What you're about to hear is based on actual events.

Listener discretion is advised.

The sky crackles with electricity as the rain begins to wash the filthy streets of downtown

Hong Kong.

Sam Corwin, like a phantom, maneuvers his taxi through the city.

He passes the waving hands of potential passengers, hands that float disembodied from their hosts,

making the demure cabbie stiffen a little and fear, then an ecstasy.

He finally spots what he's searching for, a young woman desperate for his attention

on a puddle-moded corner.

He pulls over slowly and reaches to pop the passenger door open, ensuring close quarters

with his new subject.

She enters and mutters of thank you.

Lam Corwin doesn't bother to ask where she's headed.

He's already decided that she's destined to be sealed in his jars.

It's around 4pm on a Saturday.

The photo max office is set into a grid of similar boxy rectangular storefronts along

a nondescript avenue in Hong Kong smashed beneath the press of tenement blocks.

The doors are open despite the light spring rain, letting cool air swirl through stacks

upon stacks of boxes and the chugging development and printing machines behind the counter.

Park Hussan is quietly going over a product pamphlet with an elderly customer when a

screen erupts from the back of the store.

His temporary assistant, Chen Gloria, is standing with her hands over her mouth and her eyes shut

...