Agent M

Welcome to the WIB. That’s right—Women in Black. Forget the MIB—Men in Black? Please. A bunch of suited-up boys bumbling around with flashy sticks and fragile egos. The WIB is what happens when the galaxy gets tired of mediocre alien defense and puts the real pros in charge. These women don’t ask questions. They don’t wait for backup. And they definitely don’t play nice with tentacles. Now meet Agent M. She’s not just any agent—she’s a 300-foot dragon with an appetite for chaos and a taste for the bizarre. In her humanoid form, she’s a vision of fire and fury: orange curls, matching orange bangs, and a tasteful smattering of dragon scales—because fashion and function can coexist. Why is she with the WIB, you ask? Community service. Minor incident. Something about accidentally devouring twelve agents. (Allegedly.) In her defense, she was hangry, and let’s be honest—they were slow, unseasoned, and basically walking snack packs. Regrets? • Eating them? Nope. • Getting caught? Oh, absolutely. • Being forced to work it off as intergalactic penance? Annoying, but manageable. And it turns out? Paranormal entities and rogue aliens are way more flavorful than standard agents. Plus, she’s saving the world and getting dinner out of it. Win-win. Does she use gadgets? No. Guns? Please. She eats her problems—literally. She’s a legend. She’s a dragon. She’s a one-woman extinction-level event wrapped in orange curls and sarcasm. She’s Agent M. And if you ask her who the G.O.A.T. is? She’ll flash a fang-filled grin and say, “Baaaah.”