The next morning, the internet and media exploded.
There was only one story in the world.
Floyd had expected the storm, but even he was surprised by the sheer volume of the noise. Every news anchor, every pundit, every scientist, every conspiracy theorist—it seemed like the entire planet was shouting at once.
He sat at his computer, coffee in hand, flicking through the channels. No matter where he turned—CNN, Al Jazeera, NHK, BBC, RT, or a hyperactive teenager on YouTube—the message was the same:
Someone had built an engine that ran on water. And given it away for free.
Newspaper headlines screamed across the globe:
“The End of Oil?”
“A Late April Fool?”
“Fossil Fuels = Dinosaurs”
“The End of Smog”
“Water in Your Tank, Not in Your Eyes”
Environmentalists were ecstatic.
One impassioned spokesperson stood outside a smog-filled city and addressed a mob of cameras:
“Oil has been used for over a century to power our lives—but at what cost? It's one of the biggest contributors to climate change, and for decades, the oil companies knew the risks.
They knew—back in the 1950s—and they buried it. Now someone, somewhere, has handed us a way out.
This isn’t just a technical breakthrough. It’s a moral one. It’s a message to the world:
You can’t poison your home and call it progress.”
When asked why the invention had been released for free, one analyst said:
“Easy. The inventor knew what would happen otherwise. Sell it, and it gets buried by the highest bidder. Probably an oil consortium.
This wasn’t about money—it was about survival.
Whoever did this was smart—and scared. And rightfully so.”
Floyd watched a journalist point at a grey-brown skyline behind her:
“Just look outside. The air is trying to kill us. This engine could change everything.”
Industries React
Within days, major automobile manufacturers announced they were designing larger-scale versions of the water-powered engine.
Emissions targets? Obsolete. Fuel economy? Irrelevant. Entire research divisions pivoted overnight.
The electric vehicle industry reeled. Carmakers that had poured billions into lithium battery tech scrambled to pivot. Executives fumbled their press releases.
Behind the scenes, a shockwave tore through the mining industry.
Demand for lithium, cobalt, nickel, manganese, and graphite—materials vital for EV batteries—plummeted. Mining executives huddled in emergency meetings. Investment banks began issuing panicked warnings.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Environmental watchdogs, on the other hand, rejoiced.
“Open-pit mining has devastated landscapes and poisoned water sources. If this breakthrough holds, we could see a massive reduction in toxic extraction practices.
Fewer scars on the Earth. Fewer poisons in our rivers. This is a turning point.”
Jet engine manufacturers immediately began feasibility studies on water-fueled turbofans. Fire risk could be nearly eliminated. Fuel spills might soon be harmless. Airport fire crews saw their future workloads cut in half.
Marine engine designers turned their eyes to seawater.
Train and bus networks put engineers to work overnight.
Makers of two-stroke engines—long plagued by inefficiency and emissions—explored clean water variants.
In boardrooms around the world, CEOs scrambled for relevance.
One executive at a major fuel station chain addressed his board with grim urgency:
“Alright, we’ve all seen it. This changes everything.
Fuel is going away. Fast. We either adapt, or we vanish.
Start by contacting our pump suppliers. Can our current systems handle water? If not—what’s the cost to replace them?
What’s the going rate for a gallon of tap water? What’s the minimum viable charge? Can we implement a standing fee for pump use?
We need answers yesterday.”
Floyd leaned back, watching the storm from a quiet cabin in the woods.
The world had been tipped off its axis.
And it was only just beginning to spin.
The Recoil
Not everyone welcomed the water engine with open arms.
In the corporate towers of Houston, Riyadh, Moscow, and beyond, the reaction was fury, not awe.
Oil executives stared at crumbling share prices in disbelief. Their gravy train had slammed into a mountainside at full speed.
“If I ever get my hands on the bastard who did this, I’ll break his bloody neck!” snarled one enraged CEO on an unmuted conference call. The footage, of course, was leaked.
In the palaces of oil-rich nations, the mood was darker still.
Their monopoly had vanished overnight. The power they held over the world’s lifeblood—gone in a puff of steam.
In one such palace, General Rashid, who had seized power after a bloody coup, was incandescent.
“Find whoever is responsible,” he barked at his advisors. “Bring me his head!”
His finance minister, foolishly attempting reason, said, “But General, the damage is already—”
The minister disappeared that night.
No body was found. Just a replacement at the next morning's press briefing.
By week's end, Rashid publicly offered a $10 million reward for information leading to the capture or identification of the inventor. The offer spread through the underworld like wildfire.
Hitmen, mercenaries, bounty hunters, and “freelance troubleshooters” began trawling the world, scanning footage frame by frame, hunting for the ghost in the machine.
Markets in Meltdown
The financial markets reeled.
Oil shares plunged off a cliff. Several energy giants froze trading. Speculative futures turned toxic overnight.
Oil tankers—fully loaded and in transit—suddenly carried a cargo that might soon be worthless. One trader was caught on a hot mic whispering, “We're sailing liquid gold into the age of tap water.”
Meanwhile, stocks in mechanical engineering, materials science, and water purification companies soared. Investors panicked—but some saw opportunity.
Governments, too, were caught in a bind.
Their treasury departments ran models, simulations, and prayers.
Fuel taxes—collected for over a century—represented a huge portion of national revenues. But how do you tax water?
One exasperated chancellor muttered, “You can’t tax water any more than you can tax air. It falls out of the bloody sky.”
But others saw hope. No more oil imports. No more dependency. Budgets could shift toward infrastructure, education, or healthcare.
Still, there was worry: Who had done this? And why?
Back at the Cabin
Floyd sat alone, sipping a beer, the fire crackling inside.
He smiled and queued up Bob Dylan.
?? For the times they are a-changin’... ??
Late that afternoon, Oddball pulled up, his face alight with a mix of awe and anxiety.
“Boy oh boy!” he said, stepping onto the veranda. “We kicked a bloody hornet’s nest, didn’t we?”
Floyd nodded. “Now you understand why I insisted on total silence.”
“No argument from me, brother. Lips sealed tighter than a submarine hatch.”
They cracked beers, lit cigars, and sat back to watch the world spin.
After a long pause, Oddball asked, “So why a motorbike engine? Why not a car, or a tractor, or hell, a cruise ship?”
Floyd took a long draw on his cigar.
“There were two reasons,” he said. “First—Southeast Asia. You and I both served there. We know how people live. Most of them get around on little motorbikes. They’re poor, scraping by day to day. If we can cut out fuel costs for them, even just a bit… well, maybe that means a bit more rice on the table. Maybe a sick kid gets medicine.”
Oddball nodded slowly. “You old softie.”
“Second reason?” Floyd continued, “It was the simplest place to start. Light engine. Fewer moving parts. Let the big players do the heavy lifting, adapt it to cars and jets and rocket ships. I just lit the fuse.”
“Well,” Oddball said, raising his bottle, “you lit it alright.”
He took a sip, then fixed Floyd with a look.
“Alright. Now for the big one. You promised you'd tell me. How did you figure it out?”
Floyd hesitated.
Then, quietly: “If I tell you… you swear on your life it goes no further. Not a whisper. Ever.”
Oddball nodded solemnly. “On my honour and my life, brother.”
Floyd leaned back in his chair, exhaled slowly, and began to speak.
