Chapter Text
December 1963, Washington D.C
It was long past the time that any reasonable human being would have been asleep, but the clock was ticking for Ethan Hunt. The love of his life was out there somewhere needing to be rescued. If he wasn’t already dead at least. Ethan forced the thought aside; it wouldn’t be productive to linger on Benji being harmed. It would only distract him, he needed to focus. Ethan hadn’t slept in what felt like days. He had been searching for answers. Magic, energy, CIA black sites, the sudden spike in missing person’s cases. It was all connected somehow. He couldn’t be paranoid, all evidence pointed to a conspiracy. Ethan was wide awake, the rain continuing to pour down. Frantically he scribbled notes on the blackboard.
“There’s got to be a way to get back to him.”
It had been about three days since he last saw Benji, safe and alive. Ethan had been staring at the blackboard so long the letters were getting jumbled in his head, and it began losing all meaning. Luther was knee deep in classified files, hoping there would be something, anything to lead them to find Benji and getting him out alive.
“Ethan, you need to sleep.”
“Benji’s not sleeping now, And I won’t either until we find him, Luther.”
The apartment was a mess, paper coffee cups were strewn about the floor. The ashtray had several cigarette butts, all cold and forgotten. The only thing that had any semblance of order was the evening paper. It was folded neatly on the table to be read later if there was time for it anyway.
There was a sudden knock at the door as both occupants grew quiet. Was it the CIA? Had they caught on to the both of them? It certainly wouldn’t be anyone else given the time of night it was. Luther neatly ordered the files and began to hide them, keeping his pistol at the ready.
Ethan drew his pistol as he checked the peephole of the door. A shadowy figure in a trench coat and fedora stood out in the rain. Carefully he opened the door, a man, most likely an intelligence man.
“We have much to discuss Mr. Hunt. I’m told you know a fair about magic.”
Ethan peered the man’s face, had they met before? He didn’t look familiar, but he didn’t seem that much of a threat.
“And who the hell are you?”
“William Brandt, CIA Analyst. Shall we start from the beginning?”
October 1962, Washington D.C.
After the second world war ended, it seemed that the American public was generally happy. But the government, on the other hand, had other concerns other than those of the stereotypical nuclear family. The looming threat of anything “red” stirred fear into the public and most famously stirred the McCarthy hearings into action. The big fucking joke that it was, it displayed how easily power and fear can be utilized for the benefit of the government.
Nonconformity was a condemnation, a death sentence.
In the aftermath of what would be known as the Cuban Missile Crisis, the CIA became acutely aware of the high tensions brewing between the first and second world. They needed something to give them an edge, in case the war stopped being cold. They needed a way to secure victory. Only as a precaution of course.
And so, the CIA began to dabble into magic, research into the studies of the occult. Perhaps there would be a way to find supernatural beings willing to work for their side. Such people had been found, hiding in the everyday corners of life. Their powers were strange but controlled. With the proper training they could be valuable assets to western interest.
So, the Impossible Missions Force was formed. It was an organization that didn’t exist in any official document from the United States government. No, it was the secret weapon of the CIA, used to execute any missions that cannot be performed through "official" channels. As well as this, there were several agents who were able to perform magic, adding to their effectiveness in tradecraft.
Nonconformity was a tool, to further the interest of the west.
But, oh how the times they are a-changing indeed.
January 7th, 1963, Washington DC.
Ethan Hunt was one such individual. From a young age he showed an unnatural strength and endurance, superhuman almost. As it turned out he was able to manipulate energy and the world around him for protection. Magic was not exactly a science but more of an art. The CIA saw these skills within him and assigned him to the IMF, where he quickly became one of their best agents.
However, he couldn’t keep going at it alone. He may have been a magician, but he was still human. He was in search of a familiar, someone who would be able to help him with his magic ability.
He’d put in the request, assuming he would not be taken seriously. But a few days afterward he was called into Musgrave’s office, his handler. Musgrave handed him a file, a black and white photograph of the profile of a younger looking man.
“His name is Benjamin Dunn. The CIA heard you wanted a familiar, he’s being transferred in today.”
Musgrave sat at his desk, “I heard he’s quite intelligent, went to Oxford. Grew up in England.”
As Ethan sat down, he inspected the file more thoroughly.
“That’s all good, but is he prepared for field work?”
“Should be, the CIA wouldn’t send in someone who wasn’t. He’s being personally assigned to you he's not just a new agent. Play nice with him, Ethan. We really don’t need another incident.”
Ethan looked up at Musgraves “Incident?”
“Yeah, like the one with Agent Harmon.”
Ethan looked back down at the file, “Right, Jack.”
His voice went cold, running his fingers idly on the page. He’d never want to repeat that. He shook himself of the thought. Whoever this Benjamin Dunn was, he wouldn’t make the same mistakes with him as he made with Jack. But for now, all he needed to worry about was the stack of paperwork on his desk and await his familiar.
After all, every magician needed one.