Here he was, the main FBI building in Washington DC. As one of the directors of such an organization, he couldn't be prouder. This building held the best teams of people in the world for detecting and solving crimes.

Inside the building, he ran operations, caught criminals through plain persistance and sending the proper people out. His job had been going so well, that less than a year ago he had become one of the national directors, responsible for ensuring crimes were solved all over the US. He was also one of only two directors that had the authority to arrange International exchanges without the express permission of the Head of the FBI. He was a man without a worry.

At least that's what he let everyone outside the building think.

Unfortunately, with that last promotion, he had also inherited a department that no-one thought existed, and one that was now the cause of his current stomache ache. Now, it wasn't the department itself that caused the stomache ache since this research had gone on for a while. It wasn't that the department was litterally in the basement of the building and had only two people assigned to it. It wasn't even the name of the division.

No, the one thing that had his stomache aching was the agent in charge of the department.

"Look, I want to know why I get this directive, from the PRESIDENT of all people, to leave these four alone. Hell, I want to know why they have a PRESIDENTIAL PARDON, in advance, for any crimes that may be committed and an order to tell every law enforcement department in the US to assist them and not ask questions."

"Director," said a thin, gawky, brown haired man. "It would help if you would tell me who these people are."

"I don't have their names," the director grunted as he pushed a file folder across the desk. "All I have is pictures, and a reference to talk with you."

The agent in front of the directors desk raised an eyebrow and opened the folder. "Oh. Yes. I wouldn't try anything with them, if you want to stay alive."


"The lady's are known as the 3WA, or the 3 Witch Angels, also called the Lovely Angels by the man accompanying them. An international team of trouble shooters who handle unusual circumstances, and are rumoured to be associated with Mr. Black."

"Mr. Black?"

"I'll get back to him later. It's important that we get the alert out, and to warn anyone they contact not to call them by the nicknamed they've gained, which is the Deadly Trio. It isn't nice what they do to people who call them that."

The director leaned forward. "What happens?"

The agent winced. "Well, there was this one time I heard about. They had just captured the criminal they were after, and were leaving after getting some kind of information. The officer who had seen what they did muttered under his breath the nickname. Just after they leave the building, the whole thing is destroyed when the one with the brown hair closed the door. Nice thing was she did appologize for slamming it so hard."

"So, who are they?"

"Now, you need to understand we don't know their real names, only the code names that they use."

"Get on with it."

"Yes sir. The brown haired one is known as Athena. She is the one with the information and thinks things through logically. Basically the intelligence and problem solver of the group.

"The blond one is known as Ms. White. She follows patterns other people can't follow, and gets the job done, whatever it is. Some say she is touched in the head. She can confuse, anger, and outrage people, yet is apparently more scarry than the others.

"The one with purple hair in this shot is called 'No-Face', the disguise master of the group. She can litterally look like anyone she wants to. She pretends to be clumsy, but is probably the deadliest of the three.

"They travel around with this man, called Moony. He is the person who directs the trio most of the time, and tells them where to go next. He is the co-ordinator of the group. It is known that all of them have had contact with Mr. Black, and he has trained them well."

"Who is this Mr. Black, and what has he trained them in?" The director asked.

"Mr. Black, AKA Death Incarnate. Has more kills to his name than we have been able to record, and an immortal. He is into Magic, creating creatures and objects unknown to any civilization, and running a training school for police and government personnel from around the world, no matter their government. These four are suspected to be some of his best students, working for him for at least three or four centuries. They are his prized group of assassins."

"Assassin! And we're letting them go?"

The agent sighed. "There is never any direct proof they killed, or have done anything illegal. We can't prove a crime, only that they were in the area of one. Amazingly, the only people who die are the criminals."

The director reached for the milk of magnesia that was on his desk. "Out. Get out. Alert who you need to, but I do not want to hear more about the Magical world, the Paranormal world, or any other world that you're associated with. Everytime you tell me something, my ulcer gets worse."

The brown haired agent shrugged his shoulders and left the office. Outside, the secretary looked at him and shook her head, "What did you do this time, Agent Mulder?"

Fox Mulder, head of the X-files shrugged his shoulders again and said as he walked away, "Told him about Mr. Black."

He left the building and decided to visit a friend of his, Max for lunch. Word was he finally got the Cone installed.

He wondered what the other members of the Muggle Film Appreciation Society were doing.