"We're both targets now."
Faizan's voice was barely a whisper as he stared at the glowing red message on his screen.
Time Left: 15:42:19
Nimra sat frozen beside him. The ticking timer cast a dull red hue across the dark room.
"We triggered something," she said. "The app didn't like us tracing it."
Faizan's chest heaved. "If we don't figure this out before the countdown ends, we're both dead."
He tapped the screen, hoping for another hint. Instead, a pop-up appeared:
"Two souls. One exit. The only way out is to break the chain."
Below that, an audio file waited. This time, it wasn't a confession.
It was… laughter.
Distorted, echoing laughter. Hundreds of voices mixed together. Men, women, children… all laughing, then screaming.
Then a final whisper:
"Only one of you walks away."
Faizan dropped the phone like it burned him.
"What does 'break the chain' mean?" Nimra asked.
Faizan's mind raced. "Maybe… maybe it's like a virus. It spreads from victim to victim. A chain reaction. If we can find the origin — the first victim — maybe we can end it."
She nodded. "You still have that IP address?"
He grabbed his laptop and reloaded the terminal logs. The IP was still there — and shockingly active.
"Faisalabad. Abandoned textile district," Faizan muttered. "This specific address is pinging constantly… like it's watching us."
"We need to go there," Nimra said.
Faizan blinked. "You want to go there? Where this horror started?"
"You got a better idea?" she snapped. "Because I'm not sitting here waiting to die."
He hesitated.
Then closed the laptop.
"Let's go."
3:05 AM — Faisalabad Outskirts
The road was empty, lit only by the flickering headlights of the ride they'd hired using a fake account.
The driver dropped them off at the edge of an old, fenced factory. Rusted iron gates creaked in the wind. The signboard had long fallen. Broken bricks, shattered windows — a graveyard of industry.
"This place screams haunted," Nimra whispered.
They climbed through a gap in the fence, torch in hand, guided by the map Faizan had hacked together.
As they stepped into the heart of the factory, they found something strange:
A room. Locked.
Not with chains — but with phones.
Dozens of old phones — cracked screens, dead batteries — glued into the walls and doors, forming a barrier.
Each phone had the VoxSoul icon burned into its screen.
"This is insane," Nimra whispered. "It's like a shrine."
Faizan reached out and touched one phone.
It turned on.
Only one message displayed:
"I confessed. She didn't."
Then the screen cracked — by itself.
They looked at each other.
"This was the original site," Faizan whispered. "Where it began."
He noticed something else — a laptop, half-buried under the rubble.
They pried it open.
The screen flickered… then turned on.
No password.
Just one folder.
Labeled: CHAIN_ORIGIN
Inside were dozens of audio files. Each named by date, location, and a name. Some going as far back as 2012.
Faizan clicked on one at random.
"I pushed my brother down the stairs. Everyone thought it was an accident. But I hated him. He deserved it."
Another.
"My professor promised me an A for a favor. I agreed. Then he disappeared."
And then one file — dated just a week ago.
nimra_shaheen_confession.mp3
Faizan paused. Nimra's face turned white.
"I didn't… I never recorded anything."
He clicked it.
The voice was hers.
"Faizan trusted me. I never told him I saw the whole thing. I never stopped him. I let it happen."
Faizan's breath hitched.
"Nimra… what did you see that night?"
She looked away.
"You were hurting, Faizan. You had blackout episodes before, remember? After your sister died. That night… I saw you holding a rock. Rukhsar's body was there. You were shaking, like in a trance."
"I didn't…" he choked. "I don't remember doing anything!"
"I thought if I said nothing, the memory would fade. That maybe you didn't do it. But I've never been sure…"
Silence.
Then the laptop began glitching. All files vanished. The screen cracked.
A final message displayed:
"One of you holds the truth. One of you holds the curse. Sacrifice breaks the chain."
They fled the factory.
Back in the car, Faizan stared at the timer: 03:12:02
He spoke without looking at her. "It's me. I started this. The curse chose me first."
"You don't know that—"
"I do." He looked at her now, eyes red. "This all began after that night. I don't remember what happened, but I'm the one it latched onto. The chain… started with me."
"Then maybe you have to die to end it," she whispered.
He smiled faintly. "That's what I was thinking."
"No." She grabbed his hand. "We find another way."
But deep down, Faizan wasn't sure another way existed.
Later that evening
They returned to Lahore. The clock ticked on.
Time Left: 02:45:01
Faizan walked to his old storage box — the one he hadn't opened in years.
Inside was the hoodie he wore the night Rukhsar died.
Bloodstained.
He collapsed to the floor.
"I think I killed her, Nimra," he whispered. "I think I really did."
And then… his phone buzzed.
A new message appeared.
"You accepted your truth. The chain is weakening."
"But only one may survive."
They both stared at the screen.
Then a final instruction appeared:
"Place the phone in water. One must say their name. The app will choose."
They looked at each other.
Faizan picked up the phone and walked to the sink.
He dropped it into a glass of water.
The screen stayed on — glitching violently.
Then the voice returned.
"Say your name."
Faizan whispered: "Faizan Ali."
The light dimmed.
The voice repeated: "Say your name."
Nimra hesitated.
Then slowly: "Nimra Shaheen."
Static. Crackling.
Then silence.
The phone exploded in a burst of smoke.
They both ducked.
When the smoke cleared — the screen was black.
No app.
No icon.
No countdown.
It was gone.
But only for one of them.
The next morning, Nimra woke up alone.
Faizan's bed was empty.
His hoodie was gone.
And on her phone… a single message waited:
"THE CHAIN IS BROKEN. FOR NOW."
To be continued…