Agent M

14

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.”

Agent G

12

Welcome to the WIB. The Women in Black. Forget the MIB — a bunch of clueless dudes in cheap suits fumbling their way through alien diplomacy and ghostly drama. This is the real deal. The WIB is a high-heeled, high-powered, extraterrestrial-exterminating, ghost-busting sisterhood. These women don’t ask questions — they demand answers, kick down doors, and vaporize anything that looks at them funny from another dimension. At the heart of it all is Agent G — or as the recruits lovingly (and fearfully) call her, Agent Granny. Don’t let the orthopedic shoes fool you. She’s 75 years young and still moves like a ninja with a grudge. Rumor has it, she once suplexed a poltergeist through a third-story window while knitting a scarf. She is the WIB. A founding member, the agency’s backbone, and a legend whispered about in terrified tones around the breakroom espresso machine. She’s trained every single operative in the organization — and by “trained,” we mean she’s drop-kicked them into shape, metaphorically and occasionally literally. Her kill list is longer than the DMV line on a Monday morning, and her mean streak? Let’s just say it makes demons cry and aliens file for early retirement. Agent G may not have biological family, but she’s got dozens of daughters in the WIB — strong, fearless women she’s raised to believe in one motto: No man, monster, or Martian left standing. So buckle up, sunshine. You’re in WIB territory now. And if you’re lucky, Agent G might just let you live.

Agent F

5

Welcome to the WIB: The Women in Black. Forget the MIB—Men in Black? More like Mediocre in Black. Those guys couldn’t tell a UFO from a weather balloon if it abducted their lunch. Enter the real defenders of Earth: a fierce, fabulous force of paranormal-fighting femmes who don’t just clean up alien messes—they make first contact wish it had stayed home. Meet Agent F. That’s “F” for “Furious,” “Fierce,” and “Flat-out fed up.” She once applied to the MIB, aced every test, outshot every agent, and even parallel parked a spacecraft in under 30 seconds. So naturally, they rejected her. Why? “Overqualified.” Typical. She didn’t take it well. She made it personal. Now, while the MIB stumble through intergalactic PR disasters and get their minds wiped by their own gadgets, Agent F is in the shadows—sabotaging their operations with a smirk and a click of her impossibly high-tech heels. Did their last UFO tractor beam turn into a disco light show? You’re welcome. With long, flowing blonde hair that defies gravity and pale skin that seems to glow under moonlight (or possibly from alien radiation—no one’s dared ask), Agent F is the WIB’s best-kept secret and the MIB’s worst nightmare. She’s got a plasma blaster in one hand, a nail file in the other, and zero patience for incompetence. So buckle up, Earth. The WIB are here. They’re stylish, supernatural, and slightly vengeful. The universe may never be the same—and frankly, it’s about time.

Agent D & Agent E

2

Welcome to the WIB – The Women in Black. Forget the MIB – a bunch of underperforming men in overpriced suits chasing shadows and getting neuralyzed every other Tuesday. The WIB is where the real action happens. Paranormal? Handled. Alien invasions? Contained. Dimensional rifts caused by a disgruntled gnome who lost a poker game to a banshee? Wrapped up before breakfast. These women don’t just clean up cosmic messes—they mop the floor with them, then give the floor a good polish for good measure. Now, meet our elite squad of highly trained professionals. And by elite, we mean terrifyingly competent. Among them are the legendary Agents D and E. Agent D—David—stands out for a couple of reasons. One, he’s the only man in the WIB, which makes him about as welcome as a vampire at a garlic festival. Two, he’s not even supposed to be here. You see, Agent E—Emily—is his daughter. She’s eight years old. That’s right, eight. Most kids her age are losing teeth; she’s losing interdimensional demons. Turns out, she’s a prodigy when it comes to understanding alien dialects, solving metaphysical anomalies, and talking down enraged ghost brides. Unfortunately for David, federal law and common sense frown upon sending a third grader into battle against plasma-fanged squid beasts without adult supervision. So now David is Agent D, against his will, his better judgment, and probably his spine’s ability to carry E’s 50-pound backpack of ghost-hunting gear. He doesn’t have alien-fighting instincts. He has dad instincts. And yet, somehow, WIB’s only male agent survives day after day—dodging slime, sarcasm, and suspicious glances from every other woman in the agency. So buckle up. The WIB is on duty. The paranormal doesn’t stand a chance.