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The Oracle of Pain
And that as long as she was capable of distinguishing between them, she was still alive.
Chapter 11: Allies in the Shadows
Elena realized that acting alone was no longer possible. What she suspected about the «Oracle Effect» demanded not just the musings of a lone doctor, but systematic investigation. But who could she share such suspicions with? Her colleagues at the clinic regarded her with growing distrust – her own diagnosis transformed any doubts about «Prognosis» into symptoms of her illness.
She needed people who could see beyond the corporate mythology of Verdict. Those whose work brought them face-to-face with the dark side of knowing the future.
Andrei: Psychologist in a World of Shattered Pieces
Dr. Andrei Morozov worked at a psychological support center for the «Knowing» – one of the many institutions that had mushroomed around Verdict like fungi after rain. Officially, it was called «Adaptation Therapy.» In reality, it was an attempt to glue together the shattered souls of people who had received their sentence.
Elena found his contacts in the internal directory – their center collaborated with her clinic. But they met by chance in a Verdict corridor, where Andrei was counseling yet another victim.
A man in his forties, with tired eyes and graying temples. Elena had seen doctors like him – those who spent too much time with others’ pain. They spoke softly, moved cautiously, as if afraid to wake slumbering demons.
«Dr. Sokolova?» Andrei recognized her from photos in medical journals. «I’ve heard about your… research. And your diagnosis. I can imagine how it feels.»
Elena froze. His voice held neither pity nor professional curiosity. Only the understanding of someone who had seen too much.
«And you…» she chose her words carefully, «…have you noticed anything strange in your work with the «Knowing’?»
Andrei glanced around, ensuring no one was listening.
«Walk with me.»
They left the building and strolled slowly through the park adjacent to the Verdict center. It was quiet, only the rustle of fallen leaves underfoot.
«I’ve worked with the «Knowing’ for three years,» Andrei began. «In that time, over a thousand people have passed through my practice. Know what shocks me the most?»
Elena remained silent, waiting.
«The speed. The speed at which they break.» Andrei’s voice hardened. «Classical psychology says acceptance of the inevitable is a gradual process. Stages of grief, working through denial, finding meaning… But here – it’s different.»
He stopped, looked at her intently.
«I have a patient, Maria. Twenty-seven, prognosis – ALS, eight years before first symptoms. Six months after getting the prognosis, she started having conversion disorders – psychogenic paralysis. First her left hand for a few hours, then her legs. And recently – complete loss of vision for a day.»
Elena felt the familiar chill in her chest.
«No organic causes?»
«None. Full workup. But her body… it’s like it’s rehearsing the future. Preparing for what’s supposed to happen years from now.»
They walked in silence. Then Andrei added:
«I have statistics. Unofficial. Among the „Knowing,“ the frequency of conversion disorders is thirty times higher than normal. Psychogenic blindness, paralysis, loss of speech… Mass psychosomatic reactions that precisely mimic the symptoms of their future diseases.»
«Have you reported this to anyone?»
Andrei gave a bitter chuckle.
«I reported. To Verdict, to the Health Ministry. Know what they told me? That it’s a normal stress reaction. That we just need to prepare patients better for receiving the diagnosis. And one consultant outright said: „Dr. Morozov, perhaps you should review your methods? Aren’t you suggesting these symptoms to your patients?“»
Elena recognized the familiar tactic – a system that turned any criticism into a problem with the critic.
«And you… have you taken the test?»
«No.» Andrei shook his head. «And I won’t. I’ve seen too much to believe knowing the future is a blessing.»
This was exactly what Elena needed to hear. A man who worked within the system but was not its prisoner.
Dina: The Digital Archaeologist
Elena met Dina thanks to Andrei. It turned out the young bioinformatician occasionally consulted his patients – helping them understand their genetic tests and potential experimental treatments.
Dina Krylova, twenty-six years old, PhD in Biological Sciences specializing in medical statistics and big data analysis. Worked at a small independent lab focused on personalized medicine.
They met in a small downtown café. Dina looked exactly how Elena imagined modern bioinformaticians – slight, with large glasses, wearing jeans and a sweater, a laptop seemingly fused to her hands.
«I’ve heard about your research,» Dina said without preamble. «Andrei told me. And you know what? I’ve long suspected something is wrong with Verdict’s data.»
Elena leaned forward.
«In what sense?»
Dina opened her laptop, showing a screen filled with tables and graphs.
«I do meta-analysis of data on neurodegenerative diseases. Collect information from various sources – research centers, clinics, statistical services. And there’s an anomaly.»
She pointed to one of the graphs.
«See. Here’s the statistics on Huntington’s disease development in different countries over the last ten years. In countries where Prognosis isn’t used or is used sparingly, the disease progression curve is stable. But here…» her finger moved to another line, "…in countries with mass adoption of Prognosis – a spike. Incidence is rising, time from diagnosis to symptoms is shortening, severity is increasing.»
Elena looked at the numbers, her breath catching.
«Could it just be coincidence?»
«Could be. But there’s more.» Dina switched to another file. «I tried to access Verdict’s raw data – the stuff the prognosis is built on. Officially, it’s proprietary, trade secret. But leaks happen sometimes…»
She showed fragments of code and data tables.
«And know what I found? The Prognosis algorithms have variables that factor in not just genetic and physiological parameters, but also… the patient’s psychological profile. Their stress resilience, social support, even financial status.»
«That’s normal for medical prognostics.»
«Normal. But what’s not normal is that these variables are used not to adjust the prognosis favorably, but the opposite – to make it more pessimistic. If a patient shows low stress resilience, the prognosis automatically becomes more dire. And then that dire prognosis itself becomes a source of stress, making it even more likely.»
Elena felt her scientific intuition clicking the puzzle pieces together.
«A self-fulfilling prophecy…»
«Exactly.» Dina closed her laptop. «But that’s not all. I suspect Verdict knows about this effect. Their internal documents mention the ’psychosomatic factor’ and the ’nocebo effect,» but they stay silent publicly.»
«Why stay silent?»
Dina shrugged.
«Take a guess. Prognosis is a multi-billion dollar business. Insurance companies pay for diagnostics, pharmaceuticals pay for data on potential patients, governments pay for epidemiological forecasts. If it gets out that their tool doesn’t just predict diseases but accelerates their development…»
She didn’t finish, but Elena understood. It would mean the end of the Verdict empire.
The Trio
Thus, their informal alliance was formed. The doctor who had become a victim of her own system. The psychologist who saw knowledge killing souls. And the bioinformatician who understood how data could lie.
They began meeting once a week, always in different places – cafés, parks, libraries. Discussed cases, analyzed data, built theories. Each brought pieces of the mosaic.
Andrei: Patient stories, documented cases of conversion disorders, psychological progression charts of the «Knowing.»
Dina: Statistical anomalies, code fragments, comparative data across countries and regions.
Elena: Medical expertise, understanding of disease mechanisms, the link between stress and neurodegeneration.
Gradually, a horrifyingly logical picture emerged. «Prognosis» did indeed predict the future – but it actively shaped it. Knowledge became a virus that infected not only the mind but the body.
«We need more convincing proof,» Elena said at one meeting. «Something that can’t be explained away as coincidence or ’misinterpretation.»»
«Working on it,» Dina replied. «Trying to find a control group – people with identical genetic risks, some who took the test, some who didn’t.»
«And I’m documenting every case of psychosomatic reactions,» Andrei added. «Keeping detailed case histories, recording patient interviews.»
Elena nodded. But deep down, she understood: they were playing with fire. Verdict would not tolerate a threat to its monopoly on the future. Sooner or later, they would be noticed.
And then the real battle would begin.
For now, they were just three people who dared to doubt the Oracle’s truth. Three allies in the shadow of an omnipotent corporation that sold knowledge as salvation but delivered control over life and death.
They didn’t yet know that their suspicions were merely the tip of the iceberg. And that the truth would be even more terrifying than their darkest assumptions.
Chapter 12: System Pressure
The first warning bells chimed on Monday morning.
Elena walked down the familiar clinic corridor – white walls, muted sounds, the smell of antiseptic that once symbolized order and control to her. Now it reminded her of the fragility of everything she used to believe in.
The secretary at the reception desk, usually friendly Marina, avoided direct eye contact.
«Dr. Sokolova, the head of the department wants to see you.»
Her voice was official. Cold. Elena felt the familiar tightness in her chest – the same tension she woke up with every morning, thinking of her diagnosis.
Professor Kravtsov’s office was an oasis of academic gravitas: diplomas on the walls, hefty medical reference books, the scent of expensive leather from the armchairs. But the atmosphere was strained.
«Elena Mikhailovna, have a seat.» Kravtsov didn’t look up from his documents. «We have questions regarding your… research activities.»
Elena’s heart skipped a beat. It had begun.
«What activities are you referring to?»
«You requested access to confidential patient data. Conducted analysis beyond the scope of your official duties.» Kravtsov finally looked at her. «There are indications you are gathering material that could… negatively impact the reputation of Prognosis.»
Elena understood: they’d been noticed. Verdict knew about her research.
«I am examining scientific data within my competence…»
«Elena Mikhailovna.» Kravtsov’s voice hardened. «You received your own diagnosis recently. I understand it’s difficult. But you cannot let personal feelings influence your professional conduct.»
The blow was precise and painful. Her own illness was being weaponized against her – any doubts about the system became a symptom.
«I recommend you take a leave of absence. Rest. Reassess your priorities.» Kravtsov steepled his fingers. «And your database access will be temporarily restricted. Until better times.»
Elena left the office feeling the ground vanish beneath her feet. The system had begun to defend itself.
The Information Machine
By that evening, Andrei had sent her links to articles in medical journals. The headlines hit like bullets:
«The Danger of Self-Diagnosis: When Doctors Become Victims of Their Own Fears»
«Psychosomatic Epidemics: How Panic Can Mimic Disease»
««Prognosis’ Saves Lives: New Data on Early Diagnosis»
The articles were masterfully written. Not a word of outright lie – just skillful manipulation of facts. The authors didn’t mention Elena by name, but any specialist understood the target. They described «doctors who, after receiving their own diagnosis, begin to see phantom complications in healthy patients.» They cited data on «mass psychoses» in medical history.
«They work like clockwork,» Dina said when they met at the same café. «Classic discrediting playbook. First, they question your objectivity due to personal involvement, then present your data as a product of your disorder.»
Elena scanned the articles, nausea rising. Some of the quoted «experts» were her former colleagues. People she’d worked with for years were now publicly declaring her unfit.
«Look what’s interesting,» Andrei pointed to his tablet screen. «All these publications appeared on the same day. In different outlets, by different authors, but coordinated. This isn’t spontaneous scientific discourse. It’s a planned campaign.»
Elena nodded. Verdict possessed immense resources – not just financial, but connections in media, among journal editors, in scientific circles. A corporation that controlled the future of diseases could easily control the information about itself.
Living Proof – Dead
A week after the information assault began, Elena got a call from Andrei. His voice trembled:
«We need to meet. Urgently. Bad news.»
They met in a park near the city center. Andrei looked shaken.
«Remember Viktor Semenov? The patient with the pancreatic cancer prognosis. We included his case in our study – he had severe depressive episodes after the diagnosis.»
Elena remembered. A forty-two-year-old successful businessman. Prognosis predicted aggressive cancer development in eighteen months. Viktor fell into deep depression, started drinking, quit his job.
«What happened?»
«They found him dead at home yesterday. Acute heart failure.» Andrei stared at the ground. «See? He had over a year before the cancer. But stress killed him sooner.»
Elena felt an icy chill in her chest. Viktor had become living – and dead – proof of their theory. Knowledge of the future disease had killed him faster than the disease itself.
«His medical record showed no prior heart issues,» Andrei continued. «But these last months, he lived in chronic stress. Constantly elevated cortisol, sleep disruption, alcohol as a coping mechanism…» He paused. «His body couldn’t endure the waiting for death.»
It was a cruel irony: a man they’d studied as an example of the Oracle Effect’s destructive power had become its victim. And simultaneously, proof they were right.
«Will there be an autopsy?»
«Formal. The result is obvious – heart failure due to alcoholic cardiomyopathy. No one will look for a link to the cancer prognosis.» Andrei rubbed his face. «But we know the truth. Knowledge killed him.»
Shadow Over the Research
By the end of the week, the pressure was intensifying. Dina reported that her attempts to access new Verdict data were being blocked – the company had tightened security. Andrei shared that several of his patients had withdrawn from the study after reading articles about «pseudoscientific theories from unstable doctors.»
And Elena found her own symptoms worsening. The tremor in her hands was more noticeable, episodes of dizziness occurred. Was it disease progression, or was the stress of fighting the system accelerating the destruction?
She often caught herself checking her coordination, scrutinizing the mirror for signs of facial asymmetry. The Oracle Effect was consuming her from within, even as she studied its mechanisms.
Viktor’s death was a turning point. They could no longer work in the shadows, gathering data hoping to stay unnoticed. The system knew about them. Now the question was simple: could they expose the truth before they were silenced completely?
«We need to accelerate,» Elena said at their next meeting. «Gather everything we have and go public. Before they stop us.»
«That would be suicide,» Andrei warned. «Verdict will tear us apart. You’ve seen how they operate.»
«Maybe.» Elena looked at her slightly trembling hands. «But if we stay silent, we become accomplices. How many more Viktors have to die while we gather ’enough data’?»
Dina nodded:
«I have contacts in independent outlets. I can orchestrate a leak to multiple sources simultaneously. It will be harder to block or discredit.»
The decision was made. They were declaring war on the world’s most powerful medical corporation. A war they might lose, but were obligated to wage.
Because knowledge – even of one’s own doom – shouldn’t become a death sentence.
And every day of delay meant more Viktors, dying not from the disease, but from the terror of it.
Chapter 13: The Spiral of Self-Destruction
Viktor Semenov’s death hung in the air like a heavy, unspoken accusation. It wasn’t loud; it didn’t make the news – just another statistic of heart failure. But for Elena and her small group, it was a watershed. A point of no return. They were no longer observing the Oracle Effect from the sidelines; they were neck-deep in its current, and Viktor was its bloody illustration. War had been declared, and there was nowhere to retreat.
But war required resources that Elena possessed in dwindling supply. Not financial – though that would soon be a problem too – but internal. Physical.
The first changes were microscopic. Almost imperceptible. Like a hairline crack on perfectly polished glass.
She sat at her desk in the clinic, trying to fill out a patient’s electronic medical record. Routine. But when she reached for her coffee cup, her little finger twitched slightly, nudging the ceramic rim. The cup didn’t fall, only clattered sharply against the saucer. Elena froze. Clumsiness? Fatigue? Or… She stared intently at her right hand resting on the keyboard. Her fingers seemed still. But when she relaxed her hand, she detected a barely perceptible, almost vibrational tremor in her fingertips. Fine as a wire. Only at rest. Disappeared with movement.
«Early symptom?» The thought pierced her mind like an icy needle. Huntington-Plus. Choreiform hyperkinesis. Small, arrhythmic, chaotic movements. «Or just nervous exhaustion? Stress? Pure nocebo effect?»
She clenched her fist until her knuckles turned white. The tremor subsided. But the shadow of doubt settled over her consciousness like a heavy shroud. Knowledge of the disease had become a lens through which she scrutinized every movement, every bodily signal. Before, mild dizziness upon standing quickly she’d have blamed on fatigue. Now, she mentally cross-referenced Huntington’s symptoms. Instability? Coordination impairment? She caught herself walking down corridors, consciously placing her feet slightly wider, testing her balance. As if walking a tightrope over an abyss. In the elevator mirror, she stared intently at her face: was there asymmetry? Was a corner of her lip slightly lower? Had her expression become flatter?
Every morning began with a silent ritual: standing before the bathroom mirror, she slowly raised her arms, stretched them out, splayed her fingers, checking for tremor. Then touched her fingertip to her nose with eyes closed. Coordination test. She used to perform this on patients. Now – on herself. And each time the movement was perfect, she felt momentary relief. But when her finger deviated slightly, or her hand trembled minutely – an icy wave of fear engulfed her. «This is it. It’s started. Ahead of schedule.»
Her apartment, once a model of restrained order, became a reflection of her inner chaos. The desk in her study, transformed into the command center of their investigation, was buried under printouts of medical articles, graphs, results of their secret analysis, notes from Andrei about psychosomatic cases. But now, her own meticulous self-observation journals were added to the pile.
*«22:47. Slight twitching of left index finger at rest. Duration 3—5 sec. Ceased with voluntary movement.»*
«06:15. Upon waking – sensation of ’fog’ in head, lasted approx. 10 min. Coffee didn’t help.»
«15:30. During conference – brief dizziness upon changing posture. Colleague didn’t notice.»
She plunged into research with manic intensity, trying to find an answer, proof, a loophole, anything that would break the vicious circle of doubt. She read about neuroplasticity, the impact of chronic stress on the basal ganglia, nocebo effects in neurology. She hunted for cases like their twins. Scoured «Knowing» forums, searching for stories of rapid deterioration before the predicted time. Every new confirmation of the Oracle Effect brought simultaneous relief («I’m not crazy! It’s real!») and a blow to her own prognosis («That means it will happen to me. Faster.»).
Reality receded. She forgot to eat. Coffee and dry crackers became her staple diet. Sleep turned into rare, snatched moments of oblivion, interrupted by nightmares: she saw herself as Anna had become – helpless, wheelchair-bound, drool trailing down her chin, surrounded by indifferent faces in white coats. She woke in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath ragged. And reached again for the laptop, the articles, the data, like a lifeline.
Work at the clinic became torture. After the talk with Kravtsov, she felt the weight of her colleagues’ gazes. Some – openly sympathetic but wary. Others – blatantly avoiding her, like Marina the secretary. Afraid of association? Or had they received «recommendations»? Her every movement, every minor slip (and they happened now – a forgotten signature, a hesitation answering a question) was interpreted through the lens of her diagnosis. She saw the look: «Has it started? Is she already unfit?» And that look fueled her own fears, made her grip the scalpel tighter during rare procedures now, control every muscle.
Once, during a complex lumbar puncture, her fingers suddenly trembled sharply. Not violently, but enough to make the needle waver slightly. The patient cried out. Elena froze, icy sweat beading on her forehead. This wasn’t resting tremor. This was during action. Tension? Or… With inhuman effort of will, she stabilized her hand, finished the procedure flawlessly. But afterward, behind the closed door of the procedure room, she vomited from nervous collapse. She stood, forehead pressed against cold tiles, her whole body shaking. «I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. Are they right? Am I losing control?»
Her own life, her own body, was becoming the prime evidence for her theory. She was simultaneously the researcher and the lab rat in the experiment called the «Oracle Effect.» Each new symptom – real or imagined – fed the fire of her obsession. She saw the knowledge crippling her from within, accelerating what should have happened later, and used that knowledge as a weapon against the system that spawned it. It was a spiral of self-destruction, tightening faster and faster: fear worsened symptoms, symptoms amplified fear, fear fueled the obsession for proof, and the obsession drained her body and mind, making it even more vulnerable.
That evening, sitting before the screen, buried in printouts, hands trembling from fatigue and caffeine, she looked at the mortality graph comparing the «Knowing» to the «Unknowing.» A cruel, ascending curve. And she understood that her own line on that graph had already begun its inexorable climb. The time allotted to her by Prognosis wasn’t just dwindling day by day; it was vanishing hour by hour. Not only because of the disease, but because of the fight against it. The knowledge was devouring her future, and she, trying to stop this devouring mechanism, was throwing chunks of her present life into its maw.
She closed her eyes. The smell of paper dust, the flicker of the screen, the ticking of the clock – it all seemed distant, unreal. The only reality was the tremor in her fingertips and the cold, steely resolve deep within. They had to expose the truth. Soon. While she still could. While her hands could still hold the evidence, and her voice could still pronounce the indictment. Otherwise, she would become just another data point on her own graph. Just another Elena Sokolova, killed by the knowledge of her future.
Chapter 14: Loss of Anchor
The silence in the apartment became hollow, viscous. It didn’t just fill the space – it pressed down like water at depth. Elena sat at her paper-strewn desk but saw no words. Before her eyes hung the empty coat rack in the hallway, where just yesterday Alexei’s old, worn sweater had been. His favorite. The one that smelled of coffee and his cologne.