I continue talking to Mary for a while. She's actually really smart, talking about things like the environment and global warming with an astonishing understanding.

"You really like nature huh?" I ask.

"I love nature!" Mary exclaims, "that's why I hate what the fat bad rich guys are doing."

I chuckle, she's not inoccent as I initially thought, but there is a certain childish charm to her. She's a good kid, and she'll grow up to do great things I can tell.

"You got a bright future kid," I smile, "don't throw it away."

"I won't Marty," Mary smiles.

Well I guess she calls me Marty now. OK. Sure.

The waitress arrives with a tall cup of black coffee, which I sip as she turns to Mary. "Mary what did I tell you about talking to strangers?"

"But he's good!" Mary explains, "he's a purifier!"

The waitress glares at me, and then sternly tells Mary, "go to the kitchen."

Mary does not protest, and listens, hugging the waitress who smiles and hugs her back.

The second she's out of sight the waitress turns to me and asks, "why?"

"Well I-" I stutter, nervous, she could turn me in right now.

"You lose someone?" The waitress proceeds, "forced to drink? Beaten to death? Commited suicide?"

"More or less the first thing," I sigh.

"Listen to me," the waitress pleads, sternly and with a cold expression hiding a concern in her voice  "if you have any other option, anything at all, do that. You don't want this. Trust me."

She sets a mask on the table, "I know."

"You know I don't want to," I sigh, "but someone died madam, someone died. She's dead because I didn't act. I don't get a choice."

The waitress sighs, putting away her mask, "so what kinds parents you targeting? How did he recruit you?"

"He didn't," I explain, "I just decided I had to act just like him."

"You've never met Purity?" The waitress asks.

I shake my head.

"Damn," she looks more worried now, "what happened kid?"

"I'm sixteen I'm no kid," I retort, "and... I was dating a girl, she went to a party, never drank before, and... she died of alcohol poisoning."

"You can just fill out a request and I'll make sure Purity-" the waitress pleads, her eyes show a desperate plea, to stop. To not walk this road.

"Purity doesn't have the guts," I reply, "I'm not targeting parents. I'm targeting the teens who hosted that fucking party."

"Oh," the waitress sighs, "I'm... I'm so sorry kid. I'm trying to become a therapist. Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," I sigh, "she's in Heaven that's enough for me."

"OK," the waitress sighs, "well I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Bertha."

"I'm Martin," I smile, shaking her hand, sipping my nice hot cup of joe, "pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's all mine," Bertha sits in front of me, "you really gonna do this and I can't stop you?"

I nod.

"OK," she sighs, "you need three things. One, a mask. You need to hide your face. Two, flash drives, record it so others learn. Three, voice modifier. Get those things and it's... possible. I guess. Worked for Purity."

"Why does Purity do this?" I inquire, "dude's a hero, more or less, but what's his motive?"

"I dunno," Bertha shrugs, "he lost people. He just... snapped."

"The winery," it clicks, "one of the teens?"

Bertha nods.

"He has my sympathy," I sigh.

"Coffee's on the house," Bertha smiles, "and if you ever need to talk..."

Bertha writes a number on a napkin, and slides it to me. There's two actually.

One is labeled for "physical injury."

The other is labeled, "mental injury."

"I'd rather be here to help."

"Who's the physical injury number for?" I inquire.

"A doctor Purity knows," Bertha explains, "I just want you to know, you're not alone, and if you ever need, friends, or, family even, you can always work with us. You seem like a good person."

"I wouldn't mind some new friends," I smile, "I'll definitely consider, but I gotta go."

I open the door, "I have a mask to make."

I wave goodbye to (I guess) my new friend. I mean, rolling with a new crew...

Don't get me wrong. I fucking despise everyone from my old crew, but they know where the parties are. They're assets so I need them to think I like them, but...

I need to do this alone. I don't deserve friends, a family as it were, so I get in my car, the air ice cold now as I turn on the heat, and proceed to drive, knowing just where to go...

I arrive at the junkyard, a dog howling in the distance as I approach the metal, chain link fence, the air...

The nauseating smell burns my nostrils as I climb the fence, walking across the dusty path between piles of rotting food and trash, approaching a massive black building where the trash is all burned. The structure is inactive, meaning no one is here.

I climb a massive pile, avoiding discarded glass and trying to keep my coffee down as I grab scraps of metal, luckily finding an old broken voice modifier toy, which sounds staticy and menacing, removing the voice box and finding a discarded bit of electrical tape, I quickly rush down to the main path, puking.

Shit.

I enter the main structure, an abandoned building full of machinery I don't recognize. I a start button and what appears to be a fire pit, so, finding a pair of metal clamps, I activate the flames, burning, searing heat, just how I like it, and thrust the metal shards into it, carefully melting it together, the hot, orange metal, into the shape...

Of a snowflake.

I spot a barrel of water and dip it in, releasing burning steam that sears my hand, causing me to pull back, admiring the metallic mask, as I tap it to make sure it's cool, and upon knowing it's safe, I pick it up and put in the voice modifier. I try it on, but realize there's no strap, thankfully, I find a bit of leather after wandering the yard a bit, in addition to a half full can of white spray paint.

I paint the mask, put on the strap, and smile.

"Perfect," I smile.

Then my phone rings.

Shit. It's the boss. I don't wanna deal with work right now, but...

I sigh and answer, "yes?"

"The chickens ain't laying," the voice on the other end, deep and powerful speaks coldly, "if you catch my drift."

"Yeah yeah," I sigh, "don't sugarcoat it, someone's not paying protection money to the mob. OK. Who is it and how much of a cut do I get?..."