Two professional cleaners are getting ready to clean up a huge stain on the floor. It seems an oppressive routine they’re used to, but little by little some creepy details are unveiled about what is clearly not a job like any other.   

At a certain point one of them begins to complain about their job mentioning how many complications it involves, including a binding confidentiality obligation: they don’t know their names and they can’t, in fact, tell anyone what they do. As a matter of fact, their humble task seems surrounded by a halo of mystery. The other one, who acts as a leader, reminds his colleague that they are privileged, because they receive a good salary working more or less three times a month. The price to pay is apparently paltry: do not ask any questions about what happens in the places they clean. 

While the conversation is getting more and more heated, we finally understand what their job is really about: they remove blood stains from isolated basements that a mysterious organization uses to commit murders. So here we are, caught up in the same scenario of Harold Pinter’s play The Dumb Waiter: a sad room where two professional killers were waiting for an unknown person they were paid to kill. We’re exploring another side of the same criminal set-up, what happens when the killers finish their work leaving the crime scene full of blood.

While we’re getting more details about how they got involved and, then, how they became aware of their job's real nature, the discussion turns into an intense argument, especially when they finally face the only question that really matters: am I responsible of what happens here? Can I just do my part in silence without feeling implicated in a wider and evil system?