Miles crouched alone in the supermarket's corner, his gaze sweeping to a package of cookies on the shelf. He mentally whispered, "Store."
Nothing happened. The cookies remained where they were.
Was it an illusion?
Confused, Miles concentrated and saw the package of wipes in his mind again. He focused and repeated, "Store!"
In an instant, the cookies vanished from the shelf, reappearing in his mind.
It works!
Suppressing his excitement, he continued testing.
After half an hour, he understood the space's function: concentrate on an object and command it into storage.
Then he dared to whisper, "Extract!"
A flash of light, and the cookies materialized, dropping to the ground. With growing awe, Miles pondered this phenomenon's origins. Perhaps radiation from the frozen age caused his mutation?
It must be.
Back then, radiation had led many to mutations, often stripping them of reason, turning them into lifeless shells. Yet, his was different.
But none of that mattered now—his fortunes had changed. With the ability to store supplies, he could survive any disaster, even an apocalypse.
Picking up the wipes, Miles envisioned a new plan.
Chicago.
In the southern district, Back Bay Area.
Miles drove to a vast logistics park—the largest storage hub in Chicago, holding 80% of the region's imports and exports: electronics, machinery, vehicles, energy, fresh produce, cold-chain goods, even military supplies.
"Miles, sir, you're here."
At the gate, security chief Ryan awaited him.
"Ryan, has Ms. Mary arrived?"
They were old friends. Ryan had once been a guard in Miles's affluent neighborhood but had been dismissed after confronting the privileged son of the local police chief, Oliver, who had brought a distressed girl into the compound. Ryan couldn't bear her cries and reported the incident, only to be fired after the girl denied his claims, accusing him instead.
Having a compassionate heart, Miles had helped him find new work here.
Ryan, a burly ex-soldier, led Miles to the office. There, he saw a stunning woman.
Mary—the logistics company's general manager and Wal-Mart's U.S. regional director. At only twenty-five, her beauty and family influence made her a force among the elite.
"Ms. Mary, Miles is here," Ryan announced before leaving.
Miles smiled. "Ms. Mary, a pleasure to meet you."
She glanced up from her files, her face serene. "I understand you want to lease Warehouse 12 in Zone A?"
"Yes."
"Why?" she inquired. "You're a software entrepreneur. Why rent a warehouse?"
Clearly, she'd done her research.
The Mary family's influence was vast, reaching across the nation. Investigating a small business like his was child's play.
But soon, the world would change. Family names and legacies would mean nothing.
Miles smiled. "Though my background is in software, with Europe's soybean surplus and America's poor harvest, well… you understand."
Futures trading.
Mary nodded, noting the risks of his investment. But they quickly finalized the contract.
After Miles left, she sighed, amused. "Greedy men, risking everything for a warehouse of soybeans, unaware that a simple leverage shift could ruin them."
Unconcerned, Miles had no interest in the warehouse itself but in the treasures it contained—goods worth billions. If he could store them all, he'd be set for centuries.
However, to empty the park undetected, he'd need a meticulous plan.