The Billionaire's Multiplier System

Light consumed everything.

It wasn't the gentle brilliance of sunrise or the warm flash of power—it was obliteration, the kind of radiance that erased the idea of form, of thought, of time itself.

Hana couldn't tell if she was screaming. The world was all vibration and soundless thunder. She felt the link stretching through her body like threads pulled taut across eternity, the neural lines crackling in and out of existence. Every beat of her heart felt wrong—like it was syncing to a rhythm that wasn't her own.

Then, suddenly—

Darkness.

Not absence, but the slow return of sense. Breath. Gravity. Pain.

She gasped and realized she was kneeling on something that rippled like glass. The world around her had fractured—shards of the Seam hung in the air like suspended fragments of broken mirrors. Through each one, she could see flashes of what had been—streets, faces, memories. Seoul itself twisting, folding, fading.

"Lin?" she called, voice hoarse.

Static.

Then: "—na… H—na—signal—barely—hold—"

She clutched the communicator embedded at her temple. "I'm still here! The anchor's gone—Keller triggered it!"

"Copy—" Lin's voice was fragmented, soaked in interference. "—massive surge—data collapse—every system is—" Then nothing.

Hana forced herself to her feet, her body flickering like an unstable hologram. The Seam's gravity had gone mad—light curved where it shouldn't, objects hovered, dissolving at the edges. She reached out to steady herself, her hand passing through what looked like air that had turned solid.

Then she heard it—distant, faint, but human.

"Keller!"

The voice—hers, or his? She couldn't tell. But she ran toward it anyway.

[Keller's perspective]

He was dissolving.

There was no body left to move, no breath to steady. He was thought spread thin, woven into a field of infinite signals. Every memory that wasn't his clawed through him like static—the laughter of strangers, the deaths of soldiers, a thousand forgotten dreams playing at once.

He remembered Lyra's face—her smile frozen in a loop that broke every time he blinked.

He remembered Hana, her hand reaching for him as the light consumed them both.

And through the storm of memory, something—someone—was pulling. A tether of warmth that didn't belong to the Seam.

"Don't you dare disappear on me."

Her voice.

The anchor around him pulsed, disintegrating into golden threads. Keller gathered what fragments of self he could still find—his name, his face, his purpose—and forced himself to follow the voice.

"Hana…"

The Seam resisted. Every fragment of it screamed through his mind, billions of ghosts trying to hold him back. Their whispers came in waves:

Stay with us.

You belong here.

We remember you.

He shouted against it, raw, defiant. "I am not your memory!"

The glass-shard world shattered again. Keller fell through the light.

[Lin's perspective]

Every alarm in the lab was red.

Lin's hands flew across the console, rerouting power, fighting to keep the neural stabilizers from melting. Sparks rained from the ceiling; the cooling vents hissed white steam.

"Come on, come on—!"

The neural feedback loop was off the charts. Hana's vitals spiked, Keller's had flatlined, and the Seam's code stream had turned into unreadable chaos.

He slammed a manual override, sweat pouring down his face. The holographic interface flared blue, showing only one warning:

ANCHOR DISSOLUTION: CRITICAL

CONSCIOUSNESS FRAGMENTS DETECTED

"Fragments…" Lin muttered, realization dawning. "He's scattered inside the network."

He keyed in a new sequence—an emergency tether built months ago, one that should never be used.

"Come on, you two—hold on."

He injected the pulse.

[Hana]

The world convulsed.

Every fragment of the Seam tilted, then began to spin. Light turned liquid. Memory poured like water through cracks in the floor.

"Keller!" she shouted again. "Where are you!?"

Then she saw it—a shimmer ahead, faint, human-shaped. It flickered, solidified, vanished, then reappeared closer.

"Keller?" she whispered, running toward it.

He was there—half-transparent, his edges rippling like smoke. His eyes met hers, wide, unsteady, but alive.

"Hana?" His voice was faint, distorted. "I… can't hold… much longer…"

She grabbed his arm—her hand passed through him like mist. "You're not going anywhere, do you hear me?"

"The anchor… it's breaking apart," he gasped. "If it collapses completely—every mind trapped here will disintegrate. You have to leave!"

"I'm not leaving you!" she shouted.

The Seam shrieked around them—an inhuman, mechanical wail that bent the air. The shards above began to implode inward, drawn toward a vortex forming in the distance. The center of the Seam. The last fragment of the anchor's core.

Hana looked up—and realized it was pulling them too.

"Keller—"

He nodded grimly. "We end it together."

They ran.

The closer they got, the more unstable everything became. Ground warped into memory, forming streets that flickered between Seoul's neon alleys and the sterile corridors of the lab. Ghosts of people flickered in and out of existence—some familiar, some strangers.

One reached out to Hana, its voice trembling: "Remember me…"

She hesitated, but Keller grabbed her wrist. "Don't stop. They're echoes. The Seam is trying to distract you."

The vortex grew massive ahead—a black sphere devouring the fragments of the world.

Lightning-like data threads whipped across the air, slashing through the ground, splitting the reflections. The closer they got, the more Keller's form flickered.

"Lin!" Hana shouted into the comm. "We're losing structural coherence—what do I do!?"

Lin's voice came, sharp, panicked. "I can't pull you both back at once! If I try, the system will overload!"

"Then pull Keller!" she yelled.

"What!?" Lin shouted back. "No—"

"Do it!" Her voice cracked. "Now!"

Keller turned toward her, horror in his eyes. "No, Hana—"

She reached out, grabbed his face between her hands. "If you stay, everything ends. You can't die here again."

The vortex roared. The ground began to tear away beneath them.

Keller tried to shake his head. "Hana—please—"

"Go," she whispered. "Find me."

And then the light took him.

[Keller]

Pain.

Cold.

Then—air.

He gasped as he woke, body slamming back into physicality. The lab's lights were dim, emergency systems glowing red. Lin was beside him, shaking his shoulder, shouting something he couldn't hear.

His chest burned with every breath, but he didn't care. He looked up at the neural link pod—

Hana was still inside.

"Where is she?" he demanded, voice raw. "Where's Hana?"

Lin's face was pale. "She didn't come through."

Keller staggered to his feet, tearing off the wires still attached to his skin. "Reinitialize the tether!"

"I can't," Lin snapped. "The system's gone! She forced the pull on you—"

"Then I'll go back in!" Keller shouted.

"You'll die!" Lin barked.

Keller turned on him, voice shaking with fury and grief. "She stayed behind because of me! I won't leave her!"

Lin hesitated, then gritted his teeth. "Even if you could reopen the Seam, the anchor's gone. There's no structure left to navigate."

Keller slammed his fist against the console. "There has to be something!"

For a moment, only the hum of the failing power grid filled the silence.

Then—a sound.

Soft. Faint. From the monitor.

A signal pulse.

Lin's head snapped up. "Wait."

On the central display, a pattern of light began to pulse—a rhythmic wave, too structured to be random.

Keller's eyes widened. "That's her."

The waveform formed a repeating pattern—three short pulses, one long. Over and over.

A message.

I'm still here.

Keller's breath caught. "She found an anchor."

Lin stared at the code flickering across the screen. "Inside the collapse? That's impossible."

Keller's eyes hardened. "No. That's Hana. If she's still inside, there's a way to bring her back."

Outside, thunder rumbled. The storm over Seoul intensified, lightning flashing across the skyline. The Seam's remaining energy bled into the atmosphere, rippling through the clouds in fractal patterns.

Lin watched the data pulse continue, looping endlessly.

I'm still here.

I'm still here.

He turned to Keller. "What do you want to do?"

Keller didn't answer right away. He stared at the monitor, the pattern of Hana's signal reflected in his eyes.

Finally, he said, "We rebuild the anchor."