Wilkes woke early to the sound of a thumping bass line, three hours after he had quit the night shift and retreated to his quarters on the upper levels of Ekpow.

His penthouse-style suite afforded a beautiful view of the valley. At that time of year, when the leaves were turning, it was his habit to take a few minutes - all that he could spare - breathing in the open air with a coffee on the balcony, and perhaps watch the black-clad Compound Guard marching in formation inside and outside of the perimeter fence.

'Keep it in step,' he murmured under his breath to the Commander that could not hear him, only a speck in the distance, 'column formation. Why practice if you're not going to keep them disciplined?'

His mind drifted with his eyes, scanning the horizon like a General surveying a battlefield before an assault. Two trucks, iron-clad and heavy, were winding their way down the newly laid road. They stopped at the Western Gate to show credentials to the keeper, and then rolled on to the loading bay, engines growling with the weight of their cargo. Wilkes could not see them once they passed the blind spot beneath his balcony, but could hear the truck doors sliding open, the orders of one of his Commanders barked to the men now unloading that cargo, and the muffled moans and high-pitched cries of the cargo itself.

Wilkes finished his coffee and got to work.

With success comes cost. Bluenorth had now expanded their five compounds to each combine thirteen colossal wings, and by reducing the cagespace for each woman to six-by-four-by-four, with five floors of cages, this had made it possible to put just over one million women in their rightful place. Without needing to be said, the cost was astronomical.

'We're spending ten million a week on food, thirteen million on repairs, plumbing and maintenance. You've hired yourself an army, and congratulations, but that's costing you twenty million dollars a year!' Wilkes' eagle-eyed and floppy-haired accountant, Deek, flapped his head from side to side, incredulous as he poured over their weekly budget forecast.

'What are our projections?' Wilkes asked, only giving the irritable young man half of his attention as he scanned last night's security tapes from the comfort of his new leather armchair.

'Projects?' Deek squeaked, flabbergasted, 'this place doesn't make any money! My projections are that if you do not shut this Compound down in two years, you will be broke!'

Wilkes nodded slowly, brushing his recently shaven face. He was watching footage of a red-headed, lithe young woman beating her fists against the door of her cage.

'Well then. It looks like we only have one option.'

Deek breathed easy, inclining his head sympathetically.

'I know this was a real pet project of yours, and it has been fun. I'll call the bank and removals guys, I know a few who know what discretion means...'

'We aren't shutting down.' Wilkes said with a note of finality, watching a guard bash his fist against the woman's cage door, and she in turn slink into the darker portion of the cage. Deek creased his brow.

'Well then what-'

'You said it yourself. The problem is simple. This place doesn't make any money.' Wilkes got up out of his seat and made for the door, 'its about time it started to.'