The Billionaire Scientists’ System:Ten Geniuses. One Mission

Chapter 2 : System Online

The world reconstituted itself with a silence that was near deafening. The searing ache at the back of Adrian's eyes had vanished, replaced with a cool clinical acuity. Julian Sterling looked at him, mouth partly open — the predator mask of the venture capitalist briefly falling into something that resembled genuine concern.

"Adrian? For the love of God, man, you look like you've seen a ghost. Do I need to call a doctor?"

The words had no impact on Adrian. His entire universe had narrowed to the shining neon-blue interface overlaid on his vision. It was translucent and impossibly solid, the information presented in a crisp, futuristic font that was both strange and instantly readable. It was not on a screen. It was within him.

BIOSCAN CONFIRMED: DR. ADRIAN KANE. GENIUS-TIER INTELLECT. SIGNIFICANT MATERIAL WEALTH. PSYCH PROFILE: ACCEPTABLE.  

SYSTEM INTEGRATION: 100%. GLOBAL POVERTY ERADICATION SYSTEM: ONLINE.

“Adrian!” Sterling’s voice sharpened, threaded with impatience and a new edge of alarm.

“Get out,” Adrian whispered. The words scraped past a dry throat.

“I’m sorry?”

“Get out. Now.” The command was low and electric — not a plea, not a negotiation. Sterling’s face flushed. He opened his mouth to protest, met the look in Adrian’s eyes — the look of someone who’d witnessed a supernova — and closed it. He snatched his briefcase from the sofa. “This isn’t over, Kane. We’ll continue this when you’re… compos mentis.” He spun and left; the doors sighed shut, sealing Adrian into a new, unnerving reality.

Alone, Adrian stumbled away from the window. He blinked again, forced his eyelids shut, shook his head. The interface persisted, stubbornly etched across his vision. It was not a hallucination—the data was too precise, the presence too demanding.

At the center of the display a single, foreboding progress bar pulsed.

PRIMARY MISSION: ELEVATE 10,000,000 HUMAN BEINGS TO A LEVEL OF SELF-SUFFICIENT WEALTH.

TIME ALLOTTED: 2 YEARS (729 DAYS).

CURRENT STATUS: 0/10,000,000.

PENALTY FOR FAILURE: COMPLETE ASSET FORFEITURE — NEURAL CASCADE FAILURE.

REWARD FOR SUCCESS: KNOWLEDGE. EVOLUTION. LEGACY.

Ten million lives. The figure was an abstraction until it became an albatross around his neck. Two years. The penalty—"Neural Cascade Failure"—appeared a medical euphemism for having his mind wiped clean.

A soft, insistent reminder appeared.

INITIAL QUEST RECEIVED: ACCEPTANCE.

ACCEPT MISSION PARAMETERS? (Y/N)

A hysterical laugh welled up in his chest. Accept? He was a geneticist, not a messiah. He solved problems in petri dishes and gene sequences, not global socioeconomic disasters. His mind reeled: an elite hack? Corporate espionage? But the direct neural interface, the clinical sophistication—this was beyond any project he'd ever heard of.

He tried to say no out loud. The interface replied.

INPUT ERROR. VERBAL COMMANDS INEFFECTIVE. COGNITIVE SELECTION REQUIRED.

Cognitive selection. The System reads intent. He breathed, composed himself. He was a scientist: observing, analyzing, and acting. The System had scanned him—criteria met: intellect, wealth, psych profile. This was selection, not chance.

Tentatively, with fear like a cold knot in his stomach, he focused on 'Y'.

The interface burst with light and data.

MISSION ACCEPTED. WELCOME, ADMINISTRATOR KANE.

FIRST TASK: PROOF OF CONCEPT.

OBJECTIVE: DESIGN AND CONSTRUCT A PROTOTYPE 'ZONE OF ABUNDANCE' TO SUSTAIN 1,000 INDIVIDUALS AT A PROSPERITY THRESHOLD.

LOCATION: MOMBASA OUTSKIRTS, KENYA. TIME LIMIT: 90 DAYS.

SUB-TASK: RECRUIT REQUIRED TALENT. NINE (9) ADDITIONAL GENIUS-TIER PARTICIPANTS DETECTED. SYSTEM LINK INITIALIZED.

Nine names and faces flowered to full bloom on the display. His breath caught. He knew them all — colleagues, rivals, the only minds whose genius ever kept him awake.

Aris Voss — AI genius who treated human emotion like a glitch in code.

Li Chen — agritech revolutionary who turned concrete into crops.

Kofi Ibrahim — energy mogul with miniaturized fusion technology.

Sofia Delgado — medical robotics pioneer who treated bodies like machines that could be improved.

A Japanese nanotechnologist, a Russian quantum expert, an Indian space industrialist, a French geneticist, a German neurotech pioneer — titans of industry and billionaires in their own right. Adrian realized with mounting horror: they were all staring at the same interface now. 

A chat cursor blinked. The first message was from Voss.

Voss: Joke, right, Kane? New VR conference tech? Latency is good. "Neural cascade failure" is dramatic, even for you.

Delgado: Biometric readouts are real time—heart rate, synaptic activity. This isn't a joke. What have you done, Kane?

A defensive anger coursed through Adrian's fear. They thought he had done this. He focused, and words formed in the chat by telepathy.

Kane: I'm a victim just as you are. The data stream originates from an unidentified source. Possibly non-terrestrial. The neural interface alone defies our physics.

Chen: The task is daunting, but not impossible. The punishment, however, is persuasive.

Ibrahim: Why us? The universe doesn't make many mistakes. We've been given a test.

Voss: Spare us the mysticism. This sounds like a hostile systems problem. If it's your doing, I'll dissect your company down to its last nucleotide.

Accusations and horror cascaded through the chat. Adrian waved them off. His scientist's mind, now adapted to the shock, reached for the schematics the System presented: integrated vertical aeroponics, graphene desalination, rapid-deploy geodesic housing from recycled polymers. It was breathtaking — a symphony of technologies years ahead, integrated into a single design.

Then the final line of the quest appalled him.

INITIAL RESOURCES TRANSFERRED: $1,000,000,000.00. DESIGNATED FOR TASK ONE.

A billion dollars. Liquid. Transferred. He staggered to a physical monitor and opened his bank interface. At the top was an anonymous account with a balance exactly one billion more than it should have had.

The wind went out of him. The money was real. The interface was real. The nine other brilliant, argumentative minds squabbling in his head were real. The countdown—now reading 729 Days, 23:58:12—was horribly, irrefutably real.

He was chosen. Drafted.

A private message beeped from Kofi Ibrahim.

Ibrahim: They are afraid, Adrian. They see threats. I see possibilities. Character is tested in crisis, not comfort. The System chose a leader. It chose you. Will you lead?

Adrian Kane — introverted genius who had always preferred algorithms and base pairs to public spectacle — looked at the list of names. He saw Voss's cold haughtiness, Delgado's burning pride. He saw the impossible task and the digital sword of Damocles hanging over the necks of ten million strangers.

He thought of the schematics: the elegant, intricate science that was his tongue. Politics and poverty were another language. But the System had made this his issue.

He turned his back on the glittering skyline that was his old world. That world was dead.

"Maya," he said, voice steadier than he was.

"Yes, Dr. Kane?" Her concern crackled through the intercom.

Clear my schedule. Indefinitely. Get the jet ready. File a flight plan for Mombasa, Kenya."

There was a pause, long. "Mombasa? Dr. Kane—are you all right?"

"No," he replied, his eyes locked on the floating numbers that now measured his fate. "Nothing is all right. But it's going to be.".