Along the wall are old boudoir photos of naked women smiling.
I get to the end of the hall and see stairs leading down.
I glance behind me, making sure no one followed, then descend the stairs.
It feels cooler the further down I go, and when I get to the bottom, automatic lights flicker on, and the surprise makes me grip my gun tighter.
Looking around, I find a set of double doors. I push the door open slightly with the barrel of my gun and peek in. It's dark and I can't see much. I pause and look over my shoulder and then push the door open and step inside.
More automatic lights come on, these ones brighter, the artificial daylight kind, and the room comes into perfect view.
I look around and stop.
A raised platform sits at the front of the room, flanked by heavy curtains. Rows of empty booths stretch out in front of it, like a theater designed for the world's worst kind of performance.
This is where they do it, isn't it? Where they sell them.
Shit, it has to be.
My stomach churns at the thought of it.
I take another step forward and see behind the stage is another door.
I move toward it, my gun raised, every muscle in my body coiled and ready.
When I get close, I stop. I hear noises coming from the other side. Some mumbling and banging of some kind.
I open the door with my left hand just slightly so it pops open and then grip my gun with both hands and kick the door open.
I see movement and rush in ready to fire, and I stop dead in my tracks.
There's holding cells. Dozens of them lining the walls.
"What the fuck," I say under my breath.
A woman in one of them sees me and starts banging on the glass. Others join in and start screaming. Their eyes are glazed over and unfocused.
I look around and see more women. Some are cowering in the corner, trembling, and others stare blankly at the walls, as if they've already given up.
The ones that are talking are speaking in foreign languages I don't understand. Russian. Chinese. Arabic. Spanish.
I can tell they are scared and probably begging me for something. I walk up to the closest woman speaking and hold up my hand.
"English. English."
She just keeps speaking, tears running down her face.
"Help us!" another woman yells, and I turn to her.
"You speak English?" I ask.
"Yes. Little. Please help us. They took us. Please."
I holster my gun and look around for something to smash the locks. There's nothing.
I run back out into the main area, and there, on the wall, I see a fire axe. I run over to it and grab it and run back into the room.
"Step back," I say, motioning with my hands.