Ethan Cole's fingers fidgeted with the lapel of his new suit jacket as he walked down the long, sterile hallway of the Federal Office of Public Relations. He had never imagined himself in government work, but fresh out of college with a degree in political science and a mountain of student loans, he'd taken the first job that came along. The pay was decent, the hours were regular, and it was close enough to his apartment in the city. What could be better?
The building itself was unremarkable—gray walls, buzzing fluorescent lights, the usual mix of bored office workers shuffling paperwork from one cubicle to another. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all like what Ethan had been expecting after four years of lectures on international diplomacy and political strategy.
He reached the door at the end of the hall, marked only by a small brass plaque reading "Room 47-C". It was supposed to be his orientation. The email had been brief, just telling him to report at 9 AM sharp to meet with his supervisor. His supervisor, a man named Mr. Finch, had an equally bland description in the email. Just another faceless bureaucrat in the vast machinery of the government.
Ethan knocked, and a voice from inside responded, "Come in."
He opened the door, stepping into a small, dimly lit office. Mr. Finch sat behind a cluttered desk, his fingers drumming on a pile of paperwork. He was an older man, his thin white hair combed back, glasses perched on the edge of his nose. He looked like every other middle-management government employee Ethan had ever imagined. Safe. Harmless.
"Ethan, right?" Finch said, barely looking up from the papers in front of him.
"Yes, sir," Ethan replied, shifting awkwardly. "First day."
Finch finally glanced up, giving Ethan a quick once-over. "Sit down. We've got a lot to cover."
Ethan sat, expecting the usual speech about government regulations, workplace protocols, and the importance of national service. Instead, Finch sighed, leaned back in his chair, and fixed him with a tired stare.
"I'm going to save us both a lot of time, Cole. You're not here to do press releases. You're not here to handle PR scandals or smooth over diplomatic hiccups. You were recruited for something… special."
Ethan blinked, confused. "I don't understand. I applied for a government communications job. That's what the ad said."
"That's what the ad was supposed to say," Finch said, smirking. "Let me ask you something, Cole. Do you believe in demons?"
Ethan froze. For a moment, he thought Finch might be joking, but the seriousness in the older man's eyes quickly dispelled that thought.
"Demons? Like—like supernatural stuff?" Ethan stammered, his brain struggling to keep up. "I don't—no, I don't believe in that."
Finch chuckled softly. "You will."
He stood up, moving to a filing cabinet in the corner of the room, and pulled out a thin black folder. He dropped it on the desk in front of Ethan, who eyed it with growing unease.
"Open it," Finch instructed.
Ethan reached out and flipped the folder open. Inside were photographs. Grainy, black-and-white images of shadowy figures—impossibly tall, distorted creatures with glowing eyes and grotesque features. Some were in motion, tearing through walls and vehicles like they were made of paper. Others stood eerily still, their monstrous faces turned directly toward the camera, as if aware they were being watched.
"What the hell is this?" Ethan whispered, unable to tear his eyes away.
"Demons," Finch said simply. "Real ones. We use them."
Ethan felt his heart pounding in his chest. "You use them? For what?"
"For whatever the country needs," Finch replied, returning to his chair. "Assassinations. Political subterfuge. Protection. Demons are powerful weapons if you know how to control them. And we control them."
Ethan could hardly process what he was hearing. This had to be a joke. A test, maybe, to see how gullible the new guy was.
"I know this is a lot to take in," Finch continued, "but you were recruited specifically because you have the right… potential. You're going to be trained in how to manage these creatures. How to summon them, bind them, and use them to our advantage. And in return, you'll be part of the most important operations this country runs. Keeping our leaders safe, eliminating threats before they even reach the headlines. All behind the scenes."
Ethan swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "And if I say no?"
Finch's expression darkened. "There's no 'no,' Cole. You're in. The minute you walked into this building, you became part of the Bureau."
"The Bureau?"
"The Demon Task Force," Finch said, leaning forward. "You see, every country has one. They don't talk about it, of course, but they're all using demons, same as us. It's an arms race. Only instead of nukes or drones, we've got these things." He gestured to the photos. "They're dangerous, unpredictable, but they get the job done."
Ethan felt his mind racing. Demons. Assassinations. Secret operations. This wasn't the cushy desk job he had signed up for. But something about the intensity of it all—the secrecy, the power—it tugged at a part of him he didn't even realize existed.
"What do I have to do?" he asked quietly.
Finch smiled, satisfied. "For now, you just follow orders. You'll be trained by the best. We'll start slow, show you how the summoning works, how to maintain control. After that… well, let's just say you'll be seeing the world in a very different light."
Ethan sat back, his heart still racing. He had no idea what he'd gotten himself into, but one thing was clear: there was no turning back now.
"Welcome to the Bureau, Cole," Finch said, extending his hand.
Ethan took it, gripping tightly as the weight of his new reality settled on his shoulders.
And somewhere, deep in the bowels of the building, something ancient stirred, waiting for its next command.