In the grand tradition of British understatement, the government had long been quite content with MI6’s understated role in global espionage. They spied, they snooped, they attended the odd embassy cocktail party with secret listening devices hidden in their cummerbunds. But in the year of our lord 2024, something extraordinary happened: MI6 decided that their time skulking in the shadows had passed. No longer would they be confined to the back pages of history. They were, they declared with all the subtlety of a full English breakfast after a night of heavy drinking, Superman or was it Batman? They appeared confused but for the sake of lethargy I will stick with Superman or perhaps Batman.
Yes, that Superman. The man in blue spandex, with a suspiciously American accent for a boy from Krypton, who flies about the world saving kittens and fighting crime. Except, of course, in this re-imagining, Superman wasn’t American, but very much British, and he didn’t spend his days rescuing kittens but rather, well, overthrowing non-Western regimes.
The announcement came on a Tuesday evening, immediately following the results show of Strictly Come Dancing. It was timed for maximum exposure: the national mood was high, the British public’s love of ballroom was fresh in their minds, and there was nothing like a bit of espionage with a side of Viennese Waltz. The screen went black, the iconic BBC globe vanished, and there appeared the stiff figure of Sir Nigel Smythe-Thompson, the head of MI6.
The lights dimmed and a voice-over, sounding suspiciously like the voice that normally narrated documentaries on the history of the steam engine, boomed across the airwaves:
“For decades, we at MI6 have protected this great nation from threats both foreign and domestic. We have operated in the shadows, protecting your way of life without fanfare or recognition. But today, the threat is too great, the villains too powerful. And so, we must reveal the truth. MI6 is not just a humble intelligence agency. We are… Superman.”
At this point, the screen flashed to a CGI depiction of the London skyline, where figures in sharp suits—capes billowing in the wind—were flying around Big Ben, narrowly avoiding a collision with the London Eye. A Union Jack fluttered majestically in the background, and, just for good measure, a red phone box exploded in slow motion.
The voice-over returned: “But who are the villains, you ask? They are not imaginary. They are real. And they walk among us. Russia’s leadership is… the Joker.” Again a crossover between superheroes but espionage is draining on the consciousness.
Cut to a heavily Photoshopped image of Vladimir Putin, shirtless as usual, but now with clown makeup that could best be described as something a drunk hen party might attempt. Putin’s trademark squint was rendered into a maniacal glare, and there he was, riding a horse through Siberia, as the Joker.
The camera then panned to China, where, according to the ad, Lex Luthor was alive and well. Except, Lex Luthor had traded his bald head and sinister sneer for a neat side parting and a somewhat confused expression. He was apparently masterminding a global plot from Beijing to dominate the world’s economy via cheap mobile phones and dodgy AI systems.
And then, the pièce de résistance: Iran. Not satisfied with giving Tehran merely one villainous identity, MI6 had decided that they were harbouring all of Batman’s rogue gallery. The Penguin, Riddler, Bane, you name it. If there was a morally dubious character in tights, he (or she) was apparently running Iranian foreign policy.
The broadcast ended with Sir Nigel standing solemnly in front of an enormous Union Jack. “It’s time for Britain to step forward,” he said, his voice full of gravitas. “It’s time for you to know the truth. We are Superman. And they… are the villains.” Or is that Batman?
The response, naturally, was mixed.
The Daily Mail immediately declared it “the boldest move since Churchill saved Europe from Hitler,” while The Guardian wondered aloud if perhaps the entire MI6 building had been drinking gin since noon. Twitter, naturally, exploded. @MiddleEnglandMadge tweeted, “MI6 is Superman…? About time! Knew there was more to those boring suits than meets the eye. #PutinIsTheJoker #LexLuthorInChina”. Meanwhile, @BoredInBirmingham replied, “Does this mean we’re paying for capes on the NHS now? #MI6Superman #TaxpayersNotHappy”.
But the most pressing question on everyone’s mind was: why now? Why had MI6 chosen this particular moment to come clean about their superheroic status? And why were non-Western countries suddenly being cast as the villains of a comic book universe?
The next morning, Sir Nigel was wheeled out for a press conference at 10 Downing Street. He stood at the lectern, looking like the kind of man who’d attended too many funerals and secretly enjoyed them.
“Good morning,” he began, his voice clipped and authoritative. “I understand many of you have questions following last night’s broadcast. I’m here to address those concerns. Firstly, yes, MI6 is indeed Superman.” He appeared to have settled on one superhero for the moment.
There was a long pause as the press corps collectively raised an eyebrow. Someone from The Independent coughed, “But… Superman isn’t British. He’s American.”
Sir Nigel fixed her with the withering gaze of a man who had just been asked to explain the rules of cricket to a foreigner. “Superman,” he said slowly, “transcends national identity. He is a symbol of hope. And who better to embody hope than Britain? A nation that has brought the world democracy, Shakespeare, and—” He paused dramatically, “—the full English breakfast.”
The room shifted uncomfortably.
“And as for these so-called villains,” Sir Nigel continued, ignoring the murmurs of disbelief. “Let me assure you that this is not hyperbole. Vladimir Putin is the Joker. His love of chaos, his unpredictable nature, his disregard for human life, it all points to one conclusion. He is the Clown Prince of Crime.”
A reporter from The Sun piped up, “But isn’t the Joker more of an anarchist? Putin’s very… organised, what with all the election meddling and, er, shirtless calendar shoots.”
Sir Nigel bristled, clearly affronted by the implication that MI6’s analysis might be flawed. “You misunderstand,” he said. “Putin’s shirtless bravado is simply a mask, a carefully cultivated façade to distract us from his true goal: absolute chaos. And as for China’s leadership,” he continued, “there is no doubt that they are led by Lex Luthor. Their obsession with global domination, their love of technology, and their suspiciously large number of skyscrapers—all classic Luthor traits.”
A hand shot up from The Guardian. “But Lex Luthor is a businessman. China is a… well, a country. How exactly are they the same thing?”
Sir Nigel sighed deeply, as if he had been asked to explain the concept of gravity to a particularly dim-witted Labrador. “It’s all very simple,” he said. “Both Luthor and China are incredibly intelligent, incredibly ruthless, and… bald. It’s the same energy.”
The room descended into chaos. Journalists began firing questions at Sir Nigel faster than he could bat them away. Was Iran really run by Bane? Was North Korea secretly harbouring Poison Ivy? Did MI5 have any superhero affiliations, or were they just stuck with being sidekicks?
But Sir Nigel remained resolute. “MI6 is Superman,” he repeated firmly. “And the rest of the world, at least the non-Western part, is full of supervillains. It’s not for you to understand, it’s for us to protect you. We’re British, it’s what we do.”
As the days passed, the government doubled down on the narrative. A new campaign was launched across the nation, with posters plastered on every bus stop, phone box, and London Underground station. The posters depicted MI6 agents in full Superman gear, Union Jack-emblazoned capes fluttering dramatically in the wind, standing heroically in front of recognisable British landmarks like Stonehenge and the Angel of the North. The tagline? “MI6: Saving the World, One Villain at a Time.”
In schools, children were now taught to see global politics as a series of comic book showdowns. Geography lessons were replaced with “Villain Spotting,” where students were asked to identify which world leaders were secretly supervillains. (Spoiler: It was all of them, except for the Western ones.) History classes featured stories like “The Time MI6 Stopped the Joker from Invading Crimea” and “How Churchill Defeated Lex Luthor with a Single Cigar and Some Grit.”
Naturally, the British public, known for its unwavering scepticism, didn’t entirely take to the narrative. In pubs across the country, you could hear lads grumbling into their pints about the absurdity of it all. “So we’re supposed to believe that Putin’s running around like the Joker, trying to blow up Parliament?” one bloke in Leeds asked his mates, incredulously. “And China’s Lex Luthor? What next, Boris Johnson as Captain Caveman?”
His friend took a swig of his pint. “Would explain the hair,” he muttered darkly.
Even the tabloids began to turn against the narrative. The Daily Express ran a headline screaming “Has MI6 Been On The Meths?” while The Mirror published an exposé revealing that, shockingly, MI6 agents couldn’t actually fly. They were just very good at Photoshop.
Meanwhile, in Russia, Putin was allegedly bemused by his newfound status as the Joker. In a rare moment of public candour, he told reporters, “I do not understand why they say this. I am not a clown. I do not juggle or make balloon animals.” He then rode off on a bear, shirtless, because of course he did.
China, for its part, issued a statement saying they “welcomed the comparison” to Lex Luthor, given his “strong leadership skills and business acumen.” Iran, however, took issue with being labelled as multiple Batman (yes Batman not Superman) villains and demanded an apology, to which the UK government responded by sending them a signed copy of The Dark Knight DVD.
As the weeks wore on, it became clear that the whole “MI6 as Superman” narrative was not quite landing the way the government had hoped. Public opinion polls showed that while GB News viewers were “excited” about MI6’s superheroic transformation, the other 99.99% of the population could be described as “unenthusiastic” or “confused”.
MI6, once the quiet, unassuming cornerstone of British espionage, had inadvertently turned itself into a laughingstock. Even The Beano got in on the act, publishing a special edition where Dennis the Menace saved London from a poorly drawn Putin dressed as the Joker.
In the end, the government quietly dropped the campaign. Sir Nigel resigned from his post, citing “creative differences” with the foreign office, and MI6 returned to its usual business of spying on diplomats and listening to phone calls about cheese imports. The Union Jack capes were mothballed, the posters were torn down, and children were once again taught geography in schools.
As for the rest of the world? Well, it continued as it always had. Russia continued to meddle in elections, China kept making suspiciously affordable electronics, and Iran, despite their anger at the Batman (yes Batman) comparison, carried on with their usual affairs. The villains of MI6’s imagination, it seemed, were content to remain merely that—figments of imagination.
And Britain, as it always does, quietly got back to grumbling. Mostly about the weather or the government or free speech….
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