He could barely sit still at the precinct all day, so when the wall clock finally struck five, the detective hastily killed his PC with an unfinished solitaire game on the screen, pulled on his rumpled old jacket, and grabbed the keys. Then, he saw James Gardner, his best friend and son of the chief of the homicide division, poking his head in the door.

"Hey. Old man said he wanted to see you."

Cameron rolled his eyes. "Listen, I'm in a real hurry. Can't you cover for me this one time? I'll be sure to pop in first thing in the morning."

"I'm afraid not," said James, still hanging in the doorway. "He said he wanted to see you ASAP."

The detective sighed. He could see where this was going.

"OK, OK," he said with a wry face. "But please drop him a hint to be quick, don't wanna be late for my AA meeting. You know how they are these days."

James smiled and disappeared. Cameron closed the door and hurried down the hall, where the inspector's cabinet was. He knocked twice and, without waiting for any response, went in. Gardner Senior was working behind the table covered with papers. When Cameron came in, he immediately turned to him and squinted his black eyes.

"Finally. Take a seat. The talk won't be a breeze."

"Thanks, but I'd better stand," Cameron replied. "See, I'm in a hurr–"

Gardner's fist pounding on the table pierced the stale air. The dust rose up and swirled in the

setting sun's rays. Cameron shuddered and blinked.

"God knows I wanted to make it look neat, but you keep getting on my back. You want it to be

quick? Fine." The words spat like daggers. "Either you make any progress on those killings in a week starting today, or you drop your badge and your gun right here on this table."

Cameron tried to suppress a grimace, but it made its way to his face, turning Gardner Senior red with a towering rage.

"Off you go, now!" he shouted. Cameron turned on his heels and left the room.

"Freakin' alcoholic!" roared the door, but the detective wasn't quite there to get the insult. He might be late for the gathering, and that was all that mattered at the moment.

He ran down the stairs. If he drove now, he may get stuck in a traffic jam. No, it wasn't worth the risk. Cameron tucked the car keys away in the back pocket of his trousers and hurried subway. When he popped up the surface again, he noticed a missed call on his cell. He slowed down. The call was from James. What was it that he wanted? It was essential to get to the gathering in time, but who was there for him when he showed up drunk on that assault mission and almost got shot in a gunfight? Who was there when Charlie, his golden retriever, died from cancer, and he was pissed for two weeks in a row and couldn't snap out of it on his own? Or when he dropped his badge down the toilet at the bar the other day? Cameron shook his head and pressed the green button. A couple of beeps later, the line cracked, and he heard James's voice.

"Hey, man. I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry for my man. He isn't quite himself lately with those bloody murders going on, you know."

"It's OK," Cameron replied, glancing at his watch. "I totally understand."

"He is also sorry. We thought that maybe you'll join us for dinner later today? What do you say?" "Umm, yeah, sure," the detective answered, turning discreetly into a side street.

"Great." Cameron could tell James beamed on the other side of the line. "See you at eight, then."

"See you," the detective said almost automatically and hung up. He went round a dull nine-storey building and down to the basement, where the poorly lit iron door was. Cameron took a deep breath. It was four minutes to six. He cleared his throat and knocked a tune.

The door opened almost immediately.

The man standing in the doorway was half a metre taller than the detective and roughly two times wider. A white mask on his chubby face looked like he fell onto a saucer, and it stuck. Cameron smiled to himself and stepped inside. It was a small lobby with three more entrances. Once sumptuous, the place left much to be desired with its battered wooden furniture, worn-out velvet sofa and stained wallpaper, which had already started to peel off.

The man handed the detective the same plastic mask he was wearing and showed him to the meeting room.

"Welcome, dear," greeted two dozen voices as the door closed behind Cameron.

The room had blank grey walls, a circle of stubby wooden chairs in the centre and nothing more in it. Men and women wore identical white masks, with only one exception: a lean figure in a suit

which had a black one.

The figure motioned Cameron to take a vacant chair and said in a genderless voice:

"We've been waiting for you, son. Tonight, you've been chosen to perform the next task." The detective silently gulped and sat. It had been a year since he was last chosen.

"As you all know," the figure continued, addressing all members, "nothing is more important for the family than The Purge. Like the vulture rids the planet of decay, we rid society of those who offend God Himself.

"But sadly, not everyone shares our ways." The black mask made a pause. "Our next target is the man who poses a threat to The Purge."

The figures gasped and muttered. Cameron felt the fire of disapproval starting in his own gut. "The man's name," the mask continued, "is Gregory Gardner."

A sudden lack of breath made the detective cough profusely, clenching the shirt on his chest. The room became completely silent. The black mask stood up and approached Cameron. He felt a hand gently landing on his shoulder.

The mask said:

"Child. It is your time to shine and do the greater good. For humankind. For us. You need to understand: this is but a trial of spirit. And we are here to help."

"We are here to help," echoed the room.

"See," the mask continued. "Everyone here loves you and wishes you only the best. Because we are the family."

The voice was hypnotising. Cameron could feel the sudden attack fading away and his head becoming clearer with every word the black mask spoke. He listened and listened, wishing for the mask never to stop. He was the dust; he was the spirit; he was the crowd; he was the sun. He was nothing; he was everything. He cried, and then the next thing he knew, he was standing outside Gardners' house in his rumpled old jacket, with his wristwatch showing ten minutes past eight.

The door opened, and James waved at him, welcoming Cameron inside.

"You're late, aren't you?" he winked.

Still feeling dizzy, the detective went in. The table was already served for dinner, and the mouth-watering smell of roasted turkey filled the air. But Cameron could only feel a hint of it, however strong it was.

Then he saw a bright red spot moving towards him. He backed away instinctively, but then he recognised Gardner Senior in a scarlet apron that Cameron gifted James for Christmas. Gregory clumsily hugged the confused man, shaking him, telling him something important, but he couldn't tell a word apart. Words swirled and merged into an unrecognisable mess until James laughed and said:

"...because we're a family, right?"

Cameron slowly turned his head. His cheeks felt hot and wet. Right, he nodded in recognition.

But there could only be one family.

The Family.