"One dies. One survives. Choose."
The words echoed in Faizan's head, long after the call ended.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
But Shoaib was dead.
By morning, the entire college WhatsApp groups were flooded with shock, theories, and RIP messages. Some said it was depression. Others claimed it was blackmail. One forwarded message even said he had been possessed.
Faizan couldn't scroll through them anymore.
His fingers trembled as he watched the countdown on his phone:
Next name reveals in: 07:44:16
Seven hours until another voice. Another name. Another death.
He had told no one. Not even Nimra.
She had texted him three times already:
Nimra: Are you okay? You heard what happened to Shoaib??
Faizan, answer me or I'll come over.
He wanted to reply. He really did.
But what would he even say?
Hey, remember that creepy app? It tells me to kill people or I die. Oh, and it talks to me at midnight.
Yeah. That would go great.
He stared at the app icon on his screen again. Still that skull. Still pulsing slowly like it had a heartbeat.
You didn't download me. I downloaded you.
That line haunted him the most.
Faizan tried to go about the day normally. He skipped his classes and stayed in his room, curtains drawn tight. Every creak in the wall made him flinch. Every notification buzz made his stomach turn.
He tried uninstalling again.
Still nothing.
He opened battery settings — VoxSoul wasn't listed.
It was like a ghost inside his phone. A ghost that chose who lived and who didn't.
He opened Google. Searched:
"VoxSoul app virus"
"Cursed app that kills people"
"Dark web phone curse"
Nothing solid. A few creepy pasta blogs. A Reddit thread from 2019 where someone claimed a similar app showed them a photo of their dead cat hours before it died. But it had no replies. The account was deleted.
He tried to report the app to Google Play — but it didn't exist there either.
Faizan leaned back in his chair, breathing heavy.
This thing isn't on the app store, isn't in system settings, and doesn't leave.
So… what was it?
And who was next?
That night, he didn't wait for the clock to hit midnight. He sat cross-legged on his bed, phone in hand, the lights off.
He was sweating.
11:59:50
He took a deep breath.
11:59:59
The screen went black.
Then:
DING.
The whisper returned, soft and layered.
"Truth returns to haunt. Secrets must bleed."
Faizan's chest tightened.
The screen changed.
A new name appeared.
NIMRA SHAHEEN
His heart nearly stopped.
"No... no, no, no," he whispered, staring in horror.
Her photo loaded beneath the name. The same one from her Insta profile — black hoodie, confident smile, holding up a peace sign.
PLAY AUDIO
Faizan hesitated… then tapped it.
The audio crackled.
Then Nimra's voice began:
"I never told anyone what I saw that night. Faizan was covered in blood. He said he didn't remember. But I do."
Static. Then silence.
Faizan's entire body went cold.
She… what did she see?
"You have 24 hours. She dies or you die."
The countdown began.
Faizan dropped the phone on the bed and stumbled back.
This was wrong.
He couldn't—wouldn't—hurt Nimra.
She was his only friend. The only person who had stayed after everything. After that night last year… the one they both never talked about.
But now, the app had reached her.
And it knew something he didn't.
"Faizan was covered in blood."
What did that mean?
What had he done?
The next morning, Nimra showed up at his door.
He didn't even hear her come in — she knew the keycode.
"You're officially a ghost," she said, arms folded. "You haven't answered my texts in two days. What the hell's going on?"
Faizan looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Pale. Eyes hollow. Shadows under them like bruises.
"I… something's happening, Nimra," he said quietly.
She walked in, concern replacing her annoyance.
"Talk to me."
He hesitated.
Then, without a word, he handed her the phone.
The VoxSoul app was open. Still ticking down.
Nimra frowned. "What is this? A horror game?"
"No," he said. "It's not a game. Last night it… it showed your name."
She blinked. "What?"
He tapped the audio file.
Nimra listened in silence.
When it ended, she looked up at him, face unreadable.
"…Where did this come from?" she asked slowly.
"I don't know. I never downloaded it. It just appeared."
He waited for her to laugh. To say it was fake. A prank.
She didn't.
Instead, she whispered, "You don't remember… do you?"
Faizan's mouth went dry. "Remember what?"
"The night I found you behind the chemistry block."
His blood froze.
"You were covered in blood, Faizan," she said quietly. "There was a girl — from second year. Rukhsar. She was—"
"I didn't—!" he choked. "I don't remember anything!"
"I never told anyone," she said. "You were crying. You didn't even know your own name for five minutes. You said someone was watching you."
Faizan stared at her, tears brimming.
"What if this app is… connected to that?" she whispered.
That evening, they sat together, researching everything. Digging deep into the dark web forums, urban legends, even occult blogs.
And slowly, a pattern began to emerge.
Posts across different years — 2014 in Brazil, 2017 in Indonesia, 2022 in Nigeria — all describing the same thing:
An app with a skull. A countdown. A voice that speaks secrets.
Victims who die unless someone else dies first.
Most of the accounts ended abruptly.
No updates. No replies.
Just silence.
"Faizan," Nimra said softly, "I think we're next."
He nodded.
And for the first time since the app appeared, he made a decision.
"I'm not going to kill you."
She smiled faintly. "I didn't think you would."
"But I have to figure this out," he said. "I have 17 hours left."
They sat in silence.
Then Nimra looked at him.
"…What if we find the person who made it?"
That night, they tried to trace the app's activity using a hacked debugging tool Faizan had once used for games.
The app showed no package name. No root path. No developer signature.
But Faizan found one thing — an IP address buried deep in the memory cache.
It led to a server located in a rural district near Faisalabad.
They stared at the screen.
"This thing isn't from Silicon Valley," Nimra said. "It's local."
Before they could dig deeper, the phone buzzed violently.
The app opened by itself.
A new message flashed in red:
You broke the rule. The next death is doubled.
TARGET UPDATE: Faizan Ali & Nimra Shaheen
Time Left: 15:42:19
The room went cold.
They had just become joint targets.
And now, the app wanted them both.
To be continued…