In a suburb in New York, the residential street is empty, quiet of the noises people make. Houses stand dark and silent on either side of the road, all washed in the eerie, yellow glow of the street lights.
In one of the houses on this affluent street, there are five doors leading to five separate rooms. The entrance hall to the house is large and bare of any furniture except for a small desk pushed against the far wall on which photographs and candles are laid out.
It looks like a shrine.
The young people who appear in the photographs smile happily. They all have an expression of optimism.
There are still traces of the holes in the corners of the photographs where they were stapled to individual job applications.
Five young people.
One in each of the rooms of this dark, chilling house. Lured here with promises of lucrative jobs, they now lay shackled to a metal bed, and when they die of starvation or worse, there are always another to take their place.
Once they die, they are moved to another room.
A room below this room.
A room filled with bones.