Every state in the United States has a Department of Public Safety within each DPS is a bureau. Chronically underfunded, largely forgotten, but important none-the-less, the bureaus work in secret, their budgets hidden within the bureaucracies.
The bureaus have a public safety mandate. They handle the weird stuff that the public isn't ready to hear about and the police aren't able to handle.
Seven deaths in New Orleans were tied to a cursed relic that slipped back into the public realm after Katrina. The Louisiana bureau ran that down.
A rash of missing persons and barren farm lands found to be due to sentient corn stalks that grew out of genetically altered crops: Iowa bureau solved that and saved lives.
Milwaukee sports fans mysterious dying, coupled with bovine explosions. The Cheese Head is back. Wisconsin bureau to the rescue.
Members of the bureau don't have legal enforcement powers. They tend to rely on a quick-wit and bureaucratic mumbo jumbo to hide what they're doing, but none-the-less, they save lives. This probably won't be in one of the big cities with the exciting social life opportunities.
This is a world like our own, where people are sure that magic and mystery doesn't exist. And that's just the way that the bureau likes it. Magic isn't common. The best a player can hope for is an imperfect understanding based on research or pop culture.
Is this the sort of game that you might be interested in? Let's talk about it and see what we can make of it?The bureau offices were in a musty old warehouse in Worcester, Mass. Cheap partitions were thrown up to give the illusion of privacy and cut the noise down to a dull roar, when everyone was talking. Everything smelled vaguely of mildew and mold beneath the persistent stench of the receptionist's constant microwaved popcorn.
Linda Fuentes and Darryl Jones were sitting in their cube working on their paperwork after their run to the Berkshires to deal with that cannibal cult. Most of their desks were taken over by their outdated computer monitors. Linda's desk was buried in paperwork, notes, take-out napkins and other nameless crap. Darryl went the other route; his desk consisted of nothing more than a monitor, a keyboard, mouse, pad and a pencil (aligned to the corner).
"Red ball," Feldman snapped, as he leaned over the partition to scowl at them. "Providence. Get moving."
"Jesus, boss," Linda whined. "What the hell? We just got back from driving all the way of the end of the god damned state."
Darryl just reached for his pencil and marked where he'd left off in his paperwork and jotted a note to himself, as Linda argued. Like the old joke about teaching a pig to play the piano: it didn't do any good and annoyed Feldman.
"You two are my go-to guys. So go."
"What do we got, Feldman?" Darryl asked, looking up for the first time.
"Don't know. Claire in the dark room says something's going to happen there."
"God damn it," Linda snapped. "I hate using precogs. It's never useful. Just vague feelings and images."
"Fine with me." Feldman turned to her partner. "'Maple, olive, blood, and sea', she said. Good luck with it."
"Anything on Google?" Darryl asked, turning toward Linda, who was already typing.
"According to the Providence Journal, there was a body found last night. Homeless. Two homeless dead so far. Both found under the overpass." She typed a bit more. "Google maps show it's right next to the water."
"See, Fuentes, Claire does come up with something now and again," Feldman said. "Git."
As Linda and Darryl walked out to the car, Linda griped some more. "The joy of New England. One bureau for five states."
"Could be worse. Look at Texas or Alaska."
She flashed him a look that would have curdled milk. Luckily, he was lactose intolerant.