Chapter 1 – The Red Cell Phone
Matulo walked down the cobblestone street toward his house. The sky was gray, and heavy clouds promised a storm. His sneakers squeaked with each step, wet from the fine drizzle that had been falling since late afternoon. He was exhausted. The day had been long, and he just wanted to get home, toss his backpack in a corner, and forget about school, his teachers, his noisy classmates.
That's when something caught his eye on the sidewalk to his right.
Lying on the wet ground, between a puddle and a torn garbage bag, was a red cell phone. The cover was strange, with a black circle in the center, simple yet disturbing, like a hidden symbol waiting to be deciphered. It looked new, clean, out of place in this dingy setting.
Matulo looked around cautiously. The street was empty. Not a living soul, no cars passing by, no cameras that he could see. He wondered if it might be a prank, or maybe someone had dropped it. But there was no one there.
"Finding isn't stealing," he muttered to himself, trying to justify what he did next.
He grabbed the phone with some trepidation and headed home. When he arrived, his parents hadn't returned from work yet. It was their custom to arrive home only after eight. He went straight upstairs to his room, throwing his backpack onto the swivel chair whose leg was already broken. He sat on the edge of the bed, the red cell phone still in his hands.
It was dry, as if it hadn't even touched the wet floor. This bothered him. He felt a chill run down his spine. He pressed the power button. The screen lit up immediately.
Haunting choral music began to play, as if several female voices were chanting a sacred lament. Then, a huge text appeared on the screen, in white letters on a black background:
> **"The one holding the Red Cell Phone has been chosen. You, Liberator, now bear the weight of Judgment. Write someone's name in the notepad. Paste a photo. Or, if you don't know the name, use their fingerprint.
The result will be the same: Death.
Name, View, or Touch—any method will do.
If it's by fingerprint, the victim will die of suffocation, in despair.
But remember: once done, there's no going back."**
Matulo turned pale. He swallowed hard. His heart raced, but he kept his gaze fixed on the screen.
"This has got to be a joke…" he whispered.
But there was something there. Something real. The text didn't seem just part of an app or a video. It was like a presence, as if the cell phone itself was… talking to him.
Matulo closed the device and set it on the desk. He stared at it for a few minutes, trying to understand what he was feeling. Curiosity? Fear? Distrust? A mix of everything.
His phone didn't ring. It didn't vibrate. It just sat there, quiet, waiting.
That night, Matulo couldn't sleep well.
(Comments from readers of the webnovel above on Reddit are a discussion)