I HOARDED TRILLIONS BEFORE THE GREAT FREEZE

Chapter 7: Siphoning The Fuel Depots

The heavy, metallic smell of refined petroleum hung thick in the nocturnal air of the North Harbor industrial sector. Towering cylindrical fuel tanks stood like giant silver sentinels against the pitch-black sky, their catwalks and automated monitoring gantries glowing under harsh security lights. In my past life, fuel was the ultimate currency of the apocalypse. When the Great Freeze hit and temperatures plunged past minus fifty degrees, automobiles died, power grids shattered, and survivors burned frozen furniture just to stay warm for an extra hour. Whoever controlled the energy controlled life itself.

I stood silently in the shadow of the primary distribution manifold at Terminal Four, my dark tactical jacket blending seamlessly with the gloom. My logistics tablet displayed the real-time telemetry of the entire regional storage network. Millions of gallons of high-grade diesel, aviation fuel, and heating oil sat ripe for the taking behind automated electronic valves.

With the first phase of food acquisitions secured, energy was the next vital pillar of my empire.

I stepped up to the main steel junction box, ignoring the warning placards and high-voltage notices. I didn't need to hack the control software or hotwire the industrial pumps. My infinite dimensional vault bypassed physical mechanics entirely.

I placed my bare palm flat against the cold, painted surface of the primary steel distribution pipe, closing my eyes to center my focus. Deep within the core of my consciousness, the pitch-black void of the vault hummed, waiting for my command.

I opened the mental floodgates and triggered a massive, localized spatial absorption.

There was no deafening roar of rushing fluid, no violent shudder of metal pipes, and no warning sirens. The laws of physics simply bent to my will. Inside the steel conduits, thousands of gallons of pressurized diesel met the event horizon of my spatial inventory and vanished instantly.

A sharp, stabbing spike of white-hot agony lanced through my temples, making my knees buckle slightly. Pushing the spatial absorption rate to encompass millions of gallons simultaneously strained my neurological limits, sending hot blood streaming from my left nostril down across my lip. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the blinding headache, and poured more mental willpower into the siphon.

The colossal cylindrical tanks towering above me began to settle, their internal liquid levels dropping at a terrifying, unnatural speed. Five hundred thousand gallons. One million gallons. Two million gallons.

The digital gauges on the automated monitoring board inside the central control station flickered wildly as the fuel reserves evaporated into thin air.

Suddenly, the heavy metal door of the control shack banged open.

"What the hell?" a gruff voice shouted into the night air.

Heavy work boots crunched rapidly across the gravel. A night watchman, alerted by the sudden pressure drop alarms flashing across his backup terminal, rushed out onto the concrete apron with a heavy flashlight sweeping back and forth through the dark.

I didn't panic. I kept my hand pressed firmly against the manifold, accelerating the final intake of aviation fuel until the last drop inside the primary pipeline was sucked cleanly into the void.

The watchman swept his flashlight beam across the area, stopping dead as he caught sight of my silhouette standing beside the distribution manifold.

"Hey! Who goes there? What are you doing by the restricted terminal?" the guard barked, unlatching the heavy baton at his belt and lunging forward.

Before the beam of his flashlight could illuminate my face, I dissolved into the deep shadows beside the towering storage tank. My movements were fast, silent, and fluid, honed by three brutal years of surviving the frozen wasteland. I slipped around the curved metal base of the tank like a ghost, leaving the guard standing alone in the cavernous, echoing courtyard.

The watchman cursed under his breath, raising his handheld radio to his mouth while staring up in sheer bewilderment at the towering metal tanks. He jogged hastily toward the central control room to check the master panels, expecting a ruptured valve or a computer glitch.

Instead, as he swung open the control room door, his eyes bulged out of his head.

Every single master dial on the telemetry wall, dials that had indicated full capacity only minutes prior, now rested squarely at absolute zero. Millions of gallons of strategic regional fuel reserves had completely vanished without a trace, leaving behind empty chambers and dead pressure readings.

I stood a hundred yards away in the deeper shadows near the perimeter fence, watching the frantic guard through the glass window. A cold, satisfied smirk curved my lips as I felt the crushing, infinite weight of millions of gallons of pristine fuel safely suspended in absolute time-stasis within my mind-vault. Standard diesel would have gelled and frozen solid into useless sludge once the Great Freeze hit, but inside my vault, it would remain liquid, volatile, and potent forever.

Before I could turn and walk back toward my parked SUV, the watchman's emergency radio clipped to his shoulder cracked to life with a frantic, echoing dispatch from the central harbor authority.

"All terminals report zero pressure! Emergency dispatch! Someone just stole our entire regional oil reserve!"