The eighth floor of the apartment building, unlike the seven floors below, didn't have separated rooms. The entire eighth floor was a factory exclusively owned by Tama Riyadi.
Inside the spacious area, the cement walls were mottled with age. All windows were tightly closed; instead of curtains, brown plastic sheets were stuck to them. Long fluorescent tubes dangled from the ceiling, and beneath these tubes were rows of workbenches. The building's power supply had been cut off. Consequently, women, adolescents, and children, wearing very old full-coverage respirators, had no choice but to work diligently at the workbenches, aided only by the scant light filtering through the brown sheets. Around the work area, gang members armed with machetes patrolled. Along the walls stood various large plastic drums. On the shelves at the back of the room, numerous white square plastic containers marked with a black skull and crossbones were stacked.
"Faster! Everyone, faster!"
