They knew it was coming.

The Sun rises no more slowly than before, and shines no less brightly. Something is different. The pumpjacks might bow, but their greedy mouths lap at empty veins.

If they look closely enough, those kidnappers that had so long forsaken all that was predicted, merely to gorge themselves for the satisfaction of the masses, could see small pools of that which they so desired – slowly congealing in the baking heat.

Too little, too late.

Back where it all started, in some nameless Texan bar, the big-business vampires raise a solemn glass to finally draining the Earth dry.