Give up your children

We were opting to give up our children to that secret agency, they who would take them and put them to work. We had been meeting with them--around a long rectangular conference table, in a nondescript building--for some time now, and were just starting to finalize details when I asked them what kind of work our children would be able to do at such a young age.

"Well, how old are they?"

"3, and 1 1/2."

"What?!" They were not pleased.

We continued talking. I suddenly felt that this company was so wrong in what they were doing, in how they mostly dealt with foreign immigrant families to help them pay their bills, that I wished them to be caught in the very act of negotiating for these children. I excused myself temporarily and walked outside. My sister was there, pacing, worried. I rushed to her, whispered a few details in her ear, then ran back inside. Had they seen me?

Within moments police cars rushed the building. Such a funny thing, nearly all of the company executives escaped. The once-full parking row out front became virtually empty literally as soon as the cops showed up, there were maybe two cars left. And now I was a wanted man. They were much more clever than I had thought.

We had to run, to go on foot to try and escape them. But they were everywhere. The huge double warehouse, they tracked us there. Our sole remaining contact with the company--Jeremy--was questionable at best, but seemed loyal to at least helping us find a solution that worked best for all. That is, until he caught us talking in the abandoned bathroom/laundry room, you know, the one with all the black toilet seats, torn from their bolts and rusty and creaky. The one with the orange walls and bad lighting, on the far end of the left side of the warehouse? (He was still using it for his laundry, for heaven's sake.)

And then he thought we were conspiring. We did our best to convince him otherwise, even when I furtively made my way into the exclusive meeting in the right half of the warehouse. But I was easily discovered, and less easily able to explain my circumstances. This was truly becoming a devastating mess. What was there to do now?