Leon had two versions of the software ready within a week.
The basic version hit 80% accuracy—double the industry standard but deliberately crippled. Enough to prove the concept worked. The advanced version, written entirely in Nexus with proprietary algorithms he'd spent three days optimizing, topped out at 97.2% accuracy.
"Patent applications are filed," Maya said, looking up from her laptop. She'd been handling the paperwork, navigating the legal maze of intellectual property. "Provisional patents for the software architecture, the Nexus language, and the signal processing algorithms. We're protected for twelve months while the full applications process."
[AN: I am not sure if this is how patent works, but for the benefit of the story, lets go with this.]
"Good." Leon was drafting emails. He'd pulled the names of lead researchers from LinkedIn profiles—people heading BCI projects at major companies. Dr. Kara Fox at Neuralink. Dr. James Rodriguez at Synchron. Dr. Amy Foster at Paradromics. A dozen others at smaller firms.
The email was short. Professional. Direct.
Subject: BCI Interpretation Software - 85% Accuracy Demo
Dr. Fox,
My team and I have developed a brain-computer interface interpretation system that achieves 85% accuracy in controlled testing. This represents a significant improvement over current industry standards. Attached is a functional demo version for your evaluation.
I'm a CS student who's been working on this problem from a multi-disciplinary approach. The demo is yours to test freely. If your team finds it promising, I have an advanced version available for licensing negotiations. Due to personal circumstances, I'm only available for remote communication—no physical meetings.
Best regards,Leon Cole
He attached the basic version and hit send. Then sent the same email to eleven other researchers.
Maya watched over his shoulder. "No physical meetings? They're going to think that's weird."
"Let them think what they want. I'm not walking into a corporate office where they can pressure me, record me, or try to figure out what I am."
"Fair point."
Leon's phone buzzed six hours later.
Dr. Fox (Neuralink): Mr. Cole, our team is testing your demo. Initial results are extraordinary. Can we schedule a call?
Then another message.
Dr. Rodriguez (Synchron): This is legitimate. Where did you develop this? We need to talk ASAP.
By evening, all twelve researchers had responded. Skepticism had turned to urgency. They wanted calls. Video meetings. Explanations.
Dr. Kara Fox stared at her screen.
The demo software had been running for six hours. Her team had tested it against their entire database of neural recordings—hundreds of hours of brain activity from tens of subjects. The accuracy was consistent. 85%. Sometimes higher.
"How is this possible?" her lead engineer asked. "We've thrown millions at this problem. Years of research. And some CS student and his team just... solves it?"
Kara didn't answer. She was reading the email again. Multi-disciplinary approach. That phrase stuck out. BCI wasn't just computer science—it was neuroscience, signal processing, statistics, machine learning, hardware engineering. You needed expertise across multiple fields.
"Get him on a call," she said. "I need to know who this person is."
Dr. James Rodriguez at Synchron had the same reaction.
"This changes everything," he told his team. "If this scales to real-world usage—gaming, medical devices, prosthetics, military applications—we're talking about a complete paradigm shift in human-computer interaction. Faster efficiency in work place"
His assistant pulled up Leon Cole's profile. "CS student. Senior year. No published papers. No prior work history in BCI. He came out of nowhere."
"Doesn't matter where he came from. What matters is what he built." James started drafting a response. "Set up a meeting. Whatever he wants for licensing, we pay it."
The first video call was with Neuralink.
Leon kept his camera off. Audio only. Maya sat beside him, listening but not speaking.
Dr. Fox's voice came through the laptop speakers. "Mr. Cole. Your demo software is remarkable. My team can't figure out how you achieved this level of accuracy with such a lightweight implementation."
"Optimized algorithms and better signal processing," Leon said. "We approached the problem from first principles instead of iterating on existing methods."
"First principles. Right." A pause. "We'd like to see the advanced version. And discuss licensing terms."
"The advanced version achieves 97% accuracy in my testing. I'm willing to demonstrate it over video, but I won't be sharing the source code until contracts are signed."
"97%?" Another voice joined the call—male, older. "That's impossible. No system can hit 97% with current hardware limitations."
"Then watch." Leon pulled up the advanced software. His EEG cap was already on. "I'm going to think a sentence. Your team can verify the output in real-time. What do you want me to think about. "
"Obviously the brain."
"Okay."
He thought:
The human brain contains about 86 billion neurons, making it one of the most complex structures known. Each neuron is a living signal unit, capable of receiving information, processing it, and passing it on to others. What makes the brain extraordinary isn't just the number of neurons, but how densely and efficiently they are connected.
Each neuron forms thousands of connections with other neurons. These connections create vast networks that allow the brain to think, learn, remember, and react. In total, the brain holds hundreds of trillions of connections, all working together in real time.
Despite this complexity, the brain runs on very little power—roughly the same as a dim light bulb. It constantly balances speed, accuracy, and energy use. To prevent overload or damage, the brain limits how many neurons can fire at once and how strongly they do so. These limits protect the system but also cap performance.
Most of the brain's potential is not unused, but carefully restricted. Pushing neurons too hard or too often leads to fatigue, confusion, or injury. That's why extreme stress, lack of oxygen, or trauma can cause failure instead of improvement.
In your world, this is where gene locks come in. They exist to protect the brain from pushing past safe limits. When those limits are removed—only under very specific conditions—the brain can process faster, coordinate the body better, and handle far greater stress without collapsing.
That makes the brain not a static organ, but a controlled system, capable of far more than it normally allows—if it can survive the cost.
The paragraphs appeared on screen letter by letter, sentence by sentence as he thought it. Zero errors. Instant response time.
Silence on the other end.
"That's... I don't even..." The older voice trailed off.
Dr. Fox spoke carefully. "Mr. Cole, we need to discuss terms. Can we set up a meeting with our legal team?"
"Remote only. Video calls, emails, secure document sharing. I'm not available for in-person meetings."
"Why not?"
"Personal reasons that aren't up for discussion. You want the technology, we do this remotely. Non-negotiable."
A long pause. "Understood. We'll have our lawyers draft preliminary terms. What's your asking price?"
"$500 million for exclusive licensing. $200 million for non-exclusive with usage caps."
Dead silence.
Then: "We'll get back to you."
Synchron's call went similarly.
Leon demonstrated the 97% accuracy. They saw it work. The executives on the call—there were five of them—immediately started talking numbers.
"This isn't just BCI," one of them said. "This is military applications. Gaming. Medical devices for paralyzed patients. Prosthetic limb control. The market is enormous."
"I'm aware," Leon said. His camera was still off, but he'd blurred his video feed anyway as a precaution. "That's reflected in the licensing cost."
"$500 million is steep."
"$500 million is a bargain. Your competitors are going to be calling me with similar offers. First come, first served."
That got them moving. "We'll have a term sheet ready by tomorrow."
Paradromics tried to negotiate him down.
"You're a student," Dr. Foster said. "No offense, but $500 million for unproven technology is—"
"I've proven it. You just watched me prove it." Leon's tone was flat. "If you're not interested, I have eleven other companies who are. Thank you for your time."
"Wait. Wait. Let me talk to our board."
They called back six hours later with a counter-offer. $450 million. Leon accepted.
By the end of the week, four companies had signed contracts.
Neuralink: $650 million for exclusive rights in the medical device sector.
Synchron: $600 million for non-exclusive licensing with priority development rights.
Paradromics: $450 million for non-exclusive licensing.
A gaming company called NeuroPlay: $600 million for exclusive rights in entertainment applications.
Total: $2.3 billion.
The contracts were signed digitally. Money would transfer in stages over sixty days as the companies verified the technology and integrated it into their systems.
Leon closed his laptop and looked at Maya.
She was staring at him. "Did that just happen?"
"It happened."
"Two point three billion dollars."
"Two point three billion dollars."
Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed sideways on the couch.
Leon caught her before she hit the floor. "Maya? You okay?"
She blinked up at him. "I fainted. I just fainted. That's never happened before."
"Deep breaths. You're fine."
"We have two billion dollars."
"We will have two billion dollars. After the transfers clear."
She sat up slowly, still looking dazed. "That's insane money. That's change-the-world money."
"That's research funding." Leon helped her steady herself. "Equipment. Lab space. Materials. Everything we need to figure out what I've become and what the gene locks are."
Maya laughed, but it sounded shaky. "I was worried about paying rent next month. Now we're billionaires."
"We're not spending it on yachts and mansions. This is for the work."
"I know, I know." She took a deep breath. "Okay. I'm okay now. What's next?"
Leon pulled up a document he'd been working on. A list. Numbered items. Organized by priority.
"Next we build the infrastructure. Register a company. Buy a building for research. Acquire equipment. Set up a data center. Then we get serious about understanding Evolyx and the gene lock system."
Maya read the list. Her scientific mind kicked in, pushing past the shock of the money. "This is going to take time. Months, probably."
"I know. But we have the funding now. We can do it right."
She leaned against him. "Two weeks ago you were a CS student worried about graduation. Now you're licensing technology to billion-dollar companies and planning your own research facility."
"Things change fast."
"That's the understatement of the century." She looked up at him. "Are you scared? Even a little?"
Leon thought about it. The gene locks. The Evolyx flowing through him. The knowledge that he'd fundamentally changed on a genetic level and had no idea how far those changes would go.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I'm scared. But I'm also curious. And I'd rather understand what's happening than hide from it."
"Then we figure it out together."
"Together."
Maya's laptop chimed. An email notification. She opened it and started reading. "The provisional patents are officially filed. We're protected."
"Good. That keeps anyone from stealing the work."
"Though I doubt anyone could reverse-engineer what you built. The Nexus language alone would take them months to crack."
Leon smiled slightly. "That was the point."
Outside their apartment, the city continued its evening routine. Traffic hummed. People walked home from work. The world kept turning, unaware that two people in a modest one-bedroom apartment had just secured enough money to change everything.
Maya closed her laptop. "I need food. And maybe a drink. Possibly several drinks."
"I'll order dinner. What do you want?"
"Everything. Like, literally everything on the menu."
Leon laughed and pulled out his phone. "You're starting to eat like me."
"No, I'm starting to celebrate like a person who just helped negotiate two billion dollars in licensing deals." She grinned. "There's a difference."
He ordered dinner—enough food for a small party—and they spent the evening planning. Companies to register. Buildings to tour. Equipment to acquire. People to hire. The infrastructure they'd need to build a proper research operation.
The money would start arriving soon. And when it did, everything would change.