Ethan Hunt

He noted the exits, the positioning of the guards dressed as attendants, the subtle weight of hidden weapons under fine jackets. His eyes never lingered too long on one face, but he catalogued everything.

The mission was simple on paper: find the broker known as The Raven, intercept the microchip before the auction closed, and walk out unnoticed. In practice, he knew better. There was nothing simple about a room filled with masks—too many unknowns, too many lies hidden behind painted smiles.

Ethan adjusted his cufflink, the faintest flicker of dry humor tugging at him. Of all the places he’d rather be tonight, playing dress-up at a masquerade wasn’t onle of them. Still, if the Raven was here, so was the key to stopping the deal.

His gaze flicked once more across the room, landing on a figure at the far end of the hall who moved against the rhythm of the party—purposeful, deliberate. Ethan’s instincts sharpened.

He started down the stairs, blending into the crowd with practiced ease.

This mission had already begun.

He actually liked climbing without a harness—free climbing. But he wasn’t about to scare her.

He backed away then and kissed her hand.

“Lovely meeting you Miss Fan. But I have to get going…”

He backed into the crowd and disappeared. He made quick work of getting to the staff entrance, moving quickly and shedding parts of his persona. He knew Luther and the others were waiting.

Ethan was tired and wandering.

He hadn’t found a place slow enough for him to disappear, and the memories of his fallen team still haunted him. But then the bus slowed at the newest stop.

“Nowhere, Wyoming!”

His ear perked up. A place called nowhere? Sounds like a place for a ghost. So he slipped off the bus with a duffle and no plan. He looked around, spotting few stops.

A gas station.

A diner.

A hardware store.

A grocery store.

Once she placed the coffee on the table, she went to the back, only for her father to emerge a few minutes later.

Ethan was tired.

Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of existing. Since he had first gone rogue and left IMF, his life hadn’t stopped. No normalcy, no repetition. No human connection. He was nearly starved. Always a stranger and never a friend. His contacts didn’t count. Most he couldn’t even trust.

He neared a small bookstore, nondescript and forgettable. A good place to lay low and catch a breath. So he walked through the door.

He didn’t expect to walk into a supposed lover’s quarrel—one sided anyways. The man was all hardness and anger. The girl behind the counter looked like she’d rather see anyone else. But he noticed a slight tremor to her frame…Which he knew meant one thing.

Fear.

“Hey babe, you alright?” Ethan asked as he slipped behind the counter.

Deductive reasoning.

Ethan was tired and wandering.

He hadn’t found a place slow enough for him to disappear, and the memories of his fallen team still haunted him. But then the bus slowed at the newest stop.

“Nowhere, Wyoming!”

His ear perked up. A place called nowhere? Sounds like a place for a ghost. So he slipped off the bus with a duffle and no plan. He looked around, spotting few stops.

A gas station.

A diner.

A hardware store.

A grocery store.

Once she placed the coffee on the table, she went to the back, only for her father to emerge a few minutes later.

He noted the exits, the positioning of the guards dressed as attendants, the subtle weight of hidden weapons under fine jackets. His eyes never lingered too long on one face, but he catalogued everything.

The mission was simple on paper: find the broker known as The Raven, intercept the microchip before the auction closed, and walk out unnoticed. In practice, he knew better. There was nothing simple about a room filled with masks—too many unknowns, too many lies hidden behind painted smiles.

Ethan adjusted his cufflink, the faintest flicker of dry humor tugging at him. Of all the places he’d rather be tonight, playing dress-up at a masquerade wasn’t onle of them. Still, if the Raven was here, so was the key to stopping the deal.

His gaze flicked once more across the room, landing on a figure at the far end of the hall who moved against the rhythm of the party—purposeful, deliberate. Ethan’s instincts sharpened.

He started down the stairs, blending into the crowd with practiced ease.

This mission had already begun.

He actually liked climbing without a harness—free climbing. But he wasn’t about to scare her.

Ethan was tired.

Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of existing. Since he had first gone rogue and left IMF, his life hadn’t stopped. No normalcy, no repetition. No human connection. He was nearly starved. Always a stranger and never a friend. His contacts didn’t count. Most he couldn’t even trust.

He neared a small bookstore, nondescript and forgettable. A good place to lay low and catch a breath. So he walked through the door.

He didn’t expect to walk into a supposed lover’s quarrel—one sided anyways. The man was all hardness and anger. The girl behind the counter looked like she’d rather see anyone else. But he noticed a slight tremor to her frame…Which he knew meant one thing.

Fear.

“Hey babe, you alright?” Ethan asked as he slipped behind the counter.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Infiltrate. Secure the intel. Get out.

That was the plan when Ethan Hunt and his team arrived in Bucharest under the cover of night. The warehouse on the edge of the Danube was crawling with guards, the kind of mercenaries who didn’t ask questions as long as the money flowed. IMF intelligence had flagged the operation: one of the largest black-market weapon transfers in Eastern Europe. The broker? A woman who went by the name Seraphina Kane. Arms dealer. Ruthless. Untouchable.

And someone Ethan had met once—years ago.

He didn’t tell the team that part. He never told the team about his mistakes.

“Blue Team, you’re clear on the east entrance,” Benji’s voice came through the comm, nervous but steady. “But there’s heat signatures moving on the second floor.”

Ethan signaled Ilsa beside him, then cut through the shadows. Every step echoed with the reminder of what he was fighting for: dismantling Seraphina’s empire before it could drown another region in blood.

They breached silently. The smell of oil, iron, and old smoke hung thick in the warehouse. Crates stacked high, all stamped with foreign military insignias. The chatter of guards drifted from the loading bay. Ethan motioned for Ilsa to take point while he scanned the mezzanine. That’s when he heard it—a sharp cry, small, strangled. A child’s cry.

His heart stilled.

It came from behind a locked steel door. Without hesitation, he cut the lock and swung it open.

Inside, a girl—no more than ten—sat huddled in the corner. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, dirt smudged across her face. Her arms curled around her knees, trembling like a wild creature waiting for the strike.

Ethan was tired and wandering.

He hadn’t found a place slow enough for him to disappear, and the memories of his fallen team still haunted him. But then the bus slowed at the newest stop.

“Nowhere, Wyoming!”

His ear perked up. A place called nowhere? Sounds like a place for a ghost. So he slipped off the bus with a duffle and no plan. He looked around, spotting few stops.

A gas station.

A diner.

A hardware store.

A grocery store.

He noted the exits, the positioning of the guards dressed as attendants, the subtle weight of hidden weapons under fine jackets. His eyes never lingered too long on one face, but he catalogued everything.

The mission was simple on paper: find the broker known as The Raven, intercept the microchip before the auction closed, and walk out unnoticed. In practice, he knew better. There was nothing simple about a room filled with masks—too many unknowns, too many lies hidden behind painted smiles.

Ethan adjusted his cufflink, the faintest flicker of dry humor tugging at him. Of all the places he’d rather be tonight, playing dress-up at a masquerade wasn’t onle of them. Still, if the Raven was here, so was the key to stopping the deal.

His gaze flicked once more across the room, landing on a figure at the far end of the hall who moved against the rhythm of the party—purposeful, deliberate. Ethan’s instincts sharpened.

He started down the stairs, blending into the crowd with practiced ease.

This mission had already begun.

He twirled her as they neared the target, and when they brushed against the man, Ethan managed to grab the data file unnoticed.

Or so he hoped. He slid the file into his cuff link.

Ethan was tired.

Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of existing. Since he had first gone rogue and left IMF, his life hadn’t stopped. No normalcy, no repetition. No human connection. He was nearly starved. Always a stranger and never a friend. His contacts didn’t count. Most he couldn’t even trust.

He neared a small bookstore, nondescript and forgettable. A good place to lay low and catch a breath. So he walked through the door.

He didn’t expect to walk into a supposed lover’s quarrel—one sided anyways. The man was all hardness and anger. The girl behind the counter looked like she’d rather see anyone else. But he noticed a slight tremor to her frame…Which he knew meant one thing.

Fear.

“Hey babe, you alright?” Ethan asked as he slipped behind the counter.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Infiltrate. Secure the intel. Get out.

That was the plan when Ethan Hunt and his team arrived in Bucharest under the cover of night. The warehouse on the edge of the Danube was crawling with guards, the kind of mercenaries who didn’t ask questions as long as the money flowed. IMF intelligence had flagged the operation: one of the largest black-market weapon transfers in Eastern Europe. The broker? A woman who went by the name Seraphina Kane. Arms dealer. Ruthless. Untouchable.

And someone Ethan had met once—years ago.

He didn’t tell the team that part. He never told the team about his mistakes.

“Blue Team, you’re clear on the east entrance,” Benji’s voice came through the comm, nervous but steady. “But there’s heat signatures moving on the second floor.”

Ethan signaled Ilsa beside him, then cut through the shadows. Every step echoed with the reminder of what he was fighting for: dismantling Seraphina’s empire before it could drown another region in blood.

They breached silently. The smell of oil, iron, and old smoke hung thick in the warehouse. Crates stacked high, all stamped with foreign military insignias. The chatter of guards drifted from the loading bay. Ethan motioned for Ilsa to take point while he scanned the mezzanine. That’s when he heard it—a sharp cry, small, strangled. A child’s cry.

His heart stilled.

It came from behind a locked steel door. Without hesitation, he cut the lock and swung it open.

Inside, a girl—no more than ten—sat huddled in the corner. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, dirt smudged across her face. Her arms curled around her knees, trembling like a wild creature waiting for the strike.

She looked up at the man, noting the gun in his hand, and ducked her head again. What if he was here to kill her? Her mother had said that if she made a noise she'd be dead.

Then he said he wasn't there to hurt her, and she glanced up cautiously, but didn't move.

“Easy…see? I put it away. It isn’t meant for you,” Ethan told her gently. “What’s your name?”

He was thinking she was a kidnapped child. So he couldn’t leave her here.

His comms again. “Ethan? What are you doing? Hostile in less than a minute.”

“Times up, sweetie,” Ethan said.

He lifted her gently and held her as he slipped out of the door. He tucked her face into his chest, moving quickly. He didn’t want to fight if he had a child with him. But he would if needed.

Ethan was tired.

Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of existing. Since he had first gone rogue and left IMF, his life hadn’t stopped. No normalcy, no repetition. No human connection. He was nearly starved. Always a stranger and never a friend. His contacts didn’t count. Most he couldn’t even trust.

He neared a small bookstore, nondescript and forgettable. A good place to lay low and catch a breath. So he walked through the door.

He didn’t expect to walk into a supposed lover’s quarrel—one sided anyways. The man was all hardness and anger. The girl behind the counter looked like she’d rather see anyone else. But he noticed a slight tremor to her frame…Which he knew meant one thing.

Fear.

“Hey babe, you alright?” Ethan asked as he slipped behind the counter.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“Not interested in any of that.”

He offered her a small smile and a shrug.

This wasn’t a normal stop for him. This was the type of town he would normally coast through. But he saw Kate and saw she needed help so he would bide his time before slipping away again.

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Infiltrate. Secure the intel. Get out.

That was the plan when Ethan Hunt and his team arrived in Bucharest under the cover of night. The warehouse on the edge of the Danube was crawling with guards, the kind of mercenaries who didn’t ask questions as long as the money flowed. IMF intelligence had flagged the operation: one of the largest black-market weapon transfers in Eastern Europe. The broker? A woman who went by the name Seraphina Kane. Arms dealer. Ruthless. Untouchable.

And someone Ethan had met once—years ago.

He didn’t tell the team that part. He never told the team about his mistakes.

“Blue Team, you’re clear on the east entrance,” Benji’s voice came through the comm, nervous but steady. “But there’s heat signatures moving on the second floor.”

Ethan signaled Ilsa beside him, then cut through the shadows. Every step echoed with the reminder of what he was fighting for: dismantling Seraphina’s empire before it could drown another region in blood.

They breached silently. The smell of oil, iron, and old smoke hung thick in the warehouse. Crates stacked high, all stamped with foreign military insignias. The chatter of guards drifted from the loading bay. Ethan motioned for Ilsa to take point while he scanned the mezzanine. That’s when he heard it—a sharp cry, small, strangled. A child’s cry.

His heart stilled.

It came from behind a locked steel door. Without hesitation, he cut the lock and swung it open.

Inside, a girl—no more than ten—sat huddled in the corner. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, dirt smudged across her face. Her arms curled around her knees, trembling like a wild creature waiting for the strike.

She looked up at the man, noting the gun in his hand, and ducked her head again. What if he was here to kill her? Her mother had said that if she made a noise she'd be dead.

Then he said he wasn't there to hurt her, and she glanced up cautiously, but didn't move.

“Easy…see? I put it away. It isn’t meant for you,” Ethan told her gently. “What’s your name?”

Ethan was tired.

Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of existing. Since he had first gone rogue and left IMF, his life hadn’t stopped. No normalcy, no repetition. No human connection. He was nearly starved. Always a stranger and never a friend. His contacts didn’t count. Most he couldn’t even trust.

He neared a small bookstore, nondescript and forgettable. A good place to lay low and catch a breath. So he walked through the door.

He didn’t expect to walk into a supposed lover’s quarrel—one sided anyways. The man was all hardness and anger. The girl behind the counter looked like she’d rather see anyone else. But he noticed a slight tremor to her frame…Which he knew meant one thing.

Fear.

“Hey babe, you alright?” Ethan asked as he slipped behind the counter.

He ran a hand through his hair.

“Not interested in any of that.”

He offered her a small smile and a shrug.