Kale stepped into his sweatshop with his trademark smirk on his face and a lit cigar dangling from his mouth. He was here to examine the latest merchandise, as this particular sweatshop hadn't been up to standard lately.
He sauntered towards a quivering male who wore the badge of overseer and growled, threateningly. The poor male looked like he hadn't eaten in a week, and Kale's smirk grew wider as he noticed how the male trembled at his growl. "Tell me, peon, why haven't the dregs in this workshop been working properly?" he asked; though he was already disregarding the answer, he enjoyed the terror he caused in his slaves.
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