His associates and subordinates knew him only as “M.” The James Bond allusion was lost on no one, and caused endless jokes – out of his presence. His original name, in those moments when he had time for reflection, he realized he had lost ages ago. And when he was alone, he shared the joke. No one saw his face. He stayed alone in an isolated office, and communicated by telephone, email and the occasional videoconference – with his face blurred. He was a cipher, unknown and invisible, the puller of strings and the last line of defence against the Darkness. On the surface, Canada was a rich cultural mosaic, a peaceful and prosperous country. Underneath the surface, what almost no one saw, was the Darkness. A supernatural hodgepodge of conflicting mythos jammed together, an impending volcano of horror. And that’s where his service, the Special Initiatives Section, entered the picture. The latest data scrolled across his computer screen, showing the latest missions. A coven in Grande Prairie was stopped from summoning Tiamat from the pits of Hell. A group of necromancers in Drumheller had managed to create a zombie T-Rex before a team showed up, resulting in massive casualties, including the necromancers. An Elf from the Unseleigh Court had wreaked havoc on 118th Ave in Edmonton, slaughtering the homeless. Calgary’s Master Vampire had kidnapped or seduced (depending on whose story to believe) the daughter of an oil magnate. There was a massive screw-up with the CPP disability pension claims for a large group of fauns. A major territorial dispute was brewing between Edmonton’s local werewolf pack and a recent group of were-hyena immigrants from Ethiopia. The Shadowrealm in Edmonton was threatening to expand once again. Just another day at the office.

Special Initiatives Section