For a good few hours, I was in a full-blown, cold-sweat panic. I'd been an idiot. A complacent, idiot. Ever since Silent Hill: First Fear broke the internet, I'd been operating under the assumption that we'd achieved global domination. The sales figures were astronomical; the social media buzz was a constant roar in my digital periphery. I thought we'd conquered the world in a single, viral stroke, and that was the end of it
I was wrong. So, fucking wrong.
The staggering sales, the cultural tsunami I'd been patting myself on the back for? It was almost entirely contained within the borders of the New USA, with a tiny, bleeding-edge fraction reaching the parts of the globe that slavishly follow New American trends. I'd forgotten a fundamental truth from my old world: a cultural wave doesn't hit every shore at once. It travels. It builds momentum. It takes time for the ripple to become a tidal wave on the other side of the ocean.
And that time was now.
While I'd been basking in my domestic success, the rest of the world was finally, truly noticing Meteor Studio. News outlets in the European Bloc, the Asian Conglomerates, and the Pacific Isles were running features. Gamers and creatives who had only heard whispers were now seeing the full, uncut glory of the VR Mall tour and Space Marine gameplay. And once they saw it, they came. They swarmed our digital gates in numbers that made the New USA launch look like a quiet beta test.
The result? Our servers, which I had foolishly thought were over-engineered for anything, began to scream. The Meteor Studio VR Mall, the heart of our direct-to-consumer empire, was on the verge of a catastrophic, global-scale crash on its first real day in the international spotlight.
Which is how I found myself, for five frantic, heart-pounding hours, performing what looked like open-heart surgery on a stack of military-grade VR pods in a secure, windowless lab in the Meteor Studio main building. With Sunday feeding me instructions directly into my neural interface, my hands moved with a precision I didn't know I possessed, dissembling ten of the multi-million-dollar units with the care of a bomb disposal expert.
"Cross-wire the tertiary processing cores to the primary data bus," Sunday's calm voice directed in my mind, a stark contrast to the storm of anxiety in my own.
I followed, my fingers slick with sweat, carefully connecting filaments of optical cable thinner than human hair. It was like building a server rack in the eye of a hurricane. I was combining the raw processing power of all ten pods into a single, monstrous entity—a server designed to handle data on a scale I could barely comprehend. The final connection snapped into place with a soft, satisfying click.
"Initiate cascade boot sequence," I muttered, pulling my hands back as if from a live wire.
The machine—a grotesque yet beautiful chimera of polished metal and exposed, glowing components—hummed to life. A deep, resonant thrum filled the room, the sound of raw, computational power. A complex lattice of cooling tubes that snaked through its core flashed with the pale blue of a liquid nitrogen cocktail, a design Sunday had dictated and I had blindly assembled. I didn't understand the physics; I was just the hands for her brilliant mind.
I held my breath. This was it. Either this worked, or Meteor Studio's global debut would be remembered as the day the digital heavens fell.
"Sunday, run the full diagnostic and stress test. Now," I ordered, my voice hoarse.
"Acknowledged. Initiating full-spectrum load simulation," Sunday's voice came from the room's speakers this time.
The hum of the quintillion-data-per-nanosecond server intensified, the lights in the room flickering slightly as it drew power. Holographic displays materialized in the air around it, showing cascading waterfalls of code and network topology maps that looked like the nervous system of a god. I watched, my heart hammering against my ribs, as simulated user-load from every corner of the globe slammed into our new digital fortress.
The graphs spiked into the red, then stabilized, the server handling the simulated onslaught with an effortless, terrifying ease. After a minute that felt like an hour, Sunday's voice broke the tension.
"Stress test complete. The Meteor Studio Quintillion-Class Server is operational at 100.0% capacity. All systems nominal. Server crash imminent has been lifted."
The relief that washed over me was so physical I felt my knees buckle. I stumbled backward and plopped down onto a nearby sofa, the adrenaline draining from my body and leaving behind the deep, bone-gnawing fatigue of five hours of high-stakes engineering.
I was just closing my eyes when a sharp knock came at the reinforced door. "Sael? It's Kate…. Ramona and Sabine are with me, what's going on? The entire floor's been on lockdown for hours."
"Come in," I called out, too tired to move.
The door hissed open. Kate entered first, her sharp eyes taking in the scene of technological carnage—the nine dissembled VR pods lying like mechanical skeletons around the one, glorious, humming monstrosity in the center. Sabine and Ramona followed, their expressions shifting from concern to outright shock.
Kate, ever pragmatic, walked to a small fridge, fetched a bottle of chilled water, and brought it to me. "Drink, Honey… can you explain what's going on? …You look like hell."
I cracked the seal and drank half the bottle in one go. "The world found us," I said, wiping my mouth. "Not just New America. …The actual world, they're coming in troves. Our old servers were about to turn into a digital black hole…. I had to... build a bigger bucket."
While I was talking, Ramona and Sabine had cautiously approached the central server, their eyes wide. Ramona, my head of security, reached a hand out as if to touch it, but pulled back, sensing the raw energy it emitted.
"Sael," Sabine asked, her voice full of awe and confusion, "what... what is this thing? It's beautiful."
Before I could answer, Sunday's voice emanated from my phone on the table, clear and calm. "That is the Meteor Studio Quintillion-Class Server… A one-of-a-kind processing unit designed by Sael and myself to handle global-scale, real-time virtual traffic."
Sabine blinked. "A server? From... parts of these pods? That's impossible. The throughput needed for what you're suggesting..."
"It is not impossible," Sunday corrected gently but firmly. "It is merely approximately five centuries ahead of current global technological paradigms. Its estimated material and intellectual property value is ten point five trillion dollars."
The room froze.
Ramona, whose hand was still hovering near the server, flinched back as if she'd been shocked. Sabine took an involuntary step backward, her face pale. Kate's head snapped toward me, her professional composure cracking for a split second.
Ramona swallowed hard, her voice shaky. "Miss Sunday... how much is this thing again?"
"Ten point five trillion United New Dollars," Sunday repeated, her tone as casual as if stating the time. "The valuation is based on its capability to host and process the neural interface data of the entire current human population within a single, seamless virtual space simultaneously. There is no comparable technology in existence."
"HOLY FUCK!" Ramona cursed, the word exploding in the quiet room. She began slowly backing away from the server, treating it like a live nuclear core.
Sabine was right there with her, muttering, "This isn't JUST server... this is a priceless national treasure… Heck, A global treasure."
Kate's gaze was locked on me, intense and serious. "Sael. Legally. Is this... is possessing this thing illegal?"
I shook my head, taking another swig of water. "No... It's not illegal. I built it from components we legally own... But, Kate," I said, meeting her eyes, "if anyone in this world—any government, any corporation—finds out that I, a 17-year-old, have created a ten-trillion-dollar piece of future-tech in a locked room... bye-bye to any semblance of a normal life. Forever… We'd be the most wanted people on the planet."
Kate processed this, her mind already racing through the implications. She turned to Ramona. "The lockdown. The logistics. Does anyone know? Did anyone see this... thing arrive?"
Ramona, now standing near the door as if ready to form a human barricade, shook her head firmly.
"No, ma'am. We treated Sael's alert as a Priority Alpha emergency. My team maintained a perfect façade of normalcy on all other floors. The pod components were delivered in separate, mislabeled packages as per our standard opaque procurement protocol…. No one knows. No one saw a thing."
Kate let out a slow breath; her eyes fixed on Ramona. "Your team's discipline and your quick thinking just saved us from an unimaginable crisis. That was perfectly handled, Ramona."
"Just doing my job, ma'am," Ramona replied, her posture stiff with residual adrenaline.
"Good…. Now, what happens in this room stays in this room. The four of us," Kate said, her gaze sweeping over me, Sabine, and Ramona, "are the only souls on Earth who know what this is. Understood?"
All of them nodded. The weight of the secret was now a physical presence in the room.
Kate then turned to me. "Honey, practical matters…. Can it be moved?"
I nodded, feeling the fatigue beginning to recede, replaced by a new, focused energy. "Yeah, it's stable…. We need to get it to Pussyville, the dedicated server wing in the new Meteor Studio HQ should already be completed and shielded… It's the only place that can house it… and SHOULD house it…"
Sunday's voice chimed in from my phone. "I must concur. The initial wave of global traffic is already testing our legacy systems. Projections indicate a mass-visit event will begin in approximately forty hours. The server must be physically installed and synchronized before then."
"Forty hours," Kate repeated, her mind already calculating logistics. She looked at Ramona.
"You'll handle the transport personally, Ramona…. No one else. You take one vehicle, no escort, no stops… You drive from this building straight into the secured hangar in Pussyville. Is that clear?"
"Crystal clear, Ma'am" Ramona affirmed.
I interjected, "Sunday, what's the weather and traffic look like between here and New San Antonio right now?"
"Conditions are optimal: clear skies, minimal traffic congestion. The earliest available private jet charter can be ready for departure at the executive airfield in one hour and seventeen minutes. I have already provisionally booked it under a Meteor Management shell corporation."
"Do it," I said. "Make it official… and make sure Ramona and her team route is clear…"
With the instructions delivered, Ramona moved with a soldier's efficiency. She strode over to my disheveled bed, stripped off the sheets and a thick blanket, and carefully draped them over the humming server, concealing its otherworldly form under a shroud of cheap cotton. She then keyed her comms. "Tanya, Sophia, to my location. Now… No questions."
In a matter of minutes, as I was still sitting on the sofa in my shorts and a simple white t-shirt, two of Ramona's most trusted operatives entered.
They took in the scene—the nine dissembled pods, the blanketed monolith, their boss's grim expression—and asked nothing. They simply began securing the shrouded server to a heavy-duty anti-grav sled with practiced, silent precision.
Curiosity got the better of me. I looked at Tanya Brooks, the quieter of the two, her face an impassive mask.
"Tanya," I said, "you don't want to know what's under there?"
She didn't even look up from the strap she was tightening. "No, sir."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't need to know," she stated flatly. She finally glanced at me, her eyes cool. "Is it a dead body?"
I couldn't help but chuckle. "No…. It's not a body."
She shrugged, returning to her work. "Even if it was, it wouldn't matter. I work… That's it. As long as the pay clears and the contract is valid, I do the job. If you tell me to walk into the White House and drop a target, as long as you pay me and guarantee my exit strategy, I do it… it was as simple as that,"
"Cool," I said, impressed by her chilling professionalism. "Well, it's not a body. It's a ten-point-five trillion-dollar server…. So, you know, protect it well."
Tanya's hands, which had been moving with robotic steadiness, froze. She slowly straightened up and looked at me, her mask finally cracking to reveal sheer, unadulterated terror. "Sir... you're telling me I'm currently handling an object whose value is... larger than the GDP of most sovereign nations?"
Her partner, Sophia, let out a low whistle. "Tanya, if you drop that, it's not just your pay that's gone. It's your life. Probably mine too for being in the same room." She tried to deliver the line as a joke, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her. The casual bravado was gone, replaced by a deadly, palpable seriousness. They weren't just moving equipment anymore; they were transporting the most valuable secret on the planet.
An hour later, Ramona and her team were gone. The server, looking like a piece of awkward, sheet-draped furniture, had been wheeled onto a nondescript truck and had departed for the executive airfield.
"They're en route to the airfield," Sunday reported through my phone's speaker. "I will monitor all telemetry and provide a status update every hour until the server is physically installed and initialized in Pussyville. I have also initiated a digital smokescreen, creating false server load signatures from our old systems to mask the transfer."
"Thanks, Sunday. You're the best," I said, feeling the last knot of tension in my shoulders begin to loosen.
Finally, the adrenaline had fully receded, and I became aware of a gnawing hunger. The sun was well up now. I wandered out onto the suite's balcony, the morning air feeling clean and new. I picked up the house phone.
"Room service? I need three of your biggest breakfast platters, extra coffee, and a large orange juice. Send it to the penthouse, please."
About twenty minutes later, I was digging into a stack of pancakes while lounging on a balcony chair. Kate and Sabine joined me, picking at their own food. The silence was comfortable; the crisis having bonded us in a weird way.
Suddenly, SMACK! Kate reached over and delivered a sharp, stinging blow to the back of my head.
"Ow! What was that for?" I yelped, rubbing my scalp.
"For giving me a heart attack before breakfast," she said, though a faint smile played on her lips. "Ten-point-five trillion dollars, Sael? You just casually built that out of spare parts like it was a model kit?"
I chuckled around a mouthful of pancake. "Hey, in my defense, it was a critical situation…. And I did apologize for the panic."
Sabine, who had been quietly processing everything, finally spoke up. "Well, while you were busy redefining global technology, the real world continues... I got Update: the first wave of thirty new hires for Meteor Creative landed in New San Antonio last night. They're being settled into the corporate apartments. They're ready to start tomorrow…."
I nodded, washing the food down with a gulp of orange juice. The future was barreling toward us on all fronts. But for now, with the server safely en route and a full stomach, I could finally breathe.
"Good…. Tomorrow, we give them their first look at the future of storytelling."
I finished the last of my orange juice, the sweet tang a counterpoint to the lingering exhaustion. "Thanks for the update, Sabine…. So, when do you think the new creative team will actually be able to roll up their sleeves and get to work?"
Sabine's eyes lit up, the earlier tension about the server replaced by professional excitement. "Soon. Very soon... It's incredible, Sael. Unlike the soul-crushing corporate mills they came from, we're not just giving them a job; we're giving them a mission. And when we showed them the IP bibles for the Marvel and DC universes, the Naruto world-building documents... let's just say the NDA signings were the most enthusiastic I've ever seen. They're practically vibrating to start. The compensation and creative freedom you're offering is... unprecedented."
A genuine smile spread across my face. "That's what I wanted to hear. All of my... let's call them 'blueprints'... need to be adapted, and fast. They're the skeleton, but they need the flesh and blood of this world's context." I leaned forward, a slightly mischievous glint in my eye.
"And to be perfectly honest, I'm rather... interested... to see how they're going to adjust the tone and incorporate the more mature, the... adult themes I've outlined…. Adding that layer of sensual tension and raw desire into these classic narratives... it's a fascinating creative challenge."
I paused, taking a sip of coffee. "Oh, and for my own personal amusement, I might have done a little self-inserting across all the universes. You know, a mysterious benefactor here, a shadowy informant there. Just little Easter eggs…. I wonder how that's going to play out."
Before Sabine could reply, my phone, lying on the glass table, lit up. Sunday's calm voice filled the balcony. "Update: Ramona and her team have successfully loaded the asset onto the chartered jet. The aircraft has departed and is en route to Pussyville. All parameters are stable."
"Great…. Hah~ One less thing to worry about," I sighed, leaning back in my chair.
"Additionally," Sunday continued, her tone shifting to one of fiscal announcement, "I have completed a preliminary financial analysis. As of this moment, Meteor Studio has fully recovered all development, infrastructure, and operational expenses incurred to date. Our net profit is now unequivocally positive."
"What?!"
The exclamation came from Kate, who promptly choked on her coffee, sputtering the dark liquid onto her saucer. She stared at my phone as if it had just declared the sky was green. "Say that again, Sunday. Slowly."
"Certainly," Sunday replied, unfazed.
"The 'Meteor Impact'—a term being used by media in the East and West regions—is now in full effect. In the East Region, encompassing New Korea, New China, and New Japan, Silent Hill: First Fear and Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine hold the number one and two spots on all major digital sales platforms. In the West Region—the European bloc—the same titles dominate the top-seller lists. Concurrently, the musical releases under the Sael VT and Millie Kyleish brands are trending globally. Pre-order demand for the announced novels from Meteor Creative has also exceeded initial projections by eight hundred percent."
A low chuckle escaped me. "I'm not surprised. If you think about it, most of my work was always going to resonate harder in the Asian and European markets… Here in the North Region, thanks to the lingering, hollowed-out shell of Old Hollywood, the entertainment scene was at least bearable. But over there? Especially in Europe and parts of Asia? It was a creative barren. A desert. I'm just the first one to show up with a bucket of water."
Kate and Sabine both nodded slowly, the pieces clicking into place.
"It makes a grim kind of sense," Kate admitted, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. "Not to make light of any nation's cultural output, but the data doesn't lie…. The entire supercontinent has been starving for something with... soul."
"Exactly," I said. But then a thought, a nagging inconsistency, wormed its way to the front of my mind. This boom felt too sudden, even for a starving market. "Sunday, this surge from the global market... it feels coordinated. Is there a specific trigger? A reason why it's exploding right now?"
There was a pause, longer than usual for Sunday. The only sound was the distant hum of the city below. "One moment. I am conducting a deeper analysis of regional platform algorithms and media propagation patterns."
We waited in silence for a few minutes, the anticipation building. Finally, Sunday's voice returned, and it carried a new, hard edge.
"Analysis complete. I have identified a consistent pattern of intentional suppression. Our games were being deliberately hidden and made difficult to discover on the Vapor storefronts in the South, East, and West Regions."
My relaxed posture vanished. I sat bolt upright. "Huh? Suppressed? By who?"
"Provide details, Sunday. Now," Kate commanded, her lawyer instincts kicking in.
"In the East Region, the primary actors are Jonami and NetTrouble. They used their considerable influence to have our titles buried deep in the store algorithms and excluded from featured lists," Sunday reported.
"In the West and South Regions, the pressure was applied by a coalition including New Britain's King Games and NBSC Entertainment. Their method was to leverage their market dominance to pressure the regional branches of Vapor into limiting our visibility and promotional opportunities."
A cold anger began to simmer in my gut. They'd tried to box us in. To keep us a regional curiosity. "So how the hell did people find us, then?" I asked, my voice tight.
"The suppression was bypassed through organic, high-impact events," Sunday explained.
"In the West Region, a top-streamer from New Germany, known for his high-stakes horror playthroughs, streamed Silent Hill: First Fear. He subsequently experienced a vasovagal syncope—he fainted live on stream. The clip went viral, creating immense demand. He later promoted the game further by visiting the Meteor Studio VR Mall directly on stream."
I couldn't help it; a sharp, incredulous laugh burst out of me. "He fainted?"
Sunday continued, "In the East Region, the catalyst was Emily's streamer friend in New Korea. Upon Emily's personal recommendation, she played Silent Hill. She also fainted during the final encounter with Lisa. The incident sparked a media firestorm and intense public interest, effectively shattering the artificial visibility barrier Jonami and NetTrouble had erected."
I leaned back, shaking my head in bewildered amusement. "So, two streamers on opposite sides of the world fainting in terror... and that's what it took to break a corporate conspiracy to silence us." I looked at Kate and Sabine, a wide grin spreading across my face.
"You can't make this stuff up."
Kate let out a breath, a slow smile finally gracing her own features. "It seems fate, or at least the human nervous system, is firmly on our side."
"I'll say," I agreed, the cold anger melting away into triumphant satisfaction.
"They tried to bury us…. But they didn't know they were planting the seeds for us…. again, I gained from doing absolutely nothing…." Little that I know, that the global war wasn't just coming; it had already begun, and our enemies' first major offensive had just backfired on themselves, spectacularly.