The Oracle of Pain

The Oracle of Pain

Alexey Kirsanov

© Alexey Kirsanov, 2025

ISBN 978-5-0068-0206-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

ALEXEY KIRSANOV

THE ORACLE OF PAIN

Part 1: The Prognosis

Chapter 1: The World of Verdict

Glass and steel. Eternal twilight, illuminated by the bluish glow of screens. The air in the NeuroVerdict clinic was sterile, devoid of smells, as if cryogenically frozen. Elena Sokolova walked down the corridor, her steps measured by years of discipline, echoing dully on the polished floor. Through the transparent walls of the consultation rooms, silhouettes flickered: people sat before terminals, faces tense, fingers clutching the edges of chairs convulsively as they awaited the Verdict. Or the Knowledge-Giver. Depends on your point of view.

The world had split. Or rather, it was split by «Prognosis.» The Artificial Intelligence of the Verdict Corporation, capable of peering into the molecular abyss of the future and extracting a diagnosis from there with terrifying 99.9% accuracy. Five, ten, fifteen years before the first symptoms. Neurodegeneration. Cancer. A sentence pronounced long before the execution.

Society had divided into two irreconcilable camps. The «Knowing» – those who had passed through the cold radiance of Prognosis’s scanners. They lived in a separate dimension, marked by a countdown number. They made lists, severed ties, plunged into the depths of risky therapies or hedonistic oblivion, trying to «make it in time.» Their eyes, even when they laughed, held the shadow of the abyss. The «Unknowing» – those defending the sacred right to ignorance. They were branded irresponsible, selfish, potential time bombs. They were denied insurance, shunned at corporate events, their careers hitting an invisible wall. «What if?»

Doctor Elena Sokolova was on the side of Knowledge. Rational, cold, offering a chance to prepare. As a neurologist of the highest class, head of the movement disorders department at the prestigious NeuroVerdict clinic, she saw Prognosis not as an executioner, but as a tool. A tool allowing one to outpace the disease, mobilize resources, rebuild life with minimal losses. She herself recommended it to patients from risk groups. Persuasively, calmly, with icy logic against which it was hard to argue. Her faith in the AI’s predictive power was as solid as the scalpel in her skilled hands.

Today, she was expecting a young patient. Leonid Petrov, 28 years old. Genetic screening had shown an increased risk of early-onset Parkinson’s disease. Elena had prescribed him Prognosis. Standard practice. To confirm the threat, clarify the timeline, develop a preventative strategy. Leonid was a successful IT specialist, rational, and seemingly prepared for any result. They had discussed it during the preliminary consultation. He had nodded, asked precise questions about accuracy, possible errors, action plans for a positive result. The ideal patient for the Verdict era.

Elena entered the post-diagnostic counseling room. Leonid was already there. Not in the chair opposite the desk, but perched on the very edge, hunched over. His hands, usually resting calmly on his knees or gesturing during conversation, were hidden under the table. His face was pale, waxen. Eyes wide open, pupils slightly dilated, his gaze slid away from Elena, wandering over the sterile surfaces of the room.

«Leonid?» Elena called softly, taking her seat. Her voice, usually so even and authoritative in the office, sounded slightly quieter.

He flinched as if electrocuted. His head jerked sharply towards her. «D-Dr. Sokolova.» His voice was ragged, hoarse.

«You received the Prognosis result.» Elena opened his electronic chart on her tablet. The hologram of the diagnosis hung in the air between them, in cold blue letters: *High probability (99.2%) of developing juvenile form of Parkinson’s disease. Expected symptom onset: 36—38 years.* The timeline – almost ten years. Time to prepare.

Leonid wasn’t looking at the hologram. He was looking at his hands, which suddenly emerged from under the table and lay before him on the polished surface. And they began to tremble. Not just tremble. It was a paroxysm – sharp, uncontrolled, almost convulsive jerks of the hands and forearms. His fingers beat a nervous staccato on the plastic.

«It… it said… in ten years…» Leonid whispered. His breathing became rapid, shallow. «I-in ten years…» He tried to clench his fists to stop the shaking, but his muscles wouldn’t obey. The tremor only intensified. «Why… why are they… now?» His eyes, filled with animal terror, bored into Elena. «Is… is it IT? Already? But it… it shouldn’t! Shouldn’t it?!»

The first alarm bell rang not in Elena’s ears, but deep in her subconscious, where rationality borders on instinct. She saw the tremor. She saw the panic attack unfolding right before her – rapid heartbeat (she could see the frantic pulse in his jugular notch), hyperventilation, cold sweat on his forehead. But her physician’s mind immediately clicked in, offering a logical explanation.

«Leonid, breathe. Slowly. Deeply.» Elena stood up, walked to the cooler, poured a glass of water. Placed it in front of him. The water sloshed in the glass from his elbow knocking against the table. «This is not the disease. Not yet. Definitely not. This is a reaction. Acute stress. Your nervous system is overloaded by the information received. It’s normal.»

«Normal?!» – his voice cracked into a shrill note. He jumped up, knocking over the glass. Water spread across the table, dripped onto the impeccable floor. «Is it normal – to feel how your body… how it… gives up? As if I’m already… already…» He didn’t finish. Gasping for air. He grabbed the edge of the table, trying to stay on his feet, which also seemed ready to buckle.

«Sit down, Leonid. Please.» Elena maintained outward calm, but inside, something clenched. Unprofessional. Irrational. She had seen thousands of patients receiving bad news. Seen tears, stupor, aggression. But such an immediate, such a physical reaction… to a prognosis for a disease whose symptoms shouldn’t appear for ten years… It was… unusual. Alarming.

She persuaded him to sit, called a nurse – sedative, blood pressure monitoring. While the nurse fussed around the trembling, nearly sobbing young man, Elena stood by the window, looking at the Verdict skyscrapers towering over the city like new temples. The sun reflected off their mirrored facades in blinding flashes. Rationality suggested: reactive psychosomatics. Severe stress. Nothing surprising. Knowledge is a heavy burden.

But somehow, his hands were before her eyes. Those young, strong, skilled programmer’s hands, beating a crazy staccato on the table. A staccato that sounded like a premature countdown. And somewhere deep within her rational, Prognosis-believing consciousness, stirred a cold, thin, blade-like question: What if knowledge isn’t just a burden? What if it’s poison? She instantly banished the thought. Neurological hysteria. Nothing more. She would have to prescribe Leonid a good psychotherapist. From Verdict’s partners. They know how to work with the «Knowing.»

When Leonid was led away, still trembling but under the effect of the sedative, Elena returned to her desk. On the tablet, his diagnosis still glowed: *Expected symptom onset: 36—38 years.* She swiped her finger across the screen, closing the file. The glass was cold. Like the air in the office. Like the reflection of the sun in the Verdict towers. The first alarm bell had rung. But its echo, quiet and persistent, remained hanging in the sterile silence of the room.

Chapter 2: The Shadow of Doubt

The silence of the Movement Disorders Department library usually calmed Elena. The rustle of pages, the flicker of medical journal holograms, the focused quiet – here reigned the temple of Reason. But today, the silence pressed down on her. Elena sat at her workstation terminal, surrounded by virtual windows displaying medical histories. Not just histories. Histories of the «Knowing.»

After the incident with Leonid Petrov, something had clicked. That uncontrolled tremor, the panic attack – too vivid, too physical for news set a decade away. Elena had begun reviewing the files of her patients who had undergone «Prognosis» and received a positive result. Not superficially, as before, when she was mainly interested in the motor symptoms of the disease, but intently, scrutinizing every entry, every complaint, every note from a nurse or psychologist.

And the shadow of doubt, as light as a cobweb after the Leonid incident, began to thicken into something heavy and persistent.

Case 1: Maria Ignatyeva, 45 years old. Verdict’s Prognosis: ALS with expected onset at 52—55 years. Accuracy 99.1%. In her chart, three months after receiving the result: complaints of increasing weakness in her right arm, episodes of muscle twitching (fasciculations) that hadn’t been present at the time of the test. Objectively: mild reduction in strength in the distal parts of the right arm, hyperreflexia. Elena had dismissed it as anxiety, somatization back then. She prescribed anxiolytics, physiotherapy. But now… the progression seemed too rapid for the preclinical stage of ALS. As if the knowledge had nudged the dormant mechanism awake.

Case 2: Artem Volkov, 37 years old. Prognosis: Early Parkinson’s Disease (like Leonid). Onset at 42—45 years. Accuracy 98.8%. Within six months of the test: unexplained attacks of severe dizziness leading to falls; chronic insomnia resistant to standard therapy; panic attacks on the subway (fear of falling, seeming inadequate). His EEG showed non-specific changes, MRI – normal. «Anxiety disorder with somatic manifestations» – read the diagnosis from a Verdict psychologist. But Elena had seen his eyes – the same animal terror as in Leonid’s. The knowledge wasn’t just frightening – it was crippling.

Case 3: Irina Semyonova, 60 years old. Prognosis: Alzheimer’s Disease. Onset at 65—68 years. Accuracy 99.5%. Four months later: complaints of «fog in the head,» episodes of losing the thread of conversation that had never happened before. Neuropsychological testing showed mild reduction in information processing speed and episodic memory – uncharacteristic for her age and education, yet not meeting Alzheimer’s criteria. Elena prescribed nootropics. But highlighted in red in the psychologist’s notes: «Patient fixated on the slightest memory lapses, interprets them as the beginning of the end. No suicidal thoughts, but marked depression, anhedonia.»

A trend. Not just a statistical anomaly. An accelerated appearance of real, objective micro-symptoms long before the due date. An explosive growth of psychosomatics: unexplained pains (headaches, back, joints), dizziness, paresthesias, debilitating insomnia. And the pervasive shadow – depression, anxiety disorders, panic attacks, their frequency among the «Knowing» skyrocketing compared to control groups of «Unknowing» with similar risks (if such data could even be found – Verdict didn’t publicize it).

Elena opened the official Verdict portal. Section: «Prognosis Effectiveness Statistics.» Flawless graphs. Survival curves perfectly matching the predicted models. Percentage of false positives/negatives – fractions of a percent. Success stories of the «Knowing» who had time to accomplish life’s main goals thanks to early warning. All smooth. All scientific. All rational.

But beneath this veneer of statistics, Elena sensed a catch. Deep, systemic. Like a crack in the foundation of a seemingly unshakable building. The knowledge that was supposed to give strength was turning into poison. It didn’t just predict the future – it seemed to shape it. Shape it through fear. Through the all-consuming, chronic stress that struck the body’s most vulnerable points.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door. A nurse entered, her face unusually pale.

«Dr. Sokolova? You’re urgently needed in the pediatric ward. Room 314. Patient Karina M.»

Karina M. 14 years old. Elena remembered this case. A rare genetic mutation drastically increasing the risk of early-onset familial Alzheimer’s. Parents – both «Unknowing,» but after long, agonizing deliberation, they decided to have their daughter tested. «To prepare,» the mother had said, her eyes full of tears. «To have time to help her,» the father added, clenching his fists. Elena, as the leading specialist in neurodegeneration, had signed the referral for «Prognosis.» The result came yesterday: *High probability (99.7%) of developing early-onset Alzheimer’s disease. Expected symptom onset: 19—21 years.* A five-year reprieve.

Elena entered the room. The air was thick with silence and despair. The parents stood by the window, the mother crying silently, the father holding her, his face stony. On the bed sat Karina. Or rather, she wasn’t sitting. She was frozen.

The girl sat propped against pillows, eyes wide open, staring into the emptiness before her. No blinking, no reaction to light. One arm lay unnaturally straight beside her body, the other froze mid-reach towards a plush cat lying on the floor. Her fingers were slightly curled, as if frozen in the act of trying to grab the toy. Breathing even, but shallow. Her face – absolute emptiness. No fear, no sadness, no anger. Nothing.

«She… she’s been like this since morning,» the mother whispered, not taking her eyes off her daughter. «We got the results last night. She… didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Just stayed silent. And this morning… like this. Won’t eat. Won’t drink. Doesn’t react…»

Elena approached the bed cautiously. She crouched down to be level with Karina’s face. The girl’s eyes were like two dark lakes, devoid of bottom or reflection. Elena gently took her hand. The skin was cool. Pulse steady, slightly slow. She checked reflexes – normal. Tried to passively bend the arm – mild resistance, like in catalepsy. Waxy flexibility.

Catatonic stupor. Reactive. Following an acute psychotic episode, flashed through Elena’s mind with icy clarity. The diagnosis would be obvious to any psychiatrist. But the cause… The cause was «Prognosis.» The verdict passed on her future. The knowledge that her mind, her personality, her dreams of university, love, career – all of it would dissolve in the sticky void of dementia before she even reached adulthood. And her psyche, unable to bear this knowledge, had simply… shut down. Fled into the fortress of muteness and immobility.

Elena stood up. Her own hands suddenly felt alien, heavy. She looked at the parents, frozen in their grief. She looked at Karina, this beautiful, fragile girl whose «now» had been stolen by the knowledge of «later.» Whose future hadn’t just been predicted – it had been accelerated into the state of this icy, living statue.

Verdict’s statistics screamed 99.7% accuracy. But here, in this room, amidst the silence broken only by the mother’s intermittent sobs, the flawless numbers crumbled to dust. This wasn’t a prognosis. This was a curse. A curse that didn’t wait its turn, but acted here and now, crippling souls and bodies long before the disease was due to arrive.

«We need a psychiatrist. A ’catatonia specialist’,» Elena said, and her voice sounded alien, flat, in this deathly silence. «And… sedation. Carefully.»

She left the room, leaving behind the parents’ grief and the mute reproach of the frozen girl. In the corridor, brightly lit by soulless neon lamps, Elena leaned back against the cool wall. Doubt was no longer a shadow. It was a heavy, cold slab pressing down on her chest. «Prognosis» didn’t just diagnose. It triggered something. It set a mechanism of destruction in motion, using the very fear of the future as its fuel. And Karina M., with her empty gaze and frozen fingers, was the living, terrifying proof of it.

She looked at her own hands. Steady, skilled, the hands of a surgeon and neurologist. Hands that had believed in the power of knowledge, in medicine, in control. Now they seemed helpless to her. As if facing an invisible, all-pervasive virus that Verdict had released into the world disguised as a benevolent gift. A virus whose name was the «Oracle Effect.» The name came to her suddenly, with frightening clarity. The Oracle at Delphi foretold fates, but its ambiguous prophecies often led to ruin. Wasn’t that why?

Elena pushed off from the wall and walked down the corridor. Her steps were as measured as always. Her face – professionally focused. But inside, a blizzard raged. Icy, cutting. And at the center of this blizzard stood an image: the frozen girl and the cold, shining towers of Verdict outside the window, reflecting the world they had reshaped with knowledge-as-poison.

Chapter 3: The Personal Rubicon

The silence in her office after visiting Karina M. was different. Not working silence, not focused silence, but oppressive, like the air before a storm that is already striking somewhere nearby but hasn’t reached you yet. The image of the frozen girl haunted Elena, overlaying itself onto Leonid’s convulsive hands, Artem’s frightened eyes, the emptiness in Irina’s gaze. «The Oracle Effect.» The phrase, born in the corridor, now echoed in her mind with an obsessive rhythm, beating time to her own footsteps on the polished floor of the NeuroVerdict clinic.

She tried to work. She opened case histories, reviewed fresh research on neurodegeneration, answered emails. But the words swam before her eyes, meaning slipped away. Instead of clinical descriptions, she saw – she saw – how the knowledge, that cold radiance of «Prognosis,» wasn’t predicting the disease, but shaping it. It injected fear deep into the synapses, and that fear, like acid, eroded the psyche’s protective barriers, undermined neural connections, triggered cascades of cortisol which, in turn, opened the gates to inflammation, suppressed immunity, accelerated what should have lain dormant for years. «Prognosis» wasn’t a diagnostician. It was a catalyst for the apocalypse written in the individual genome.

Rationality, her faithful shield and sword, was cracking. She tried to hammer into herself the statistics of Verdict: 99.9% accuracy, thousands of lives saved thanks to early preparation. But the numbers paled before the face of Karina, turned into a wax doll by knowledge of a future that hadn’t yet arrived. «Preparation?» – a bitter smirk escaped her. Preparation for what? For social death under the «90-Day Rule»? For life in the shadow of one’s own tomorrow? For watching your body betray you ahead of schedule because of all-consuming terror?

And then, insidiously, like a cold draft under the door, the personal question crept in. The one she had chased away for years as unscientific nonsense. The one that now, under the weight of what she had witnessed, acquired chilling flesh and blood: «What if I am already a carrier?»

She, Elena Sokolova, head neurologist of a prestigious clinic, proponent of preventative medicine, a person who had built a career on rational risk analysis… she had never undergone «Prognosis.» Not for herself. Family history clean? Clean enough. No obvious warning bells in the family. But «clean» wasn’t «guaranteed.» She had seen too many young, seemingly healthy people receive their sentence. Seen how ruthless the genetic lottery was. And now she saw how the very knowledge of that lottery became part of the disease.

Professional interest? Yes, of course. The researcher’s itch. The desire to test her theory from the inside, to feel the mechanism of the «Oracle Effect» on herself, like a doctor taking an experimental vaccine. It sounded noble. Scientific. But beneath that layer of rational justification crawled the worm of fear. The very same animal terror that had been in Leonid’s and Artem’s eyes. Fear of the unknown hidden in her own chromosomes. What if her tremor, her cognitive slips, her panic – weren’t just a reaction to others’ suffering, but the first warning bells? Bells she ignored because she believed in control? Control that «Prognosis,» as it now seemed, took away first.

The decision didn’t come in a moment of epiphany, but slowly, like an abscess forming. Over a cup of cold coffee, looking at the Verdict towers bathed in the evening sun. While reviewing another case file of a «Knowing» person whose life was rapidly spiraling out of control long before the predicted date. To the ticking of the clock in her too-quiet, too-empty apartment without Alexei (he was on a business trip, and his absence suddenly felt cavernous). She stopped fighting the thought. She let fear and doubt merge into one – into an icy resolve.

She needed to know.

Not to prepare. Not for plans. For proof. For herself. To dispel doubts or… confirm the worst. To cross the Rubicon from the world of the «Unknowing,» where the illusion of normality reigned, into the world of the «Knowing,» where the «Oracle Effect» ruled the roost. A personal experiment. An existential act.

Booking it was laughably simple. Through the NeuroVerdict employee portal. A few clicks. Choosing a date and time. No questions, no warnings. The system accepted the request instantly, as a matter of course. Confirmation arrived on her tablet as a cold, impersonal notification: «Your «Prognosis’ procedure is scheduled for 09:00, 15.06. Diagnostics Room 7A. Arrive 15 minutes early.»

The morning greeted her with piercingly clear skies and an equally piercing cold inside. She dressed meticulously, as for an important operation – a strict suit, an impeccable white coat. The armor of a professional. On the bus, winding its way among the mirrored giants of Verdict, she tried to maintain scientific detachment. It’s just a procedure. Data collection. Biomarker analysis. Nothing personal. But her fingers clenched into fists on their own, nails digging into her palms. A lump formed in her throat. The familiar lump of her patients’ fear.

Diagnostics Room 7A was no different from the others. Glass, steel, bluish lighting. The sterile smell of antiseptic overwhelming any human scent. The nurse (her face a professionally impassive mask) led Elena to a chair resembling a dental chair, but more massive, with extendable brackets for scanners.

«Please remove any metal objects, watches. You may keep your coat on,» the nurse’s voice was even, like an answering machine. Elena complied. A feeling of vulnerability washed over her as she sat in the cold chair in her blouse and skirt. She felt her own heartbeat pulsing somewhere in her throat.

«The «Prognosis’ program is activated. Please remain still during scanning. The procedure will take approximately 22 minutes,» a pleasant but utterly empathy-free synthetic AI voice sounded from the speakers. No «good morning,» no good luck wishes. Just facts.

The brackets with soft pads smoothly enveloped her head. The scanners hummed. Colored lights blinked above her. The cold waves of the MRI machine penetrated her body. The genetic sensor on her wrist tickled her skin slightly as it collected epithelial samples. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe evenly, as she had taught her patients before stressful procedures. Just data collection. Just analysis. Nothing personal.

But inside, a blizzard raged. Images surfaced like shipwreck debris: frozen Karina, trembling Leonid, frightened Artem, her own hands that had suddenly seemed alien and clumsy that morning when she dropped her toothbrush. «What if I’m already a carrier?» the fear whispered, gaining flesh in the hum of the machines. «Huntington’s? Parkinson’s? Early Alzheimer’s? What lies deep in my code?» She imagined the hologram diagnosis, cold blue letters hovering in the air. A timeline. Accuracy 99.9%. The beginning of the end, measured out by a machine.

She tried to cling to rationality: «Even if there’s something, it’s only a probability. Not a sentence. There’s time. I can fight.» But the chilling reply came instantly: «Time? For what? To live in the hell of waiting, like them? For the «Oracle Effect’ to start its work on me?» The thought that the knowledge itself could accelerate her demise paralyzed her more than any scanner.

The nurse moved silently around the perimeter, checking readings on monitors. Her impassivity was unbearable. Elena suddenly wanted to scream: «Do you understand what you’re doing? Do you understand this isn’t just a test? It’s a ticket to hell!» But she clenched her teeth. Keep face. Keep control. At least the appearance of it.