COLD FRONT by GIC

Chapter 1: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

Photo by Lee Robinson on Unsplash

Vancouver had always been a city of contradictions. Towering glass skyscrapers reflected the surrounding mountains and ocean, a constant reminder of nature’s dominion. Yet, beneath the polished veneer of bustling markets and overpriced cafes, the city seethed.

Alex Chan walked the rain-slicked streets of East Van; his coat pulled tight against the cold drizzle. The faint stench of garbage lingered in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of spray paint. A fresh mural loomed on the brick wall of an abandoned bookstore: a red maple leaf with a snarling wolf at its centre, the emblem of the True North Front.

Alex stopped and snapped a picture with his phone. He’d seen the insignia everywhere over the past six months—on street corners, overpass pillars, and even scrawled across the doors of immigrant-owned businesses. Each sighting gnawed at him like a splinter lodged deep under his skin.

“Another one?” asked a voice behind him.

Alex turned to see Aisha Patel, a community organizer and an old friend. She was holding a box of canned goods destined for the nearby community centre, one of the few places offering refuge to families targeted by TNF sympathizers.

“Third one this week,” Alex said, showing her the photo.

Aisha frowned. “It’s not just graffiti anymore. Last night, two Tamil families were attacked in their homes. They won’t even report it. They’re too scared of the police doing nothing—or worse.”

Alex nodded grimly. The Vancouver Police Department had grown disturbingly apathetic. Whispers circulated that TNF had infiltrated precincts, with officers quietly endorsing their rhetoric. The same officers who’d shrugged off vandalism now paid no heed to assault.

Aisha shifted the box in her arms. “You coming to the rally tonight?”

“Can’t. I’ve got a lead to follow.”

She arched an eyebrow. “About David?”

Alex’s chest tightened. “Maybe.”

David had disappeared three weeks ago after attending a TNF rally in Burnaby. It wasn’t just any rally—it was a full-blown recruitment event, complete with flags, chants, and speeches from Malcolm Frost, the movement’s enigmatic leader. Frost had a way of twisting fear into fervour, preaching about a “return to Canadian values” while stoking hatred against anyone deemed un-Canadian.

Alex had tried calling, texting, and even visiting their parents’ house in Richmond, but David had gone silent. The only clue was a cryptic message left on Alex’s voicemail the day after the rally: “You wouldn’t understand. But you’ll see soon enough.”

Back in his cramped apartment, Alex stared at his laptop. The leaked document sat open, its blacked-out lines and bureaucratic jargon making his pulse quicken.

The file had come from an anonymous source, someone claiming to work in Ottawa’s Ministry of Public Safety. It outlined a cover investigation into TNF’s infiltration of federal agencies, including the Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.

Alex’s stomach churned as he read the words for the fifth time: “There is credible evidence to suggest that members of the True North Front have established a significant presence within government institutions. Several high-ranking officials are suspected of complicity in their activities, including the facilitation of ‘Operation Northern Dawn.’”