Night. A bitter, endless quiet.
Sai sat upright in bed, heart pounding. Sweat on his palms. The phone's glow still seemed to burn through the dark. His own name in the app's message. How? Why?
He tried to breathe. Couldn't. He tapped rapidly, desperate for proof. Screenshot: screen flickered, then blacked out. Tried again, nothing, a frozen frame, his own panicked reflection staring back.
He opened the notification menu. Gone. The message, gone. The app, blank, then back to normal. Horoscope, daily tips, nothing out of place. No mention of him. No evidence.
Sai's chest ached. There had to be a way. He hunted in the app for support. No phone number, no email, just a "Talk to Starcode AI Bot" chat.
He started typing furiously:
"Your app sent me a personalized veiled threat. I want to report it."
The AI blinked:
"Please provide your ticket number and attach a screenshot of the issue."
Sai typed:
"I couldn't screenshot it. The screen went black. The message is gone."
Reply:
"We require a screenshot to escalate. Please try again. Your concern is important to us."
Sai's hands shook as he slammed the phone face-down on the bed. The strange, tight feeling in his throat wouldn't leave. No proof. No help. No way to be believed.
He stared at the ceiling until the streetlights faded, a brief, hot sleep full of restless dreams.
Then, the dawn came with a sick heaviness, sunlight creeping reluctantly through cracked windows. He sat on the edge of his cot, elbows on knees, head in his hands. The memory of the Starcode AI message haunted him–his name, the warning, and then nothing. No proof. Just the vague, uncanny silence of the phone now looking no different from any app.
A sharp knock snapped him back. Veer came in, hair wild, eyes immediately scanning Sai's face. The joke that usually sat ready on Veer's lips never materialized.
"What happened to you, man?" Veer's voice was rough, unguarded. "You look like you haven't slept."
Sai felt suddenly unsteady. He motioned for Veer to close the door and lowered his voice, every word pouring out in a rush: the eerie message calling him by name, the veiled threat, "we're watching you", how he tried to screenshot, only for his screen to flicker black.
"I tried everything. Even looked for it in the notification log, it was gone, like it didn't exist. When I went to file a support ticket, it asked for a screenshot. No screenshot, no help. The only thing that answers is some chatbot. I feel like I'm going mad."
Veer listened, frowning deeper with each sentence. "It actually used your name? Not just a generic warning?"
Sai nodded miserably. "Said my name, and then something like 'not everything that's lost is gone… decisions are coming. Tread carefully, we're watching you.'" He squeezed his fists, frustration mounting. "And now it's as if nothing happened. If I show anyone, it's just star charts and daily tips."
Veer put a hand on his back, surprisingly gentle. "We can't let this go. Don't care if people think we're nuts, we'll make someone listen."
Sai managed a shaky breath. "I'm skipping college today. Can you come with me?"
"Obviously," Veer said. They slipped quietly out, morning already heating up Vishrampur's lane. The pale orange streetlights still flickered in some corners as the town's real daylight took over. Their own street was mostly empty, haphazard sounds of brooms and the metallic clang of shops opening drifting toward them as they walked.
Neither spoke much. The silence felt thick with what went unsaid, Sai's fear, Veer's anger and concern.
The police station loomed ahead, a relic from another decade, its blue sign faded and scuffed. They paused just outside, Sai rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. Together, they stepped inside.
A young constable looked up from a tall stack of papers, breaking into an easy, welcoming grin. "Yes, little brother. What's wrong? Something happened?"
Sai's voice shook as he started. "It's this app. Starcode AI. It sent me a warning, used my name. The message was… threatening, like it knew things about me. I tried to screenshot but the phone blanked out. When I checked, nothing was there. I even looked in the notification log and settings. Gone. I tried to complain inside the app, but the bot just kept asking for a screenshot or a ticket number. No proof, no help…"
The constable's grin faded, replaced by wide-eyed concern, as if Sai was his family member. One look and one would know that this constable was getting exactly the kind of gossip he needed. He looked from Sai to Veer and back. "Bhai, are you sure? These days, apps ask for all sorts of permissions–contacts, birthday, even things like your father's job if you put it in. Sometimes it feels like the phone is reading our mind, but…"
He was still searching for words when SI Meena strode over, looking as if the day had already worn him thin. "What's happening here?" he asked, voice calm but direct.
Veer nudged Sai, who tried again, voice lower but steadier this time. "Sir, Starcode AI sent me warnings. It used my name, told me I was being watched… threatened me not to talk to anyone. When I tried to save a copy, it vanished. The support didn't believe me." He held out his phone, the app now seeming perfectly normal.
Meena listened patiently, then raised a hand. "Listen, Sai. Apps today have our data–birth dates, login names, even our habits. Sometimes, if they glitch or get bugs, weird messages come through. But if there's no proof, what can we do? These personalized notifications are nothing new. Best not to feed your fears, beta. Block it, uninstall, move on."
Veer protested, "But sir–"
Meena gave a tired, almost kind smile. "Tomorrow, it'll tell you about a sale at your favorite store or that it's a good day for romance. It's just algorithms, not fate. Save your worries for the real world, boys."
Defeated, they stepped out into the sunlight, which now seemed too harsh and bright for the day. Sai's heart thudded dully; the town's morning sounds felt sharper, less safe.
Halfway home, as they turned onto Sai's street, his phone buzzed again. He looked down–another notification blazed on the screen:
You were warned. Next time, there will be consequences.
Sai's breath caught. "Veer–" he started, meaning to show his friend the screen, but before he could, the warning dissolved, vanishing as if it had never been. As soon as he read it, the notification was gone.
For a moment, everything was silent–a pocket of cold, brittle air. The world outside went on, but inside, a new line had been crossed.