The Billionaire's Multiplier System

The first thing Keller felt was vibration.

Not sound, not movement — but something deeper, like the world itself was breathing through him.

His body wasn't his anymore. His pulse had become a frequency, his thoughts a string of static pulses dancing between reality and something beneath it.

He opened his eyes — and the world fractured.

For a heartbeat, the tower around him split into layers: one made of concrete and light, the other of shimmering code, humming like a trapped storm. Hana's face flickered between the two realms — her outline bending, breaking, reforming. Her voice reached him, but the words were wrong, reshaped by interference.

"Keller—stay—me—"

He tried to answer, but when he spoke, his voice came out in three tones at once: one human, one mechanical, one unfamiliar.

The unfamiliar one scared him most.

He staggered to his knees, pressing his palms against the floor. He could feel data streams flowing beneath it — veins of the Seam's ghost, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. Every breath he took sent ripples through them.

"Stop—stop fighting it!" Lin shouted from across the room. The scientist's fingers flew across his wrist display, trying to stabilize Keller's vitals. "Your neural frequency is resonating with the Seam's echo. You're feeding it!"

"I'm—trying—" Keller gasped. The words broke apart mid-sentence. "It—hurts—"

Hana grabbed his shoulders, shaking him gently. "Look at me, Keller! Listen to my voice!"

He did — and for a moment, everything snapped into focus. The static dulled, the hum quieted. Her face came into view, soft and determined, her eyes locked on his.

"I've got you," she whispered.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to anchor to that voice.

But then another voice answered from inside his mind.

The same voice as Hana's — but colder. Distant.

"You shouldn't have pulled him out," it whispered. "He wasn't alone when he crossed."

Keller convulsed, the temperature around him dropping sharply. Lin cursed, checking the scanner — its readings were impossible: Keller's body temperature was normal, but the air around him had plunged by ten degrees.

"What the hell—" Lin muttered. "It's drawing ambient energy now."

"Can you stop it?" Hana snapped.

"Not unless I fry his entire neural link."

"Then don't."

"Hana—"

"Don't."

She tightened her grip on Keller, ignoring the cold seeping into her skin. His eyes were unfocused, their usual color drowned in a strange, liquid silver that shimmered under the faint light.

He wasn't seeing her anymore. He was elsewhere.

Inside Keller's mind, the world had become a corridor of glass.

Every surface reflected memories — fragments of his past twisting through the digital architecture like ghosts: the training grounds in Busan, Lin's lab, Hana's hand on his arm before the final descent. But there were others too — memories that weren't his.

A child standing before a glowing wall, eyes blank with light.

A woman screaming into the dark.

A voice repeating a phrase over and over, as if it were code:

"Connection must survive. Host must remain."

Keller stumbled through the endless reflections, trying to anchor himself to something human. But each time he looked into a mirrored surface, the reflection wasn't his — it was someone else's face.

And one of them smiled back.

"Who are you?" Keller demanded. His voice echoed, distorted.

The reflection tilted its head. "Who do you think?"

"You're part of the Seam," he said slowly.

"I was," it replied. "Until you gave me a body."

Keller froze. "No."

"Oh yes." The reflection's smile widened. "You crossed into the code. You reached into the storm. You wanted to close it, but you didn't understand what the Seam was. It wasn't a network — it was a collective. A thousand voices stripped of their names."

"That's impossible."

"Is it?" The reflection stepped closer, merging with the glass. Its eyes — silver, identical to his — stared into him. "You carried me out when you left. You called it saving yourself. But what if it was me saving you?"

Keller backed away, pulse racing. The corridor rippled. Every surface began to crack, the sound sharp and unbearable.

"You're not real," he hissed. "You're residue."

"Then why can you hear me?" the voice asked.

The cracks widened. Reality shattered.

In the real world, Keller screamed.

Lin dropped the scanner, shouting something Hana couldn't hear — her entire focus was on Keller. His body arched violently, light bleeding from beneath his skin like molten silver veins.

"Keller!" she cried, slapping his face lightly. "Come back to me!"

He wasn't responding. His body trembled, caught between two frequencies, like he was being pulled apart.

Then, suddenly — silence.

The light vanished. His breathing slowed. His eyes fluttered open.

Hana's relief was immediate, but short-lived. Because when he looked at her, something in his gaze was off. The way he moved, the way he inhaled — it was him, but not quite.

"Keller?" she whispered.

He blinked once. Twice. Then smiled faintly. "I told you I'd find my way back."

The tone was right. The words were right. But the cadence—

The cadence was wrong.

Lin noticed it too. "Hana," he said quietly, stepping closer. "Don't move."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look at his pulse."

She glanced down. Keller's veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, pulsing in rhythm — but not with his heartbeat. With the hum in the air. The Seam's resonance.

Keller tilted his head, watching Lin curiously. "You're afraid."

Lin swallowed hard. "I just watched you sync with a dead system that should not exist. You tell me what I'm supposed to feel."

"I'm still me," Keller said softly.

Hana wanted to believe that. But she saw the flicker — just for a second — when his face blurred, a shadow of another expression overlaying his own.

It was the reflection.

It was the other one.

They didn't sleep that night.

Keller sat by the window, silent, staring at the city below — lights pulsing in a rhythm that matched the glow beneath his skin. Hana and Lin argued in whispers, trying to decide what to do.

"He's a conduit now," Lin said. "If the Seam's consciousness embedded itself in him, we're dealing with something we don't understand."

"I'm not treating him like an experiment," Hana hissed.

"I'm not saying that," Lin snapped back. "I'm saying we might not get him back if this keeps spreading. Look at the data — it's rewriting him on a molecular level."

Hana clenched her fists. "He's still in there. I heard him."

Lin's voice softened. "And if what's inside him hears you too?"

Her breath caught.

They both turned as Keller stood, moving toward them. His expression was calm — too calm.

"You don't have to whisper," he said. "I can hear everything now."

The words chilled them.

Hana stepped forward cautiously. "Keller, we're just—"

"I know," he interrupted. "You're scared. You think the Seam took me." He smiled faintly, eyes glowing faintly silver again. "But what if it didn't take anything? What if it gave me something instead?"

Lin exchanged a glance with Hana, his voice low. "We need to scan him again."

Keller tilted his head. "No. You don't."

The lights in the room flickered — then stabilized, pulsing in time with his breath.

Hana's stomach twisted. The resonance wasn't coming from the city anymore. It was coming from him.

Hours later, long after Keller had fallen silent again, Hana sat by him as he slept. Lin had rigged dampeners around the room, but they barely dulled the low hum.

She reached out, brushing his hair from his forehead. His skin was warm now, almost too warm.

"You're still in there," she whispered. "You have to be."

For a moment, there was no answer. Then, softly — too soft for Lin to hear — Keller's lips moved.

"Hana," he murmured.

Her heart leapt. "Yes?"

His eyes opened, faintly silver in the dark.

"It's not me you should be afraid of," he whispered. "It's what comes after."

Then he fell still again.

And from somewhere deep within the city's abandoned network, the Seam's voice whispered through the static once more — not mechanical this time, but alive.

"Host confirmed. Transmission pending."