Night didn't bring peace.
Just questions.
How did they forge the message?
Who gave them my photo?
Why me?
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling like it had answers.
It didn't.
Just shadows and silence. Until—
> tap-tap
Window.
My heart jerked.
I sat up, slowly. Edged toward the curtain.
Nothing.
Then I looked down.
A small black speaker.
Bluetooth.
No note. No name.
Just placed carefully on the windowsill like a gift. Or a trap.
I brought it inside with shaking fingers.
Connected it to my phone.
My throat dried as I pressed play.
---
A voice.
Not robotic.
Mine.
> "I know what you did. Meet me behind the school, or I won't be quiet anymore."
Exactly the message they'd shown the principal.
Same tone. Same pauses. My exact voice.
But I never said those words.
A deep chill spread through me.
They weren't just copying my thoughts.
They were cloning my voice.
---
> "Deepfake?" I whispered.
I'd heard of voice-AI stuff. Apps. Tools.
But this level?
This personal?
Someone had been recording me. Secretly. For days.
Enough to build a profile. Enough to become me.
Whoever this was… they weren't playing anymore.
They wanted to erase me, replace me, and burn whatever was left.
---
The next morning, things were worse.
A teacher paused when I entered class.
Didn't say anything.
Just stared.
Students moved their bags when I passed.
Like I was diseased.
And the girl — the target of the fake message — she was absent.
Missing.
That added fuel to the fire.
---
During lunch, even the teachers avoided eye contact.
No one said anything to me directly…
…but their thoughts?
> "Why is he even here?" "He should be suspended at least." "Poor girl. Her parents must be furious."
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to tear the truth from my own skull and show them: I didn't do it.
But there was no court.
No proof.
Only perception.
And perception was stronger than truth.
---
After school, I walked home slowly.
Rain started halfway.
No umbrella. Just my hoodie.
The streets blurred with water and thoughts.
> "Let's see how far he can fall before he snaps."
That line haunted me. Not just because it was cruel.
But because it felt like a test.
They wanted me broken.
Wanted me to retaliate — to do something they could point at and say, "See? We were right."
I couldn't give them that.
But I also couldn't stay silent.
---
That night, I turned the speaker over and found something.
A small engraving at the bottom.
A symbol.
A W.
No… not a W.
Two mirrored triangles. Like fangs.
The logo of Whisper.
So it was official.
They'd made contact.
And they were warning me.
Or inviting me.
Or both.
---
I didn't sleep.
I stayed up studying voice AI, digital forensics, data footprints.
Even created a burner email.
If they wanted a game?
Fine.
I'd play.
But not as their puppet.
As their mirror.
---
The next day, I acted normal.
Numb.
Detached.
I let the whispers grow.
Didn't defend myself.
Didn't make a scene.
Instead, I dropped a message in an anonymous chat forum linked to tech nerds and digital vigilantes.
> "Need help tracing audio origin. Voice deepfake. Targeted framing. Message me if real."
Within an hour, I got two replies.
One troll.
One legit.
Their name?
EchoTracer
Their first message?
> "You're not the only one Whisper's burned. I'm in."
---
Later that night, my phone buzzed.
No number.
Just a text.
> "Lesson 3: Identity is elastic. Stretch it long enough, and it snaps."
Attached: a short clip.
A teacher's voice.
Saying something… unforgivable.
But it was clearly fake.
Still… if someone heard it without knowing?
They'd believe it.
Whisper wasn't just using this tech on me.
They were scaling it.
They were building chaos.
And if I didn't stop them…
Nobody would.
---
I stared into the speaker.
Back to my reflection in the rainy glass.
No one else saw the fire.
But I could hear it.
Whisper was burning the world.
And I had just one choice left:
Burn with it.
Or burn them first.
---
[To Be Continued…]