Chapter 7: A Monopoly on Medicine and the Ancient Jade's Pulse

The three cargo hangars at the Delta Logistics Complex were now stripped bare. The dry smell of cement dust and cold air drifted across the swept concrete floors, where not a single grain of rice remained.

Astrid Pierce pulled down the steel roll-up door of the final hangar, secured it with a heavy manual padlock, and walked toward the black SUV her grandfather had left behind. On the dashboard, the digital clock read 11:40 PM.

Astrid started the engine. Hundreds of tons of staple grains and cooking oil were safely tucked away inside her time-frozen pocket dimension. Yet stockpiling carbohydrates alone wouldn't guarantee survival once the world began to rot.

In her past life, the apocalyptic deluge had submerged the city's sanitation grid within days. Murky floodwaters carried rotting animal carcasses, chemical runoff, and trillions of pathogenic bacteria. Most survivors didn't starve to death; they died from minor scrapes and cuts infected by toxic floodwater. Typhoid, dysentery, and pneumonia butchered refugees indiscriminately across overcrowded emergency shelters.

When that time came, a single antibiotic pill would be worth more than a bar of solid gold.

Astrid stepped on the gas, cutting along the outer ring road toward the East Industrial Zone. Her next logistical target: the Central Bio-Medica Pharmaceutical Plant.

The pharmaceutical complex lay quiet beneath the dim hum of mercury-vapor streetlamps. Astrid parked outside the marketing offices. From the passenger seat, she grabbed a thick leather binder containing distribution licenses and corporate credentials belonging to the late Arthur Pierce.

Arthur Pierce hadn't just collected weapons. Decades ago, her grandfather had founded a medical research foundation and secured a tier-one pharmaceutical distribution license. The wholesale permit remained active, granting authority to order prescription drugs and restricted pharmaceuticals directly from manufacturing lines.

The plant's logistics director, a man with thick glasses named Hendra, hurried down the lobby stairs to meet her. He eyed Astrid with a mix of confusion and suspicion.

"Miss Pierce? To what do we owe an urgent visit in person so close to midnight?" Hendra asked, straightening his rumpled work shirt.

Astrid walked into the front office lounge and laid the licensing folder along with a black corporate debit card onto the glass coffee table.

"I need emergency medical reserves for an inland mining project," Astrid said, cutting straight to the point. "A bulk procurement, paid in full tonight."

Hendra frowned and picked up the order sheet Astrid pushed forward. As his eyes scanned the itemized list and quantities, his breath caught in his throat.

The scale was staggering:

Two thousand cartons of broad-spectrum antibiotics: amoxicillin, ciprofloxacin, and injectable ceftriaxone. Three thousand cases of antipyretics, IV paracetamol, and high-dose ibuprofen. Five thousand rolls of waterproof elastic bandages and sterile gauze. Two hundred heavy drums of medical-grade alcohol at seventy and ninety-six percent concentration. Ten thousand IV bags of normal saline and Ringer's lactate. And one thousand vials of local lidocaine anesthesia, complete with disposable syringe kits.

"Miss Astrid, this isn't an everyday order," Hendra swallowed hard, staring at her with wide eyes. "This volume could supply three regional referral hospitals for six full months. Some of these scheduled drugs require tiered board approvals—"

Astrid tapped a finger against the tabletop.

"My grandfather's corporate license carries unmetered emergency distribution rights across the western district," Astrid cut in smoothly. "I'm offering twenty percent above wholesale ceiling price, paid instantly via priority clearing. Your only job is to order the floor crews to move every unit in transit warehouse two to the private loading dock."

Hendra glanced down at his company phone.

A banking ping sounded. Eighteen million dollars had cleared into the plant's escrow account.

The net margin from this single transaction blew past his division's annual sales target. Every trace of procedural hesitation crumbled into dust before the weight of cold, hard cash.

"Everything in transit warehouse two will be staged immediately, Miss Pierce," Hendra promised, already snatching up the intercom receiver to summon every night-shift foreman and forklift crew on duty.

The whir of electric forklifts echoed across Loading Bay Two.

Crews moved pallet after shrink-wrapped pallet of medical cartons. Towering walls of antibiotics, fever reducers, and sterile dressings rose ten feet into the air. In another corner, heavy drums of rubbing alcohol and palletized IV fluids rested securely on reinforced skids.

Astrid stood by the bay doors, monitoring the staging with keen precision. She spot-checked lot numbers and expiration dates at random. Everything was fresh off the line, boasting a shelf life of at least four years under normal conditions—and indefinitely inside her time-stasis void.

By one in the morning, the final pallet was set.

The freight foreman approached Astrid, wiping sweat from his brow. "Twelve thousand cases of pharmaceuticals and sterile fluids staged per the manifest, ma'am. Outer cargo gates are unlocked."

Astrid signed the bill of lading. "Clear the staging area. Lock the outer access and hand over the sliding bay keycard. My transport fleet will load out before dawn."

The foreman nodded in compliance, calling out for his crew to pack up and clear the floor.

Heavy footsteps faded into the distance, followed by the clanking slam of exterior steel doors. The massive cargo staging dock fell into dead silence.

Astrid turned and walked toward the front row of antibiotic pallets.

Slipping off her gloves, she prepared to absorb the mountains of medicine into her pocket dimension.

But the instant her right palm brushed the plastic wrap of an amoxicillin carton, a searing heat flared against the hollow of her throat.

Thump!

The green jade pendant Arthur Pierce had left behind, tucked beneath her tactical shirt, vibrated violently.

The stone, normally ice-cold, pulsed with scorching waves that seeped into her skin. The heat surged along her veins, rushing up the back of her neck before colliding with the core of her consciousness.

It wasn't a paralyzing pain, but a fierce, gravitational pull of pure energy.

Whoosh!

A sharp draft whipped through the bay.

Without requiring individual touch, the towering stacks of medicine, drums of alcohol, and thousands of IV bags vanished in unison. In seconds, the vast concrete floor was emptied clean.

Astrid's awareness plunged into her pocket dimension.

Inside, the dark void underwent a radical shift. Its unseen boundaries stretched outward, expanding its storage capacity exponentially beyond the horizon.

Even more astonishing, the floating items no longer drifted at random.

The hundreds of tons of rice, grain, sugar, and oil drums shifted automatically, settling into organized cargo blocks along the western sector.

The newly absorbed medical supplies sorted themselves instantaneously: antibiotics lined up neatly along stasis shelving to the left, IV bags hung in organized clusters down the center, while surgical gear and anesthetics occupied the foreground. She wouldn't have to waste mental energy manually sorting or retrieving supplies ever again.

A crisp chime rang in her ears.

Luminous blue characters flared across her vision:

[Dimensional Capacity Expanded. New Function: Automated Logistics Sorting Activated!]

Astrid took a slow, deep breath, grazing the jade pendant as its heat subsided.

Her hunch was correct. Her grandfather’s heirloom wasn't just an antique trinket. It was both the catalyst and the core controller of the dimension itself. The more vital supplies it absorbed, the stronger its resonance grew, unlocking the dimension's true potential.

Astrid adjusted her coat, calmly walked out of the loading bay, and locked the exterior gate behind her.

She climbed back into the black SUV, started the engine, and steered toward the plant’s front security gate.

Tires rolled over the slick, wet asphalt. As she cleared the security checkpoint, Astrid’s sharp eyes caught a flicker in her side mirror.

Across the street, shrouded under the heavy shadows of a rain tree, a faded silver sedan was parked in the dark.

Its front window was cracked halfway. Two heavily built men with dark tribal tattoos winding around their necks and forearms sat in the front seats.

One clutched a pocket notebook and pen, jotting down Astrid’s license plate number with a predatory stare. The driver had a phone pressed to his ear, his voice low and urgent:

"Target just left the pharma gate alone... plate number confirmed..."