Launching of first indeginous chip manufacturing company.
An unusual rain simmers gently on the stone-paved courtyard of the plot 47 in Tassam nagar, washing over the bronze statue of Arjun Slikk (donated by Istvik Metalworks), the visionary engineer whose name now crowns the city’s most daring dream: Slikk Co—the first company to manufacture electronic chips completely indigenous to Vanchi.
A sea of umbrellas ripple under the heavy, electric sky. Spotlights cut through the mist, dancing over the geometric steel-and-glass façade of the new building—a structure that gleams like a shard of the future embedded in the earth. Inside the atrium, the ceiling stretches like a cathedral of circuitry, with walls that shimmer faintly with embedded micro-LEDs pulsing to a calm rhythm, mimicking the heartbeat of a machine.
Old man Tanmay Slikk, elder brother to Arjun, steps onto the dais, his traditional attire reflects the political background that he has. The audience hushes. His voice, calm yet resonant, booms through hidden speakers.
“Today, we stop importing the future. Today, Vanchi makes it at home.”
Thunder rumbles, as if the city itself growls in agreement.
Behind him, a colossal screen flares to life, displaying a live feed from the sterile heart of the facility. Engineers in navy-blue jumpsuits glide through a room where robotic arms, as delicate as a spider’s legs and as precise as a surgeon’s scalpel, assemble nanoscopic wonders. The chip—codenamed ‘ARJ1’—is no larger than a fingernail, yet it holds within it the fire of sovereignty.
The camera zooms in. The crowd watches breathlessly as the final wafer is etched, the company’s first fully Vanchi-made chip, its circuits forming the sacred geometry of computational elegance. Applause erupts.
A child in the crowd—his eyes wide behind thick glasses—whispers, “That chip… could go to the moon.”
Inside the factory’s control room, Kavya Slikk, daughter of the founder, presses a button with a trembling hand. Her face reflects on the screen in front of her, where thousands of chips begin their silent birth. Around her, the hum of machines synchronizes with the rising cheer from outside.
Back in the atrium, confetti cannons burst—not with paper, but with biodegradable silver foil etched with chip schematics, cascading like metallic snow over the crowd. Drones rise into the night, forming the glowing sigil of Slikk Co: a stylized infinity symbol split down the middle by a bolt of lightning.
The rain stops.
Tanmay raises his hand. A final gesture. With it, the great curved shutters of the facility pull open, revealing the core—a vast circular lab bathed in pale blue light. It is a fusion of industry and art, and its message is unmistakable:
We build here. We build now. We build for Vanchi.
The crowd surges forward. Children are lifted to shoulders. Engineers weep. A violin quartet begins to play, their instruments plugged into portable amps powered by Slikk’s own chips—sweet analog strings backed by the thrum of Vanchi-made circuits.
The story of Vanchi’s technological independence is no longer a promise.
It is a pulse.
It is a chip.
It is alive.
Slikk Co has begun.