Call my Ishmael. It isn't my name, but the change will do me good.
The whale took Max some days ago. As is always the case, it lured him into a van with the promise of sweets. I followed the trail for days, losing the hump-backed kidnapper when he entered the ocean. Overhearing the gossip of fishermen in a seaside tavern, I picked up the beast's scent again yesterday and headed into the tempest brewing off-shore.