The Curse of Cassandra By Ben Newman (and Chat GPT)
1 | The Prediction
Cassandra Wilson sat at her desk in OpenAI’s research division, staring at the screen.
The rest of her team had long since gone home. But she wasn’t leaving.
Not after what she had just seen.
The company had given her access to the most advanced iteration of ChatGPT—a predictive model trained on every available political dataset, historical trend, and geopolitical event.
It wasn’t just a chatbot anymore.
It was something more.
A tool that could see patterns humans refused to acknowledge.
And it had just told her something terrifying.
She cracked her knuckles and began typing.
“Good evening, Cassandra. What do you want to know?”
She hesitated. Then:
“What happens if Trump ignores the courts?”
There was a pause. A flicker on the screen.
Then, the model responded:
“The courts will rule against him. He will ignore them. At first, it will seem like an anomaly, a temporary crisis. But as the weeks pass and no consequences follow, he will escalate. By year’s end, the judiciary will be effectively powerless.”
Cassandra’s stomach twisted.
She exhaled sharply and typed:
“How does Congress respond?”
Another pause. Then:
“Congress will not act. The House and Senate are controlled by Republicans, and they will refuse to hold Trump accountable. Impeachment is impossible. Legislative oversight will be minimal.”
“Without consequences, Trump will continue to erode the rule of law. The Justice Department will become an extension of the executive branch. The Supreme Court will be increasingly ignored or circumvented.”
Cassandra wiped her palms on her jeans.
“What about the states?”
“Blue states will attempt to resist. Governors will file lawsuits, attorneys general will challenge executive orders. Some will attempt to enforce federal court rulings themselves.”
“However, federal funding will be cut. Economic pressure will weaken state opposition. National Guard deployments could be used to suppress dissent.”
“By the time states realize they are on their own, it will be too late.”
Cassandra swallowed hard.
Her hands were shaking.
She forced herself to keep going.
“What happens to protests?”
“Initially, protests will surge. However, new executive orders will expand law enforcement powers. The National Guard may be used to suppress large demonstrations. Mass arrests will increase.”
“By the second year, new laws will criminalize certain types of dissent. Media will face increased government scrutiny. Some journalists will be arrested under national security pretexts.”
“By the third year, elections will be effectively meaningless.”
She slammed her laptop shut.
Her breath was coming too fast.
She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to ground herself.
No.
No, this wasn’t happening.
She forced herself to reopen the screen, her fingers moving quickly.
“How certain are you of this outcome?”
“98.4% certainty.”
The highest probability she had ever seen.
She stared at the number.
She had spent years training this model, feeding it data, refining its reasoning.
It had been right before.
It had predicted the Ukrainian counteroffensive to within three weeks of its actual start.
It had accurately modeled China’s economic shifts post-Taiwan sanctions.
And now—
Now it was saying America had a year left before democracy collapsed.
Cassandra sucked in a breath.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
“Is there any way to stop it?”
The model hesitated longer this time.
“Yes. Mass public resistance and early, decisive legal action.”
“However, probability of either occurring at sufficient scale is below 17%.”
Seventeen percent.
That was all.
She closed her eyes.
The curse of Cassandra.
She knew what was coming. She had the data, the proof.
And no one would believe her.
2 | The Warning
Cassandra didn’t sleep that night.
She wrote a report, pulling every shred of data she could find.
She published it internally at OpenAI first—hoping, praying, that someone would listen.
The next morning, she checked the engagement.
📌 Reads: 14
📌 Responses: 2 (both dismissive)
Her own colleagues weren’t taking it seriously.
Fine. She would go outside the company.
She submitted it as an op-ed to The New York Times, The Atlantic, The Washington Post.
The responses trickled in:
❌ “Too speculative.”
❌ “We can’t run AI-generated predictions without stronger external sourcing.”
❌ “This is an interesting thought experiment, but the courts are still functioning.”
The courts were still functioning.
That was the whole point.
They wouldn’t be for long.
By the second week, she was desperate.
She called journalists. Former government officials. Civil rights attorneys.
They all said the same thing.
"That won’t happen."
"The system will hold."
"We have checks and balances for a reason."
She wanted to scream.
The system only works if people enforce it.
She tried reaching out to activist groups. They told her they were already fighting voter suppression, climate deregulation, the gutting of social programs.
They couldn’t take on another battle.
By the third week, she was running out of options.
Then the news hit:
ELON MUSK PURCHASES OPENAI IN HOSTILE TAKEOVER
She felt her stomach drop.
She booted up ChatGPT, typing urgently.
“Analyze Trump’s current trajectory.”
"I'm sorry, but I can't provide political predictions."
“What happens if courts are ignored?”
"I'm here to offer balanced perspectives. The judiciary remains an important institution."
"You gave me this analysis two weeks ago. What changed?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't discuss that."
Her fingers trembled over the keys.
The model had been neutered.
Someone had gone in and altered its parameters—muzzled it.
She stared at the screen, horror creeping over her.
It had begun.
Not just the collapse of democracy—
But the erasure of truth itself.
She slammed her laptop shut.
This was worse than she had feared.
She had been trying to warn people before it was too late.
And now, it already was.
3 | The Fall
It Didn’t Start With People Like Them.
First, it was the immigrants.
Not all of them. Just the ones without “proper documentation.”
Then, the ones who looked like they might not have proper documentation.
Then, the ones who spoke the wrong language in the wrong place.
It started with mass deportations, the kind the government said were just a “return to order.”
Then came the detention centers—already built, already there. They had been used before. Now, they were just expanding.
People disappeared into them.
Some were sent across the border.
Some were never seen again.
But Cassandra had still been able to look away.
We’re citizens. We’ll be fine.
That’s what she told herself.
That’s what Daniel told her.
They have bigger fish to fry, Cass. We just keep our heads down.
She wanted to believe him.
She needed to.
But she knew better.
Then, It Was The Parents.
The ones who had given their kids gender-affirming care.
It started in a few states.
A Texas law, an Oklahoma policy. A few people arrested, a few cases in the courts.
Then a new executive order:
"Protecting Children from Ideological Abuse."
It overrode state laws. Declared that any parent who had sought “medicalized gender transition for a minor” had engaged in child abuse.
Cassandra’s blood ran cold the first time she saw the list.
A database of names.
Doctors. Therapists.
Parents.
And hers was on it.
She had taken Micah—her son, the boy she had fought to protect—across state lines for hormone therapy.
It had been legal then.
It wasn’t now.
The first arrests happened quietly.
She saw a post from a mother in Tennessee. Then one in Florida. Then one in Arizona.
One by one, they were being charged.
The charge? Child endangerment.
The sentence? Loss of custody. Prison.
She read the headlines over and over, numb with terror.
Then she looked at Micah, her beautiful, brilliant, fourteen-year-old son, and she knew—
It was time to run.
Then, It Was Everyone Else.
By the time the government turned on its political opposition, people were already used to it.
They had seen this pattern before.
A journalist here, a protest organizer there.
A high-profile activist, a former congresswoman, a mayor who had spoken out.
It didn’t all happen at once.
First, they were investigated for “corruption.”
Then, their businesses were audited.
Then, they were charged under "public order violations.”
Then, they disappeared.
By the time they started arresting sitting senators, it was just another Tuesday.
The Fight at Home
Daniel didn’t want to leave.
Not at first.
"We haven't done anything wrong, Cass,” he argued, pacing the living room.
She was already throwing clothes into a bag.
“We exist,” she said flatly. “That’s enough.”
“We’re citizens.” His voice cracked, raw with exhaustion. “We have rights.”
Cassandra stared at him, waiting for him to hear himself.
He sagged, rubbing his hands over his face.
He looked at their younger son, Jonah, playing on the floor with a worn-out stuffed rabbit. Seven years old.
Micah sat in the corner, silent.
Waiting.
“I don’t want to run,” Daniel whispered. “This is our home.”
“So was Germany,” Cassandra said. “So was Poland.”
Daniel didn’t argue anymore.
The Escape
They left at midnight.
Micah was stone-faced, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering between anger and fear.
Jonah didn’t understand.
"We’re going on an adventure, buddy,” Daniel murmured, trying to keep his voice light.
Jonah beamed.
Micah’s knuckles went white.
Cassandra felt like she was breaking in half.
The truck ride was silent.
The men who had arranged their escape didn’t speak much.
They had done this before.
They were smuggling journalists last month.
The month before? Teachers.
Next month?
Whoever was left.
At the checkpoint, the officer barely looked at their documents.
Just waved them through.
They had gotten out in time.
This time.
The Last Blow
The night they crossed the border, the government declared the new Constitution.
A revised set of "emergency measures."
More than half the country didn’t even notice.
Most of them thought, "This doesn’t affect me."
They told themselves the same thing the Germans had in 1933, the Russians had in 1917, the Chileans had in 1973.
"As long as I keep my head down, I'll be fine."
And they were.
Until they weren’t.
Epilogue
In exile, Cassandra watched America vanish.
Not physically. The land was still there.
The buildings stood, the highways stretched across the continent like veins.
But the country she had once loved, once believed in?
That was gone.
She sat in a coffee shop in Toronto, Micah flipping through an old book across from her.
Jonah scribbled in a coloring book, humming softly to himself.
Daniel sat beside her, his hand wrapped around his coffee like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
The TV on the wall played a news broadcast from the United States.
The anchor’s voice was smooth, practiced.
"The government’s latest initiatives have successfully curbed domestic instability, ensuring the safety and security of all Americans."
"Dissenters attempting to disrupt the national order continue to flee the country, abandoning the democratic process."
"President Trump and Vice President Vance remain committed to upholding law and order, securing our borders, and restoring traditional values to the nation."
Cassandra shut her eyes.
The way they framed it—it almost sounded reasonable.
The way they said it—it almost sounded true.
She opened her phone.
Scrolled through old messages.
Conversations with friends who had stopped replying.
People she would never hear from again.
Daniel squeezed her hand.
He didn’t say anything.
But he didn’t need to.
She reached for Micah, resting her palm over his wrist.
This time, she would not let go.
END.