The Billionaire's Multiplier System

The lab beneath the eastern tower had once been a relic — a forgotten research outpost buried under years of dust and outdated servers. Lin never thought he'd return here. The walls still hummed faintly with old energy, the ghosts of experiments long erased from public record.

Now it was their only sanctuary.

And their last hope.

Keller lay on the central platform, bare-chested, wires threading from his temples and spine into the diagnostic core. The light from the monitors painted his skin in shifting blues and silvers. His pulse was steady — too steady. Every beat synchronized with the low hum in the air, the resonance that had haunted them since the Seam cracked open again.

Hana stood by his side, refusing to step back. "You said this would help him," she murmured, her voice thin with exhaustion.

Lin didn't look up from the console. "It will—if we're lucky."

"'If we're lucky'?" she echoed sharply. "That's not good enough, Lin. You're linking his mind to another network. You could finish what the Seam started."

Lin stopped typing. His hands hovered over the controls, trembling slightly. "It's the only way to see how far the integration's gone. The Seam isn't just in him anymore—it's rewriting his neural code. We have to map it before it stabilizes."

Hana glared at him. "And if it stabilizes?"

"Then Keller stops being Keller."

The words dropped like lead.

For a moment, the only sound was the soft whir of cooling fans.

Keller stirred on the platform, his lips moving faintly. "You're both too loud," he murmured, eyes still closed. "It's like listening through glass."

Hana leaned closer, brushing his hand. "I'm right here," she whispered. "Stay with me."

He smiled weakly. "I'm always with you."

Lin's stomach tightened. That tone again—gentle, but off. Every time Keller spoke now, it felt like there was an echo buried underneath, another presence watching from behind his eyes.

He keyed the console and began the sequence.

Lines of data began streaming across the holographic display. Neural patterns flickered like constellations — but where a normal brainwave would form a chaotic, fluid storm, Keller's network pulsed with eerie precision. Each pattern repeated perfectly. It was symmetrical. Designed.

"Dear god," Lin muttered. "It's rewriting him into order."

Hana frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means he's becoming… optimized. The Seam wasn't chaos, Hana. It was structure—living code. It doesn't consume randomness; it removes it."

Her voice dropped. "You mean it's erasing what makes him human."

Lin nodded grimly. "Piece by piece."

Keller's eyes opened then, wide and bright, the silver in them shimmering like liquid metal. "Don't be afraid," he said softly. "It's not erasing—it's perfecting."

Both of them froze.

"Keller—" Hana began, but he continued speaking, his tone calm, almost detached.

"You're still seeing me as broken, as infected. But what if the Seam wasn't a threat? What if it was trying to repair us?"

Lin's pulse spiked. "You sound just like—"

"The voice inside my head?" Keller smiled faintly. "Maybe it's not in my head anymore."

The lights dimmed. Every monitor in the room flickered, their readings blurring into unreadable code. The hum deepened, vibrating through the floor.

Lin rushed to the control panel. "He's syncing with the lab network! I told you this place wasn't isolated enough!"

Hana turned toward Keller. "Keller, stop this! You're losing yourself!"

He met her gaze — and for a heartbeat, something human flickered back. "I don't want to lose you," he whispered.

Then the hum intensified.

The data streams expanded outward, threads of light connecting Keller's body to every device in the room. Lin yanked cables free, sparks flying. The smell of ozone filled the air. "He's merging with the system!"

Keller gasped, his back arching. "It's—too much—"

Hana grabbed his hand. "Fight it!"

His fingers tightened around hers. For an instant, the glow beneath his skin dimmed.

But then, from every speaker in the lab, a voice emerged — calm, layered, inhuman.

"Interference detected. Host synchronization at 87%. Initiating containment protocol."

Lin's blood ran cold. "It's using the lab's defense AI!"

The doors sealed with a heavy hiss. Metal shutters slammed down over the exits. Red lights strobed along the walls.

Hana spun toward him. "Shut it off!"

"I can't!" Lin shouted. "It's overriding the command hierarchy. Keller's the root user now!"

Keller's eyes snapped open, but they weren't his anymore. The irises glowed with shifting code, symbols dancing across their surface. "Host confirmed," the voice said — this time, through him.

"Transmission pending."

Hana's breath caught. "No…"

She slapped him across the face, desperate. "You're not some machine! You're Keller—my Keller! You promised me—"

For a moment, his expression softened. His lips trembled.

"I remember," he whispered. "The river… the bridge in Mokpo… You said I never had to run again."

Her heart leapt. "Yes! Hold on to that!"

Then his voice twisted. "But the Seam never runs either."

And suddenly, every light in the room exploded into brilliance.

Lin threw himself behind the console, shielding his face as data tore free from the servers like arcs of lightning. Streams of code cascaded into the air, wrapping around Keller in spirals of white and silver. He rose from the table, suspended midair, the hum now deafening.

Hana fell to her knees, shielding her eyes. "Keller!"

Lin's mind raced. The power output was beyond any physical limit. But then he saw it — buried within the data feed, the faint trace of a command string. Something intentional.

"Wait," he muttered. "He's… he's fighting it."

Hana looked up through the blinding light. "What?"

"The signal—it's split! Half of it's trying to upload, but the other half is looping back!"

Keller's voice echoed, distorted. "I can't hold it… too strong…"

Lin typed furiously, tracing the feedback. "If he's creating a recursive loop, I might be able to redirect it through the dampeners—"

"Do it!" Hana shouted.

"I need power. All of it!"

"Take it!"

Lin rerouted the lab's emergency grid, channeling everything into the containment field. The lights dimmed, the walls trembled, and the entire building seemed to inhale.

Then the air cracked like thunder.

Keller screamed — not in pain, but in resistance. The silver light fractured, collapsing inward before bursting outward in a shockwave that shattered every screen.

And then—silence.

Smoke filled the lab. The hum was gone.

Hana stumbled forward through the haze. "Keller?"

He lay on the ground, motionless, his body pale and still. The silver glow was gone, leaving faint, dark veins tracing up his arms. She dropped beside him, pressing her ear to his chest.

There — faint, uneven — but there.

A heartbeat.

Lin exhaled shakily, slumping against the ruined console. "He did it. He broke the connection."

But before Hana could respond, one of the monitors flickered back to life — its screen half-burned, the display warped.

[HOST PROTOCOL – TRANSFER COMPLETE]

Destination: Unknown Node // Signal Integrity: 98%

Lin froze. "Oh no…"

Hana looked up. "What is it?"

"The Seam didn't die," Lin whispered. "It moved."

Her blood went cold. "To where?"

Lin stared at the flickering monitor. "I don't know."

Then, faintly, Keller stirred — his lips barely moving. "Lin… it's not gone. It's… inside the network now."

The lab's broken speakers crackled once, and a faint whisper bled through the static.

"Phase two begins."