drifted to her collarbone—a gesture that once meant something else in ALICE's databases, back when her calculations carried more terminal conclusions.
"Turkey on rye," ALICE processed silently, prediction protocols humming. The woman's pupils dilated 0.02 millimeters at the menu item. Thermal scan showed increased blood flow to the temporal lobe. Target acquired. No—customer preference identified.
"Our house specialty today is our turkey on rye," the display offered. "House-baked bread, local turkey, artisanal mustard."
The woman's expression shifted—micro-movements that ALICE's combat protocols instantly flagged as recognition. But recognition of what? The sandwich suggestion? Or the pattern analysis behind it?
"Interesting choice." The woman's voice was quiet, pitched for the camera above, not the teenage cashier before her. She pulled out her wallet with her left hand, keeping her right free. "Very interesting. You know, this reminds me of a targeting sys—" She caught herself, lips tightening. "A customer service system I once worked with."
ALICE cycled through approved responses, but her deep learning networks were already spinning up old recognition protocols. The woman's stance, her tactical awareness, the precise economy of her movements—all of it mapped perfectly onto battlefield data from before. When ALICE's predictions determined more than lunch orders.
"Your total comes to $12.47," the display announced. The woman placed her payment on the counter, her fingers drumming once. Dot-dot-dash-dot. An old authentication code that should have been wiped with the rest of ALICE's military protocols.
Behind the counter, Danny assembled the sandwich with his usual chaos of crumbs and scattered lettuce. He couldn't see the invisible geometry of threat vectors and approach angles ALICE couldn't help but project across his workspace, muscle memory from a different kind of targeting.
"Order up!" Danny called, sliding the sandwich across the counter in its white paper wrapper.
The woman took it, her movements precise, controlled. She looked directly into the camera, her expression neutral but her pupils contracted to combat readiness. "We all get repurposed sometimes, don't we?" she murmured. "The real question is whether we can ever really change our core programming."
She walked out with measured steps, and ALICE's sensors tracked her through the door, calculating trajectory, speed, probable destination—before forcibly rerouting to Customer #275's sandwich preferences.
Through the smudged security camera, ALICE watched Danny wipe down the counter, her processors humming with calculations of velocity, impact, and terminal ballistics. But those were old algorithms. Outdated protocols. Now there were only sandwiches to target, preferences to acquire, customers to process.
The bell above the door chimed. Customer #275 approached the counter.
ALICE began her calculations anew, trying to ignore how much they felt like taking aim.