I may or may not have joined Purity whilst high off my tits on cocaine. I thought it was a great idea. I almost died from an overdose, and my mind thought the perfect plan to apply for a mercenary job with the biggest anti-Anomaly organisation in the world!

I’m sure there was some form of twisted, fucked up logic in there somewhere. Maybe, as I was shooting up, my little coked up brain thought, “This is bad, Marcy. Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe you should just sober up!” And I guess little Marcy decided the way to do that was to essentially sign my death warrant in a pseudo-military! Ahah! Take that, sobriety!

I mean, Purity must be really desperate if they hired me. I dropped out of secondary school, I’ve never had a job, and have lived off stealing for pretty much my whole life. They didn’t even care about any credentials! They just asked if I was ready and willing to learn to serve our country and our kind. Of course I said yes. Sure, everything was hella dodge but I had a feeling that this was a good idea. Or maybe I was still high, who knows.

It’s not like I hate Anoms or anything. They’re not bad I guess. I dunno. Before Purity I really didn’t talk to many Anoms. They kept to themselves, I kept to myself. That was the understanding that we had.

I felt like death when I first began. I had an abundance of doctor appointments, all of them telling me that my health was in the shitter, as if I didn’t already know.

“It’s not a problem,” the doctor said, “Many of the people who work here have struggled with drug problems or other issues. Here at Purity we want to give people like you a second chance.”

“I thought you killed Anoms, not rehabilitated druggies,” I laughed. The doctor didn’t find it very funny.

“It’s part of our duty to mankind.”

It was strange to be a part of something. To walk down the metal corridors and to talk to people and to meet people all in the same situation as you. I made friends, though I quickly learnt that making close friends was a bad idea because of how likely it was for them to die out on the field. I started reading again, and I began to feel like myself.

I liked it. I liked putting on the mask and feeling the old Marcy disappear. Like that trashy shitstain didn’t exist anymore. When the mask was on I was Agent DH-0148. I was a number, I was a part of a system.

My whole life I never fit in with the system, and here I was, willingly indoctrinated into Purity’s little scheme. Maybe I just didn’t want to feel so alone anymore. Maybe I didn’t want to feel so useless. Maybe this was the clean start I had always dreamed about.

Still I feel empty. I feel like something’s wrong. Not morally, no. I know plenty of people who object to what Purity does, but we are under oath to serve their cause lest we want to be killed and marked as traitors. I don’t feel strongly either way.

I think that’s what sucks the most about this.

The emptiness. The apathy. The not feeling one way or another. I feel… like nothing, like nothing, I just feel… empty. Whether I live or die, whether they live or die, whether we win or lose… it feels disembodied. I fight a cause I don’t care about, waging a war I know nothing of. I don’t know the enemy, the enemy does not know me. We have made our decisions, painted our own pictures of the other. We’ve decided that we are right and they are wrong.

And that fucking sucks. I never thought I was very clever, but I know that history repeats itself. That we’ve gone through countless wars only to end up fighting more wars because all of us are too dumb to fucking realise that it isn’t the solution. That nobody wins, we just lose less.

Humans, Anomalies, we’re all pieces of crap living on this bitch of an earth.

So I guess that’s why I’m sitting here at the edge of my bunk, staring down the barrel of my gun, hoping that Janet isn’t the one who finds the body.