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#Cult of the lost When I was abducted at the age of seven, I joined the millions of children across the world who had gone "missing", leaving behind a loving mother and a deadbeat alcoholic father. In the first few months of my induction, I would cry frequently. The other children and I quickly learned such behavior was a good way to be permanently scarred with the whip and work a long day in the sweatshops. On my fifteenth birthday, the cult held a ritual with the other children and we were formally inducted as members. Our first mission would be held the next day, and I stood guard at the doorway of a rural home as members broke into the windows and abducted a six-year-old girl in the dead of night. When I saw them choking her to prevent any screaming, I wanted to attack those men and free that poor child from what I had endured eight years prior. Of course, I didn't, because anyone who dared to act against the cult would find themselves at the bottom of a lake with cement blocks tied to their ankles. For the next decade, I played along with the act as hundreds of children were stolen from their home. On a few occasions, the parents would be alerted to our presence, and we had no choice but to spark a tragic homicide case for the small town we were in. My 30th birthday is in a few days, and tonight I have been invited to Featherfalls basketball court to be commemorated as an elite member of the cult. The cult leader stands before me now, unaware of the submachine gun pistol I have snuck with me into my robe. Tonight my life might end, but not before I take out as many of these sick bastards as I can. My name is Timothy Ryan, and I am a lost child.