Decades later, after the Great Pirate Era was finally quelled, historians would conduct their research and reach an uncomfortable conclusion: during that chaotic period, the Marines had effectively operated as the world's largest "labor acquisition force." Pirates, originally viewed as nothing but a scourge upon the seas, had paradoxically become the primary workforce developing humanity's expansion into the Calm Belt.
But that was a judgment for future scholars. In the present, there was only work to be done.
The construction site sprawled across the cleared ground like an open wound in the earth. Hundreds of prisoners from Impel Down labored under the tropical sun, digging foundations under the watchful eyes of Marine supervisors. They wore little more than tattered shorts, their torsos bare and gleaming with sweat.
Finn's directive. Minimal clothing made hiding weapons nearly impossible. Shovels, pickaxes, hoes, all the tools they used daily became harmless when there was nowhere to conceal them. Try hiding a shovel blade when you're wearing nothing but shorts. Can't do it? Then work honestly.
The meal schedule was equally calculated. Two meals daily. Morning rations were generous, all the Sea King meat they could stomach. Protein and calories to fuel a full day's labor. Then they worked until their muscles screamed, contributing every ounce of strength to the excavation.
After dark, a single serving of thin porridge. Barely enough to stave off starvation, certainly not enough to provide energy for nighttime troublemaking.
Not far from the main work site, one hundred severed heads had been mounted on stakes.
Blood had dried black on the wood. Flies buzzed. The expressions frozen on those faces ranged from shock to rage to empty-eyed terror.
The display was deliberately horrific, designed to shock the pirate prisoners into absolute compliance.
It had happened two days ago. Six prisoners, unable to bear the conditions, had attempted escape. They'd planned it quietly, or so they thought.
The Marines' response had been collective punishment.
Since no one in their hundred-man team had reported the plot, all one hundred were executed. Public beheadings, systematic and efficient. The six who'd actually planned the escape hadn't made it fifty meters before being recaptured and killed alongside their teammates.
Finn had divided the two thousand prisoners from Impel Down into twenty teams of one hundred each. The rules were simple and absolute: if anyone in a team planned escape or rebellion and wasn't reported, the entire team would be executed after the incident was discovered. If multiple teams rioted simultaneously, all prisoners brought from Impel Down would die.
With one hundred heads staring at them with empty eyes, the prisoners believed the threat completely.
These self-righteous bastards wearing Marine uniforms were executioners. Pure and simple. The commander of this base, Vice Admiral Rodriguez Finn, was a demon wearing a justice coat.
The deterrent worked. The prisoners followed regulations now, worked their assigned quotas, kept their heads down. A miserable life beat death. Even if conditions were harsh, at least they were breathing. At least their heads weren't mounted on stakes as warnings.
A Marine Captain approached the work site, unrolling a piece of paper. His voice carried across the excavation area, deliberately loud. "Vice Admiral's orders! Groundwork excavation must be completed within three days! Any team failing to meet their assigned quota will be executed!"
He glared at the prisoners, letting the words sink in, then turned sharply and departed.
Several more Marines moved through the work teams after him, shouting encouragement backed by occasional whip cracks, driving the pace faster.
In his office, Finn sipped tea and reviewed paperwork, the afternoon light slanting through the windows. The screams and shouts from the construction site were distant, muffled by walls and distance into background noise.
A knock at the door.
"Come in."
Gion entered, closing the door behind her. She moved with her usual grace despite the heat, though she'd forgone her justice coat in favor of lighter attire.
"How is it?" Finn set down his teacup with a soft clink. "Has the second batch arrived?"
Gion smiled and nodded. "Just docked. Another two thousand prisoners."
"Good. We'll maintain four thousand total for now." Finn leaned back in his chair. "With our current troop strength, suppressing that number is manageable. Go higher and we risk losing control. After I complete the next recruitment cycle, we can expand the labor force accordingly."
Four thousand prisoners would complete the G-7 expansion project within six months, according to his calculations. Efficient timeline, minimal risk.
Gion nodded, then hesitated. "Finn, aren't we being... excessively harsh? When I came through just now, I heard you ordered them to finish the Groundwork excavation in three days. Our original estimate was five days, wasn't it?" She crossed her arms, frowning slightly. "If we push too hard, they might retaliate. I'm concerned about potential riots."
"I'm giving them the opportunity to cause trouble." Finn's tone remained casual, almost cheerful. "You don't think killing one batch is sufficient deterrent? Every time we bring a large shipment of prisoners from Impel Down, we need to establish dominance by executing examples for the newcomers. Demonstrate that we have zero tolerance for disobedience." He set down his pen, meeting her eyes. "We cannot afford sympathy. We must extract maximum value from their labor. We estimate five days? Demand three. Squeeze every drop of strength from them. Exhausted prisoners don't have energy for rebellion."
"You really are a demon," Gion muttered.
But she only muttered, didn't argue. Gion might feel the pirate prisoners were suffering miserably under Finn's methods, but she didn't waste sympathy on them. These weren't innocent civilians. They were captured criminals, murderers and thieves who'd terrorized civilians across the seas.
If we sympathize with evil men, who sympathizes with our colleagues killed in the line of duty? Who mourns the innocent people they victimized?
"Hahaha!" Finn laughed, the sound genuine. "When dealing with our own people, we show them warmth like spring sunshine. When dealing with enemies, we bring winter's bitter cold. That's leadership."
Another knock interrupted their conversation.
"Enter."
Rear Admiral Doberman stepped through the doorway, Justice coat draped over his broad shoulders. He snapped to attention, saluting crisply. "Vice Admiral, you summoned me?"
"Yes, Doberman. And I've told you before, you don't need to be so formal during private meetings. Sit down." Finn gestured to the available chair.
Doberman's rigid posture relaxed slightly. "Yes, Vice Admiral." He nodded respectfully to Gion before taking the offered seat.
"I have an assignment for you," Finn began without preamble. "Gion and I will be departing G-7 in two days for an extended field operation. We'll be gone for some time, possibly a month. Perhaps two or three months depending on conditions. During our absence, I'm placing you in command of all G-7 affairs."
Doberman blinked, clearly surprised. "Lord Finn, what are you and Rear Admiral Gion going to do?"
"Make money." Finn's smile was enigmatic.
The memory was still fresh: back when he'd worked in Marine Headquarters' Intelligence Staff Department, Admiral Sengoku had ordered him to acquire independent funding for a classified organization. Finn had convinced Vice Admiral Garp to accompany him to the Kingdom of Flowers in West Blue, where they'd systematically looted the entire treasure hoard hidden by Don Chinjao's Happo Marine beneath the Jewel Ice Sheet.
Chinjao had apparently wept in rage and despair when he'd discovered the theft. But Finn and Garp had executed the operation so cleanly that Chinjao still had no idea who'd robbed him blind.
Part of that treasure had funded the organization that nominally still existed, though Finn hadn't been involved in its operations for quite some time. He remained one of its listed leaders on paper. The rest had been "appropriated" by Admiral Sengoku to develop Marine capabilities elsewhere.
Fair enough. Finn had no complaints about that allocation.
Now, here at G-7, Finn had manpower in abundance. Impel Down's prisoners provided steady labor, though he'd executed some and Doberman would likely execute more. Still, casualties could be replaced easily enough, maintaining the four-thousand-prisoner workforce.
Labor was covered. What G-7 needed desperately was capital. Recruiting soldiers, paying salaries, purchasing equipment, all of that required funds. And unlike prisoners, you couldn't just requisition Marines from Impel Down.
So Finn planned to take Gion and acquire significant capital. Ideally enough to make G-7 financially independent through strategic investment and development.
His target was nothing less than the Land of Gold near Angel Island on Skypiea: the ancient city of Shandora.
An entire city filled with gold. Worth hundreds of billions of berries at minimum. According to intelligence Finn had reviewed, even two modest bags taken by random pirates in one historical account had sold for two hundred million berries.
Two bags. Two hundred million.
Extrapolating from that ratio, Finn calculated the entire Land of Gold might contain gold reserves worth over one trillion berries.
More than enough for his purposes.
At normal spending rates, that sum could support G-7's current operations for decades. Of course, Finn had no intention of maintaining "normal" spending rates. Aggressive recruitment, Calm Belt development, constructing new cities, building custom warships, transforming G-7 into a fortress-class base, all of it required capital.
But even accounting for ambitious expansion, the Land of Gold should keep G-7 financially solvent for five to ten years minimum.
"Make money?" Doberman processed this, then nodded slowly. "G-7 definitely needs funds. If you believe this operation will be successful, Vice Admiral, then I support it completely."
He didn't ask for details. Doberman had absolute faith in Finn's capabilities. Whatever method the Vice Admiral employed, results would follow. That was simply how Rodriguez Finn operated.
His own duty was clear: maintain G-7's security and continue the construction projects without incident until Finn returned.
"Gion and I will take one thousand troops," Finn continued. "That leaves you with six thousand for garrison duty. Maintain the prisoner population at four thousand total. That ratio gives you overwhelming force advantage if they attempt rebellion. I expect to see significant construction progress when I return."
Doberman straightened in his chair. "You have my word, Vice Admiral. Nothing will go wrong at G-7 during your absence."
"Hahaha, I never doubted it. Do good work, Doberman."
After Doberman departed to resume his duties, Gion remained in the office. She'd migrated to the sofa, tea in hand, clearly planning to slack off for the afternoon.
Finn approved another document, then pulled out blank paper and began writing notes. Planning checklist, essentially.
Going to Skypiea to acquire Shandora's gold posed minimal risk with his current strength and abilities. He could even potentially transport the entire ancient city wholesale if he engineered the operation correctly. The logistics were challenging but manageable.
What occupied his thoughts now was a secondary objective. Could he locate and secure the Rumble-Rumble Fruit during this expedition?
The timeline was close. Enel might already possess it, or it might still be unclaimed somewhere on Birka.
He glanced at Gion, who'd sprawled across the sofa in decidedly unmilitary fashion, and asked casually, "Have you ever considered becoming a Devil Fruit user?"
"Devil Fruit?" Gion sat up slightly, surprised by the question. "I've considered it, sure. But I don't have access to any abilities that suit my combat style. And I'm not interested in mediocre fruits. It would need to be something on par with your Press-Press Fruit, right? Otherwise your strength will just pull further ahead of mine."
"You think Press-Press class fruits are common as cabbages?" Finn snorted. "Try Whitebeard's Tremor-Tremor Fruit or Golden Lion's Float-Float Fruit if you want that tier."
He paused, watching her reaction. "What about a Logia-class fruit? Have you considered those?"
"Of course!" Gion's interest sharpened immediately.
Before Finn could continue, she added, "But Logia fruits are extremely rare and precious. We don't have any available at Marine Headquarters currently."
"What if I could acquire a Logia-type Devil Fruit during this trip?" Finn's smile turned calculating.
Gion's eyes widened. "What type? Do you have intel on one?"
"I'll tell you, but prepare to be shocked." Finn leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment. "The Rumble-Rumble Fruit."
Gion's expression froze.
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