The young man weeps as he stands at his window. For months his mind has been dominated by the memory of falling masonry, his ears ringing with the screams of the dying, his nose choked by the stench of decomposing flesh. When he closes his eyes he can see them, the ones he was unable to save. The famous image, a woman with her head thrown back, a man with his arms around her and his head laid on her chest, blood running down his face, both of them encased in dust and crumbled concrete, locked in a final embrace. When he closes his eyes he can hear those he was able to save, their screams and the grinding of the hacksaw blade biting into bone, their limbs smashed beyond repair. There is no help. There is no respite. None then, and none now.

He opens the bottle, pours the liquid over his head. For a moment, the pungent smell of gasoline mercifully covers the stink of rot. It was two weeks of his life, only two weeks of his 27 years, but it has dominated his mind and broken his spirit, and he can take no more.

A few moments later, his neighbours shriek in horror as a flaming body drops from the young man's window. By the time the flames are beaten out, the screams have been silenced. He could take no more. And he is far from the only one.

This is the Rana Plaza garment factory collapse.

Join us for a deep dive into the world's worst non-deliberate structural collapse, and Bangladesh's worst industrial disaster, and the failings that lead to the deaths of over 1100 men, women, and children.