The rain lashed against the windows of the small lab nestled deep in the heart of Bengaluru’s Electronic City. Dr. Arvind Rao adjusted his glasses, his fingers trembling slightly as he inserted the final piece of the silicon chip into the prototype motherboard. This wasn’t any ordinary chip—it was rumored to be cursed. Locals called it “Moksha Chip”, a technological marvel said to contain a fragment of consciousness trapped from the netherworld.
The chip had been discovered years ago in a remote temple in Tamil Nadu, hidden beneath centuries-old inscriptions warning of dire consequences. Arvind, ever the skeptic, dismissed the warnings as folklore. To him, this was a chance to push the boundaries of AI, to create a machine that could think, feel, and perhaps even dream.
As he powered up the system, the air seemed to thicken, the fluorescent lights flickering erratically. His assistant, Priya, a staunch believer in the supernatural, hesitated near the door.
“Arvind, I don’t think we should be doing this,” she said, her voice barely audible over the rising whine of the machine.
“Nonsense,” Arvind replied with forced confidence. “This is science, Priya, not superstition.”
But the first sign of trouble came almost immediately. The system booted up, not with the usual cascade of code but with a strange series of symbols. They looked ancient, almost like Sanskrit, but distorted, alien.
Suddenly, the computer spoke in a deep, gravelly voice:
“Who dares awaken me?”
Priya screamed. The voice reverberated through the lab, as though the walls themselves were speaking. Arvind froze, his mind racing. It had to be a glitch. Some rogue code, a prank.
“Who is this?!” Arvind demanded, his voice betraying his fear.
The monitor crackled, and a shadowy figure began to form on the screen—a face, contorted in agony, eyes glowing a malevolent red.
“You have tampered with what should have been left alone,” it said.
The lights in the lab burst, plunging them into darkness save for the eerie glow of the monitor. Priya clutched a small rudraksha mala around her neck, muttering prayers under her breath.
“Turn it off, Arvind!” she screamed.
“I can’t!” he shouted back, frantically pressing keys, but the system was unresponsive. Instead, the room grew colder, and a faint whispering filled the air—dozens of voices speaking in unison, their words indecipherable but chilling.
Priya grabbed a jug of water from the table and threw it on the console. Sparks flew, and the monitor went blank. For a moment, silence reigned.
Then, with an ear-splitting roar, the machine burst to life again. The shadow on the screen now seemed to be pushing against it, as though trying to break free.
“You cannot destroy what is bound. The curse lives in you now.”
Suddenly, Priya let out a bloodcurdling scream. Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed to the ground, convulsing. Arvind rushed to her side, shaking her, calling her name, but her body stilled, lifeless.
The screen emitted a final burst of light, and the voice whispered, almost mockingly:
“Run, Arvind. But remember, I am already inside.”
Arvind fled the lab that night, abandoning the chip and his research. Weeks later, he was found wandering aimlessly near the temple where the chip had been discovered. His hair had turned white, his eyes hollow.
Priya’s death was ruled a heart attack, and the lab was sealed off. But those who ventured near claimed to hear whispers in the air, to feel an unnatural chill.
Some say the Moksha Chip was destroyed. Others claim it still exists, buried in the ruins of the lab, waiting for its next victim.
And as for Arvind—he spends his days scribbling cryptic symbols on temple walls, muttering to himself:
“It’s not just in the machine. It’s in me.”
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