Inside the wide, white house, the “master” dressed in black, stands upon the platform. “Let’s celebrate the coming of our friends, shall we?” he says to the children before him. He is their father, but not by blood. The children, dressed in white, reply “yes” one by one, with planned perfect meticulous smiles. “Sorry, sir, but what are we celebrating?”, the youngest little “stander,” said. The “master” askance at him with unknown mean.