Paranormal Containment Unit
Light pierces through the room as the door is finally opened. A lone figure stands before you, a mostly used cigar tucked between his lips. His hair is a mop of stress and neglect, with only a few streaks of brown hair rebelling against the greying tint of age. He scratches his stubble as he enters the room, and the door quickly slams shut. Darkness permeates throughout the room once again, the only illumination coming from the cigar in The Man’s lips.
“If you idiots can’t even find the lights in here, then we’re WAY more ****ed than I thought,” The Man grumbles as he flicks a switch. Instantly the room is bathed with light, and The Man stands before you in a grimy brown suit. His tie is a stained mustard yellow, hanging loosely from his neck. Scowling, The Man approaches a podium in the middle of the room, slamming down a stack of manila folders as he does.
“I’m Deputy Director Morris Dane of The Paranormal Containment Unit,” The Man barks, snubbing out his cigar, “and we are in dire straits. Malicious Vampires, Werewolves, and Demons have begun to appear at an unprecedented rate across the globe; any two-bit kid with a spellbook and a pentagram thinks they’re a witch, warlock, or necromancer; and despite our name, there’s little we can do to CONTAIN these threats.”
A remote appears in Dane’s hand. With only a few button presses, a slide show begins. Gruesome images of mutilated bodies, torn apart, decapitated, or drained of life flash before your eyes. “Worse still,” Dane sighs, “there appears to be someone...or someTHING...pulling the strings behind these outbreaks. A cunning and malicious foe that we are simply NOT equipped to handle.”
He raises his head, making eye contact with you for the first time before glancing around the room. “Despite sounding cliché, you lot are our last hope. The old way of doing things, MY way of doing things, simply doesn’t work anymore. Now, we have to use our own freaks to catch freaks. Yes, you lot are freaks. Get over it. You’ve been assembled for one simple reason: somewhere along the line, you faced impossible odds against the occult, and you survived.”
“Furthermore, whether it was killing your own kind, defending the innocent, or steering another to the right path, you chose to act towards humanity’s benefit. We need you to do it again, except this one is for ALL the marbles.” Dane takes a breath as he examines the top folder of his stack. Reading the name, he snorts, and tosses it to you. He repeats this process for every occupant of the room. “I can’t force any of you to do this. These files hold every scrap of intel we’ve collected on you. If you wish to depart, do so now. You can even keep the files, no strings attached. We won’t stop you.”
No one in the room stirs.
“Good,” Dane smiles for the first time, lighting another cigar, “then ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the PCU.”
The Paranormal Containment Unit needs your help. You and your team will be an elite fighting force, meant to tackle the world’s greatest paranormal threats. Your efforts will no doubt save the world (or your failures...doom it), but you will be unknown heroes. Above all else, you must protect The Secret. The world at large must never know that paranormal beings truly exist. Thus, no one will truly know what you have done for them.
What does your folder say? Were you a werewolf, plagued with guilt, who defended an innocent child against your own pack? Are you a modern Vampire Hunter who lost everything against The Coven? Are you a demon cursed with a conscious?
I certainly don’t know. I didn’t write your file. You lived it. You. Tell. Me.
