"Not bad… that Cautus fellow hasn't disappointed me," Cape murmured, tapping a pen against his desk.
"Still lacking in some areas, but at least there's progress."
He leaned back, glancing toward the panoramic window of his office. "The Siesta Music Festival is drawing near," he said softly, eyes narrowing.
"According to my intelligence, both Reunion and Rhodes Island will be there as well."
He paused, lips curling in faint amusement.
"Hmm… looks like Herman's plan might run into some trouble."
Then he shrugged. "No matter. Whether Siesta survives or burns makes little difference to me."
"If it's destroyed, the tourism sector I invested in will take a hit, true… but the demand for obsidian will skyrocket. The profit will more than make up for it."
"If it survives, the tourism boom continues — and my income with it."
Cape chuckled quietly. "I wonder if those four music-obsessed Feranmuts will appear at the festival too…"
"Should I… pay them a visit?"
He closed his eyes for a moment, thoughtful.
"…After I finish inspecting Secretary Cautus's progress, I'll stop by Siesta myself."
---
In a secret factory deep within Rim Billiton, a large group of people — wrapped in coarse, full-body garments — stared up at the enormous screen hanging from the ceiling.
Few among them were whole. Many had missing limbs or mutilated faces. Infection scars marked some of them — and those infected were kept in a separate, clearly isolated section.
They were "Production Materials" of the Cape Group — assets with price tags attached.
Some were "collected" by debt collectors. Others had "volunteered"… though that word meant little when one's only other option was starvation.
When the Group's recruiters came into the slums with their contracts, many rushed to sign.
When survival itself is uncertain, any choice becomes reasonable.
---
"I'm very pleased," Cape's smooth voice filled the hall from the screen. His expression was gentle, his tone almost fatherly.
"This facility has finally begun to turn a profit."
"Though the deficit from previous years remains… this proves that you still hold some value as assets."
The screen flickered, switching to a massive list of names.
Each name was followed by a number — most in red and negative. Only a few at the top showed zeros… and one or two even had positive numbers in the tens.
The people below stared at the screen, trembling with excitement.
"Your efforts have not gone unnoticed," Cape continued. "The Cape Group — and I, Cape Reiss — see everything you've done."
The image changed again. The violet-haired Feline man reappeared, now holding a cheap fireworks tube — the price tag still dangling from it.
Bang!
A burst of color filled the frame as Cape playfully launched the firework.
"Congratulations! You've paid off your meal expenses, lodging, labor costs, clothing fees…" He smiled brightly. "…and most importantly, you've redeemed yourselves."
His amber eyes glinted behind the screen, studying the workers below as one might inspect livestock.
"Rejoice. You are no longer Production Materials. You can now become true members of the Cape Group… or, if you prefer, embrace your so-called freedom."
He lifted the contracts — the indenture agreements they had signed upon entering — ready to theatrically tear them apart, to inspire the rest to work harder.
But before he could, a shout broke the silence.
"There's fraud! This is rigged!"
A massive Perro man roared from the crowd, his voice full of rage.
He was a wanted criminal — once a burglar who, when caught mid-theft, panicked and slaughtered an entire family. He had fled, taking a false name, and signed a Cape Group contract to escape pursuit.
The slums didn't ask questions about names or backgrounds. He thought he could bide his time, work for a while, and soon buy his freedom.
But to his horror, the number next to his name only grew larger.
It was his self-redemption fee.
And as soon as the words left his mouth, he knew — he had made a terrible mistake.
Sensing the people around him hurriedly stepping away, and seeing two fully armed security officers striding straight toward him, the Perro man tried to calm himself.
"It's fine… the Cape Group is reasonable…"
At least, that was what he thought—naively—after spending only a short time here.
Cape's face appeared once more on the massive screen, wearing that same courteous smile.
"Although I have no obligation to care about your opinions," he said smoothly, "the Cape Group's commercial integrity is beyond question."
He pulled out a list with a practiced motion. He had long since foreseen this situation—and prepared for it in advance. After all, one must never dampen the enthusiasm of one's "production materials."
"Let's see," Cape continued, reading the data as if reciting a financial report.
"Profit generated: +75,430. Deduct lodging and meals: -2,950. Self-redemption fee: -50,000… By all accounts, you should indeed be free."
He paused deliberately, letting the silence hang heavy.
"…Unfortunately, what you owe the Group goes far beyond that."
He smiled faintly. "Penalty for moral misconduct: -10,000,000. Deceiving the Group: -100,000,000… Oh, and one more thing."
Cape's smile vanished. His tone turned cold.
"You also owe the chairman of the Cape Group compensation for ruining several minutes of his good mood. The price isn't worth mentioning—since you could never afford it."
The screen flickered—then changed. A wanted notice filled the display, the fugitive's face staring back at him.
"You…"
Before the Perro man could utter another word, the two security officers lunged, slamming him to the ground with brutal force.
"Keep it quiet," Cape's lazy voice drawled from the factory's speakers. "And make it useful one last time. It won't make up for the losses it caused, but something is better than nothing."
The guards obeyed immediately. One struck the man unconscious, while the other retrieved a Cape Group–issued portable restraint suit—a specialized device for containing "assets." They wrapped him up carefully, as though handling a fragile piece of cargo.
The rest of the workers stood frozen, not daring to breathe too loudly.
Those who had been harboring any rebellious thoughts quietly extinguished them. They all understood what awaited the Perro man.
The Cape Group valued timely loss control.
And a person's worth could still be extracted—efficiently, profitably—even at the end.
The Cape Group was never a charity.
Wealth—that was what Cape pursued.
Of course, in Cape's eyes—no, in Black Snake's eyes—wealth was not limited to money alone.
Material wealth was his.
Spiritual wealth… was his, too.