The Oracle of Pain

Or… the Oracle Effect?

The first real symptoms? That very accelerated mechanism of destruction, triggered by knowledge? Could the rage and despair – those toxic byproducts of the diagnosis – have already started killing neurons in her striatum? Had her own psyche, her own fear, physically damaged her brain?

She didn’t know. Couldn’t know. This ambiguity was worse than any certainty. Worse than the diagnosis. Because it turned every moment, every sensation, into torture by suspicion. Her body, her mind – a battlefield where the enemy was everywhere and nowhere. Inside and out.

She slowly got up, leaning on the desk. Looked at the shattered tablet, the broken stylus, the disarray in the office. At her bloodied knuckles. This wasn’t the work of Dr. Sokolova. This was the vandalism of a creature cornered.

The world hadn’t just collapsed. It had exploded. And in the swirling dust and rage, Elena stood alone, with her treacherous hands and the question that held the key to everything – even the possibility of surviving those seven years: Fear or Effect?

Chapter 7: Bargaining and Despair

After the explosion of rage came an icy, calculating silence. Denial and anger had scorched the earth, leaving behind scorched ruins where Elena, like the last strategist of a defeated army, tried to mount a defense. Bargaining. If Knowledge was the verdict, and Rage a dead end, then she had to find a loophole. Buy time. Trick the Oracle.

Elena plunged into the world of «preventative strategies» and «breakthrough therapies,» lavishly offered by Verdict and dozens of companies parasitizing on despair. Her office at NeuroVerdict became the command center for an operation of self-salvation.

She demanded re-analysis of her genetic material, hunted for sequencing errors, hired (for exorbitant sums) independent bioinformaticians. The result was always the same: CAG expansion. Aggressive profile. Risk 99.9%. The algorithm’s flawlessness became her personal torture.

Experimental Therapies: She scoured clinical trial databases. ASO therapy? Suppressing the mutant gene? Promising in mice. In humans – isolated cases of stabilization in early stages. But she had no stage yet! She called research centers, groveled before trial administrators. «Dr. Sokolova? Your profile… falls outside current protocols. You’re asymptomatic. We only take those with clinical manifestations…» Rejection. Next drug? A next-gen neuroprotectant? Phase II. Cost per course – like a luxury car. No guarantees. She bought it. Stomach injections that left bruises and her wallet empty. She caught herself thinking: «Is this pain at the injection site the first sign?»

Gene Optimization Therapy (GOT): The last line of defense. Futuristic, monstrously expensive, semi-legal, offered by some lab in Singapore. «Expression correction,» «enhanced neuroplasticity.» In words – a panacea. In documents – vague terminology and disclaimers. She calculated the cost: sell the apartment? The car? Her whole life? And… a 10% chance of success? 5%? What if the «Oracle Effect» consumed her before the therapy could work?

The bargaining was exhausting, humiliating, and fruitless. Every door of hope slammed shut in her face, leaving only a crack through which she had to shove wads of cash and the remnants of her dignity. Her physician’s rationality screamed: «Quackery!» But the patient’s despair, her despair, whispered: «What if?»

The Underworld of the «Knowing.»

To avoid going mad alone, Elena cautiously stepped into the world of others like her. «Knowing» communities. Virtual forums, encrypted chats, offline meetings in neutral cafes under the guise of «support groups.» She hoped to find understanding, advice, maybe secret loopholes. She found – an abyss of despair and a cynical marketplace of human hope.

Shattered Families: A woman in her forties, Huntington’s prognosis, recounted how her husband took the kids to his parents «for the adjustment period.» He never came back. Sent money. Silence. A young guy with an ALS prognosis showed photos: him and his girlfriend in front of the Eiffel Tower. «We dreamed of going. We made it. Now she’s afraid of my touch. Says she can feel me dying.» People lost jobs, friends, love long before symptoms. Social death preceded physical death.

The Obsession to «Live Before»: This was the leitmotif. Cruel, frantic. A man with an Alzheimer’s prognosis recorded video messages for a future son he hadn’t conceived yet. «So he knows me smart.» A girl with a breast cancer prognosis had both breasts removed «just in case.» She threw herself into travel with her last money, photographing herself at every landmark with a strained smile: «I want to say I lived!» Elena saw how «living before» became an obsession, burning the present for the sake of a future that might never come. Or was already poisoned by knowledge.

The Marketplace of Despair: Forums teemed with «saviors.» Sellers of «miracle tinctures» from Himalayan herbs (price – half a salary). Fortune-tellers promising to «lift karmic curses.» «Lone scientist» types with «revolutionary» devices for «bioresonant genome correction.» Elena, as a doctor, saw the amateurism and lies, but witnessed people clinging to straws, giving away their last. She tried arguing with one particularly aggressive seller of a «quantum neurostabilizer.» In return, she received a wave of hatred: «You doctors killed us with your «Prognosis’! Don’t stop others from saving themselves!» She shook with impotent rage and shame for her profession.

And then it came. The apotheosis of despair that shattered her concept of «bargaining.» An offline meeting in a dimly lit library hall. A group of eight people. Different diagnoses, one hell. And him – Mark. Prognosis: ALS. Onset in 10 years. Young, strong, with intelligent, desperately tired eyes.

The conversation circled: fear, anger, hopelessness, false hopes. Mark was silent. Then suddenly stood up. His voice was calm, but steeled with despair.

«You all talk about ’living before.» Living before what? Loving? Traveling? Working?» He gave a bitter smirk. «I want to live before… to feel. The present. Control. Even for a second.»

He raised his right foot, clad in a sneaker. Then, with a wild, concentrated effort, with all his force, he slammed it against the heavy oak pedestal of a statue in the corner of the room.

A dull, nightmarish crunch echoed. The sound of breaking bone. Mark cried out – less from pain, more from a kind of animal relief. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his shin, which was already bending unnaturally under his trouser leg. His face was contorted, but in his eyes… in his eyes burned a strange, insane triumph.

«See?» he hissed through clenched teeth, as people froze in horror around him. «I decided! I did it! This is MY pain! MY fracture! Not IT! This is ME! I AM IN CONTROL! I LIVED BEFORE!»

Elena froze. All air was knocked from her lungs. She didn’t see the broken leg. She saw a broken soul. Bargaining had hit rock bottom. When there’s no hope of avoiding the pain imposed by the future, a person creates their own pain now. Controlled. Chosen. To prove to themselves they are still the master of something in this body doomed to betrayal. This wasn’t an act. It was a scream of absolute, existential loss. To seize the feeling of being master before the disease took even that.

In the car on the way home, Elena vomited. She pulled over onto the shoulder, her whole body shaking, saliva and bile burning her throat. The smell of the «miracle tincture» she’d been sold on the forum (herbal, with notes of cheap alcohol and lies) mixed with the smell of vomit and her own sweat of fear. The image of Mark, breaking his own leg with that mad gleam of triumph in his eyes, stood before her brighter than the diagnosis hologram.

The bargaining was over. It hadn’t led to salvation, but to the edge of an abyss littered with the crutches of false hope and the shattered glass of ruined lives. She had seen what a person becomes, obsessed with «living before» under the Damoclean sword of Prognosis. Seen how the «Oracle Effect» cripples not just bodies, but souls, tearing them apart in the search for the illusion of control.

She bought a bottle of water at a gas station, took a sip, spitting out the vile aftertaste. Looking in the rearview mirror, she didn’t see Dr. Sokolova. She saw another «Knowing» woman. With the shadow of Huntington-Plus in her eyes and emptiness where rage and hope had been.

There were no loopholes. Therapies – illusion or robbery. «Living before» – a trap leading to self-destruction like Mark’s, or to meaningless frenzy. Communities – a swamp of despair and cynical business.

Only Despair remained. Deaf, freezing, bottomless. Like in Karina’s room. Like in Anna’s eyes. It filled her, displacing everything else. She started the car and drove, not knowing where, just to keep moving while her body still obeyed. But where could she run from a future already inside her? From knowledge that was already killing her alive?

The bargaining was finished. The fall had begun.

Chapter 8: The Oracle Effect: First Findings

The darkness of despair proved less impenetrable than it seemed. Within it, like in an ink-dark abyss, something new was born – a cold, predatory fury. If «Prognosis» didn’t just predict the disease but accelerated it, then evidence must exist somewhere. And Elena was determined to find it.

The Secret Analysis

She was no longer just a doctor. Now she was a researcher, a criminal, a partisan in a white coat.

Accessing the Data:

Using her privileges at NeuroVerdict, she breached the archive of anonymized medical histories.

She hunted for cases where genetic risks were identical, but one patient had undergone «Prognosis» and the other had refused.

She isolated those whose diagnoses were later confirmed.

Methodology:

Compared the time to the appearance of first symptoms.

Analyzed the speed of progression.

Calculated mortality rates.

She worked nights, in her empty office, illuminated only by the monitor that cast a blue glow on her gaunt face. Every click of the mouse, every opened file – a step into forbidden territory. If caught, she’d lose her license. Or worse.

Shocking Results.

After a week, she had the first numbers.

Group Average Time to First Symptoms Progression Speed (Severity Scales) Mortality (First 5 Yrs Post-Dx)

Knowing (Underwent Prognosis) 4.2 years (vs. prognosis 7—10) High (30% annual worsening) 22%

Unknowing (Refused Prognosis) 8.1 years Moderate (15% annual worsening) 14%

She double-checked. Triple-checked. The results held.

Conclusion: The Knowing got sick sooner, progressed faster, and died more often.

The Curse Mechanism

Elena delved into research.

Stress as Catalyst:

Chronic stress → cortisol surge → immune suppression → accelerated neurodegeneration.

Knowing patients had average cortisol levels 60% higher.

They developed psychosomatic symptoms (paralysis, blindness, pain) before the actual disease onset far more frequently.

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy:

A Parkinson’s prognosis patient constantly checks for tremor → inadvertently provokes micro-muscle tension → accelerates symptom development.

An Alzheimer’s risk patient obsessively tests memory → anxiety → real cognitive slips.

Social Death:

The «90-Day Rule» (firings, divorces) → depression → accelerated disease course.

Living Proof: The Twins

And then she found the perfect case.

Identical twin brothers, same HTT gene mutation (Huntington’s).

Twin A underwent Prognosis at 30 (positive, onset 37—40).

Twin B refused; learned of the risk only incidentally at 35.

Comparison at Age 36:

Knowing Twin: Already has overt tremor, severe depression, socially isolated.

Unknowing Twin: Healthy, employed, only occasionally notices «nervousness.»

The difference wasn’t in the genes. The difference was in the knowledge.

The Oracle Effect

Now she had a name for this nightmare.

The Oracle Effect – when the prediction itself alters the future.

«Prognosis» didn’t diagnose the disease. It created it.

The Choice

Elena leaned back in her chair. The monitor flickered before her like a cyborg’s eye.

She could:

Stay Silent (but that meant betraying everyone, including herself).

Act (but Verdict would never forgive an attack on its system).

She looked down at her hands. For now – still her hands.

But if the Oracle Effect was real…

Then her disease had already begun.

And she had to «live before» – not to experience her last years, but to destroy the system that killed people with knowledge.

Chapter 9: Face to Face with Herself

The bathroom mirror had become her enemy.

Elena stood before it, fingers gripping the edge of the sink, scrutinizing her reflection with a painful, almost paranoid intensity.

Asymmetry?

She leaned closer. Was the left corner of her mouth slightly drooping? She lifted it with a finger – no, that was better. Was her right eyebrow higher? She blinked, ran a hand over her face, trying to shed the tension. But the sensation that her features were slowly sliding into chaos wouldn’t disappear.

Gait.

In the clinic corridor, she suddenly caught herself walking as if on a storm-tossed deck – too cautiously, too deliberately. Was she swaying? She stopped, closed her eyes, took a step. Then another. Normal? Or not anymore?

Every day began and ended with this ritual of self-inspection. She knew it was madness. But the knowledge didn’t help.

Night Terrors

Sleep was no longer a refuge.

She saw herself:

In a wheelchair, mouth twisted, drooling incoherent sounds.

In a Verdict ward, where doctors in masks (her own colleagues!) coldly state: «Prognosis was accurate. You are on schedule.»

Alone, in the empty apartment, where even Alexei is just a shadow disappearing through the doorway with the words, «I can’t watch this.»

She woke with a scream, drenched in sweat, heart pounding wildly. Sometimes – with an involuntary twitch in her arm that made her grab her wrist in terror. Is it? Has it started?

Insomnia became the norm. She took pills (prescribed by herself), but they brought only a heavy, murky sleep, after which she felt even more shattered.

Alexei: The Chasm Between Worlds

He returned from his business trip, and everything only got worse.

Alexei was «Unknowing.» He lived in a different world – one where the future was still hazy, not carved in the blue letters of a hologram.

He didn’t understand.

«You said yourself you have seven years left. Let’s just… live,» he’d say, hugging her.

But his touch now felt alien. He couldn’t feel the time rotting inside her.

He annoyed her.

His habits – brushing his teeth loudly, leaving socks on the floor, laughing at dumb jokes on his phone – suddenly became unbearable. How could he be so… ordinary?

He tried to help.

«Let’s go somewhere. Get your mind off things.»

«Maybe you should see a psychologist?»

Every suggestion struck a raw nerve. He didn’t believe her. He thought she was losing her mind.

The Fight

She knew it was inevitable.

The trigger was trivial – he forgot to buy milk. But when he said, «Come on, we’ll just order delivery,» something snapped inside her.

Her voice became sharp, metallic:

«You don’t care, do you? You don’t give a damn that I can’t sleep, eat, think normally! You’re living like nothing happened!»

He stepped back, his face contorted with bewilderment:

«I just suggested ordering milk! Do you even hear how you’re acting?»

She screamed (and hated herself for it, but couldn’t stop):

«I SEE MYSELF DYING! EVERY SINGLE DAY! AND YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT MILK!»

He fell silent. Then said quietly, each word cutting like a knife:

«You’re not dying. You’re sick, but not in your body. You’re obsessed with this „Prognosis.“ You’re killing yourself.»

The silence after those words was worse than the scream.

She understood: he would never accept her truth. For him, the «Oracle Effect» was delusion. For her, it was the only explanation for what was happening to her.

He walked out, slamming the door. She was left alone. Before the mirror.

Conclusion: Two Realities

Her reality: the disease was already here, in every muscle spasm, in every nightmare, in the numbers of her research.

His reality: she was going crazy with fear, and Verdict was just an accurate diagnostic tool.

There was no bridge between these worlds.

She looked into the mirror.

Who are you?

The doctor gathering evidence against the system?

Or the patient accelerating her own disease through stress?

There was no answer.

Only a reflection that seemed more alien to her with each passing day.

Chapter 10: Patient Mirror: Anna

The Verdict Center looked as always: sterile white walls, muted lighting, the weightless silence of expensive materials. Elena walked down the corridor towards Dr. Petrova’s office – a psychotherapist specializing in working with the «Knowing.» Officially, it was called «Adaptation Therapy.» Elena knew the real name: learning to live with the sentence.

She hadn’t planned on coming. But after three weeks in a state bordering on paranoia, after the fight with Alexei and sleepless nights where every muscle twitch felt like the beginning of the end, she realized she needed help. If only to understand whether she was losing her mind or if the disease had truly already begun.

Only one other patient sat in the waiting room.

A woman – not a girl, roughly her own age – leaned on an elegant cane. Dark hair neatly cut, light makeup failing to hide the fatigue in her eyes. Dressed expensively but simply. On her lap lay a stack of magazines she flipped through with mechanical precision, as if counting the pages.

Elena sat opposite and involuntarily began to observe.

Every thirty seconds, the woman’s left hand made a barely perceptible movement – as if swatting away an invisible fly. Her head occasionally tilted back slightly, as if listening for something. The movements were soft, almost graceful, but… wrong.

Elena recognized the disease.

«Huntington’s,» she thought with the icy clarity of a doctor.

The woman looked up – large, sad eyes with an expression Elena had seen in the critically ill: a mix of dignity and capitulation.

«You are Dr. Sokolova?» Her voice was quiet, slightly slow. «I heard you… also received results.»

Elena nodded. Words failed her.

«Anna Volkova.» The woman extended her hand. The handshake was weak but confident. «Huntington-Plus. Seven years… well, it used to be seven. Now, probably five and a half.»

The space between them thickened like water.

«Me too,» Elena forced out. «Huntington-Plus. Seven years.»

Anna smiled – sadly, but warmly.

«Sisters in misfortune.» She set the magazines aside. «You know, it’s strange… Before the diagnosis, I was afraid to meet someone with the same sentence. Thought it would be unbearable. But now…» she paused. «Now I’m glad. There’s someone who understands.»

Elena looked at the cane.

«Have symptoms started?»

«Yes.» Anna followed her gaze. «Though according to Verdict’s calculations, they shouldn’t have for another five years. But…» she gave a slight shrug. «My body, it seems, can’t read forecasts.»

Silence hung in the corridor. Elena felt something tightening inside her.

«When did it start?»

«A year after the test.» Anna spoke calmly, as if discussing the weather. «At first, just… clumsiness. Dropping things. Tripping on flat ground. I blamed it on stress.» She fell silent. «Then my balance got worse. And then…» she gestured to the cane. «This friend.»

Elena felt cold rising up her spine.

«What do the doctors say?»

«That it’s an early stage. That it happens.» There was no bitterness in Anna’s voice – only weariness. «That I should prepare.»

Elena looked at her and saw herself. In a year. Two. Five.

«Are you still working?»

Anna shook her head.

«I was a financial analyst. «Was’ is the right word.» She smiled that same sad smile again. «First, they suspended me ’temporarily’ – due to concentration issues. Then they offered a ’voluntary’ resignation. For my own good, you understand. So I could ’focus on treatment’.»

«Family?»

«Was.» Anna twisted her wedding ring. «My husband lasted eight months after the diagnosis. We didn’t have children… now I understand it was for the best.»

Elena listened, and every word cut like a blade.

«He… couldn’t accept it?»

«He tried.» There was no condemnation in Anna’s voice. «But imagine: you marry a healthy, successful woman, and a few years later you watch her turn into… this.» She nodded towards her reflection in the mirror opposite. «He said he loved me. But he loved the old me.»

Elena thought of Alexei. How he’d withdrawn after her diagnosis. How he looked at her now – with pity and fear.

«And now… how do you live?»

«Live?» Anna pondered. «A strange word. I… exist. Go to doctors. Take medications. Read about the disease – though I don’t know why.» She made that barely noticeable hand movement again. «Sometimes I meet others like us. But most of them… they still hope. I don’t anymore.»

«You don’t hope?»

«For what?» Anna looked at her intently. «A miracle? That Prognosis was wrong? Experimental drugs?»

Elena stayed silent.

«I went through all the stages,» Anna continued. «Denial, anger, bargaining, depression. Now acceptance. Do you know what acceptance is? It’s when you understand: you’re no longer living. You’re waiting to die. And the main thing is to do it with dignity.»

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

«But there are still five years…»

«For whom?» Anna tilted her head slightly. «For me? Or for the woman I was before the diagnosis?» She stood up, leaning on the cane. «Anna Volkova died in the Verdict office two years ago. What remains… is just a process.»

Elena watched as Anna walked towards Dr. Petrova’s door. Her gait was cautious, but without the theatrical fragility some patients displayed. More like the rational caution of someone who knows their body’s limits and doesn’t try to overstep them.

At the door, Anna turned:

«Dr. Sokolova? One piece of advice. Don’t waste time looking for salvation. There isn’t any. Spend it learning to accept the inevitable with dignity. It’s easier.» She smiled. «And don’t listen to those who say ’hang in there’. There’s nothing to hang onto.»

The door closed.

Elena was left alone in the waiting room. The silence was deafening.

She looked at the magazines Anna had been flipping through. At her seat. At the cane leaning against the wall – she had forgotten it.

«Don’t listen to those who say ’hang in there’. There’s nothing to hang onto.»

It was the most honest thing anyone had said to her since the diagnosis.

And the most terrifying.

Because Anna was right. In her eyes, Elena saw her own future: calm, rational acceptance of her own non-being. A person who had stopped fighting not out of weakness, but out of wisdom.

A person already dead, yet still breathing.

Elena stood up and picked up the cane. She walked to the office door and knocked softly.

«Anna? You forgot…»

The door opened. Anna looked at her with the same calm expression.

«I didn’t forget. I left it on purpose.» She took the cane. «I wanted to see if you’d bring it. Most turn away. Don’t want to touch… this.»

«Why?»

«Because they’re afraid.» Anna leaned on the cane. «Afraid to see their future. And you? Weren’t you afraid?»

Elena answered honestly:

«I was afraid. But…» she searched for words. «But you’re still a person. And I’m still a person. For now.»

Anna nodded.

«For now.» She turned to Dr. Petrova, waiting in the office. «Doctor, may I cancel today’s session? I think I’ve already received all the therapy I need.»

Elena understood: Anna wasn’t just a patient with the same diagnosis.

She was a mirror.

A mirror in which Elena saw not the symptoms of the disease.

But the price of surrendering to it.

After Anna left, Elena sat in the waiting room for a long time, thinking that acceptance and surrender were not the same thing.