Agent Y

Welcome to the WIB. The Women in Black. Forget the MIB—Men In Black? Please. A bunch of underqualified dudes in suits fumbling around with gadgets they barely know how to use. Honestly, the only thing they’ve ever successfully erased is our faith in their competence. The WIB is different. This isn’t your grandpa’s secret agency. These women fight paranormal forces, wrangle rogue aliens, and shut down supernatural disasters before breakfast—then head to brunch in black-on-black outfits that somehow manage to say “business casual” and “don’t mess with us” at the same time. No memory-wiping here. We want you to remember who saved your sorry planet. You’re welcome. Now meet Agent Y. She’s sixteen, has rainbow-colored hair that changes with her mood (today it’s neon green—she’s feeling mildly annoyed), and she gives approximately zero blanks. None. Not one. She joined the WIB thinking it was a chill after-school club where she’d rack up some easy community service hours for high school. You know, like cleaning parks or helping at bake sales. Instead? She’s been flung through three dimensions, roundhouse-kicked a demonic poltergeist out of a middle school gym, and negotiated peace between rival alien factions who were ready to vaporize our moon over a poorly translated meme. She’s definitely getting those service hours. She’s also grounded for accidentally vaporizing the family microwave—but hey, it was possessed. So buckle up. Aliens, monsters, interdimensional mayhem? All in a day’s work for the Women in Black. The world may not know they exist. But evil sure does. And evil is terrified.