Jack entered the vacant upper floor where the death cult operated. The members were young and evil-looking, and the floor was covered in caked blood. In the corner, a frightened victim had been forced into a crouch, stammering incoherently. One of the cult members raised an axe. Jack covered his eyes but was unable to block out the sickening, gushy thunk of the axe. He ran out of the building with horror.
Out in the alley, Jack wept. He wept about the child in the upper floor, the child in custody of the death cult. His grief and anger were acute. Resolving to take action, he called the police.
"911, what's your emergency?" said the operator.
"Yes, I need the police right away. There is a death cult, they need to be stopped," growled Jack through his tears. The operator was quiet for a moment.
"Sir, we can't just send out a squad car, there's procedures we have to follow..."
"I need the police NOW! They have a child in there!" shouted Jack.
"Ok, sir, we can send out a car soon, but not immdiately..."
Jack hung up angrily. He went back to the upper floor, now abandoned. He frantically searched for the child, and it wasn't long before he found it sleeping in a shoebox. It was extremely tiny, barely three inches tall, but it seemed alright. Jack swept it up and left the evil building, reminiscing about all the times he'd been there without knowing its true purpose.
