Mission: Impossible - Project Package
A/N: Hey guys! This is another instalment in the epic project called the Fan Fiction Christmas Countdown! It's a thing I and eleven of my fan ficcing friends are doing. Each of the twelve days leading up to Christmas, a different person posts a story about a different fandom with a Christmas theme. If you haven't already, I'd encourage you to go read the other stories that have already been published- starting with Pip the Dark Lord of All's (it's a Star Trek fic) and going through all of them.
This story is set after Mission Impossible: Rogue Nation. There are no spoilers, though. For those reading this for the Fan Fiction Christmas Countdown (see my profile page), and who haven't seen any of the Mission: Impossible movies, here's a short list of characters that you should know:
Ethan Hunt: Leader of the group. He can fight really well hand-to-hand.
Brandt: He's super cool and can fight AND be really clever. And he's acted by Jeremy Renner, sooo... you know... he's probably Hawkeye in disguise.
Benji Dunn: The brains of the operation- more or less. He does the techy stuff and hacks everything.
Ilsa: She... kicks really hard? And she's pretty. But not as pretty as Brandt.
There are various OCs in here, simply because I had to create my own villains. I do not own the Mission: Impossible franchise. I do not own the characters. I am not writing this for monetary profit; only for lolz. Okay? Don't sue me. :)
"I can't believe we're doing this," hissed Ilsa.
It wasn't the most comfortable situation, Ethan had to agree. They were sitting, the four of them, in a large crate, clunking across the Arabian desert on a camel's back.
"This is absolutely crazy!" Ilsa hissed again. "Why did I ever go into this business?"
"I think it's awesome," said Brandt. "I like the desert."
"My tech is getting all sandy," said a regretful Benji. "Ethan, surely there could have been a better way to get there than this!"
Ethan Hunt, Brandt, Benji, and Ilsa. This was the team on whom rested the safety of the entire nation of America at that moment.
It hadn't even been a week since Ethan had gotten the message from the IMF: take out Jabbar Ibrahim. Take him out without a trace. Take him out by Christmas.
It had never sounded like an easy job. Ibrahim was a well-known oil tycoon on the southern coast of Arabia. Lots of people were his friends; far more were his bodyguards. But when he had looked into the business, Ethan Hunt had almost given up in despair.
Not only did Ibrahim have the typical guards of a very rich man; he had a highly trained hit team on duty at all times to protect him. Apparently he was extremely paranoid. He checked everything. Left no stone unturned. There could be no possible way to get him in an unsuspicious way while he was in public.
That meant that the team had to get into his house. More complicated than it sounds.
There happened to be a three-foot-thick, ten-feet-tall, barb-wire-topped wall around his residence. There were guards patrolling at all hours. Not even a flea could get in or out without being seen and reported.
Ethan Hunt had sighed in frustration. He'd torn at his hair. He'd even sent a message to the IMF telling them that the task was simply impossible.
That hadn't been taken well. They'd taken away his three weeks of Christmas vacation in order to give him "sufficient time to complete this so-called 'impossible' task".
"No hard feelings," said his boss. "It just must be done. Ibrahim must be taken out. And you're the most suited to the task."
Ethan hated being depended on so much. It would make him feel so guilty if he ever made a mistake! Thank goodness he never did. :)
This time, however, he was really worried. Ibrahim was a genius. He was also very practical and un-flirty. No use for Venus this time. This time they had to depend solely on their wits, and their wills to save the world.
"I don't see how killing a man can be saving the world," Benji had said. Ethan had shrugged. They were agents of the IMF. It's what they do.
So that is how they had come to these straits. Ethan had been desperate. He'd thought through every infiltration mission he'd ever been on. He researched. He plotted. He googled. All to no avail- until at last he had decided on the idea that had seemed the silliest at the time.
The team would come in the mail.
At this time of year, everyone was getting lots of packages; books, toys, big screen TVs. Ibrahim was no exception. He had been celebrating Christmas ever since he had gone to England for his education at Oxford. And after Benji did some clever hacking, he had found Jabbar's Amazon account and had discovered that the Arab was expecting a delivery of a very large HD television. After that it wasn't too much trouble to bribe the Amazon associate, knock out the UPS man, and replace the box with one of their own design.
"It's a terrible design," Ilsa had complained when they had started out. She hadn't changed her mind.
It wasn't as if they could have put in padding. They needed every spare inch for themselves and Benji's equipment ("Do you really need a transnuclear reactor?" Brandt had asked. Apparently, yes). And beyond that, they had to put in special lining to prevent Ibrahim's x-rays from detecting them. Yes, Ibrahim was a very careful man.
"I didn't know they'd take a camel!" Ethan protested for the fiftieth time. "How was I supposed to know? Who even rides camels anymore?"
"I bet it was because of his strict safety regulations," said Brandt, bracing himself against the side of the box and hoping he wouldn't be bruised all over when he got out of this mess. "He probably will only let so many people get their hands on it. Paranoid jerk."
"When we get out of here, I'm going to skin his-" began Ilsa, but Ethan cut her off.
"I think we're stopping," he said. The box gave one final lurch. Ilsa gave one final groan. And then they were still.
"This seems like way more trouble than it could possibly be worth," said Ilsa, getting more and more out of sorts with each passing moment. The man was lifting the box down, and although he obviously had a healthy fear of what Ibrahim would do to him if he damaged his TV, his carefulness was not enough to keep the occupants of his package at all comfortable.
"I won't even be able to move after this," said Brandt, shifting uncomfortably.
"Get your elbow out of my eye," hissed Ethan.
Finally the box was set down, and they heard the distant ring of a doorbell. A screech of gates opening.
"Package for Jabbar Ibrahim," said the man who had brought them.
"We'll take it," said one of the guards. "Thanks."
"What does it look like?" asked one of the guards to the other after the man had left. "It's an Amazon box. Maybe he ordered another load of cotton candy."
The other guard bent and lifted the box with a grunt. "By the weight of it, I'd say it's something a little more dense."
"He called you dense," whispered Benji, elbowing Brandt.
"Need help?" said the first guard.
"Naw, I got it," said the other. The box lurched, and Ilsa almost screamed.
"If that idiot drops us," she said menacingly, and didn't need to finish the sentence.
"Here we go," Ethan whispered. "Everyone stay still."
The box was set down, and gave a jerk as it started moving.
"We're on a conveyor belt," said Ethan. "We'll be going through the X-ray machine. Let's hope our lining works."
"What? There's a chance of it not working?" said Brandt, slapping his forehead. "Great."
"I said hold still!" said Ethan.
The box stopped, and there was a faint buzzing sound. Then silence.
"It's okay," said a voice, and the box was lifted again.
"Don't drop that, or you're a dead man," warned another voice. Someone said something about the boss watching too much Dr. Who, another man laughed.
"Are we there yet?" Ilsa groaned. "I hate my job."
"Almost," said Ethan. "There's the doorbell."
There was a moment's pause, and then the door opened.
"Package for you, sir," said the guard respectfully.
"Ah, yes, I was expecting that," said Ibrahim. "You can bring it in."
There was more thumping, more bumping, and more "get your toe out of my eye"ing, but finally the box was set down.
"Get ready," said Ethan, placing a hand on his automatic. "He might decide to open the box right away."
But apparently that wasn't Ibrahim's plan.
"Send in Tony to wrap it sometime tonight," he said to the guard.
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you. That is all."
And the guard left.
"Now what do we do?" whispered Benji. "Do we just wait?"
"That's the plan," said Ethan. "We strike at twelve."
"What time is it now?" asked Ilsa.
"Two o'clock PM," said Ethan.
Everyone groaned.
"Your hair is in my mouth, Ilsa."
"Your boot is in my back, Hunt!"
"Your gun is in my ear, Benji."
"Your face is in my face, Brandt!"
"This needs to stop," said Ethan, clutching his head in despair. "We're going to fail!"
"I hate waiting," said Ilsa, kicking moodily at the side of the box and hitting brandt with the heel of her boot by accident.
"I am so quitting after this mission," said Brandt, after a long string of words I shall not repeat.
"What time is it?" asked Benji for about the millionth time.
"It's only nine, okay?" said Ethan, sighing. "Wait a minute... did you hear that?"
"Here's the box," said Ibrahim's voice above them. "I want it wrapped for Christmas. Label it 'to my dear friend Gerald from Jabbar', and don't put any creepy smiley faces or hearts on it this time."
"Yes, sir," said another voice- apparently Tony's. "I'll have it ready in fifteen minutes."
"You can place it under the tree when you're done," said Ibrahim.
"Ugh," grunted Tony, tilting the box. There was a rustle of wrapping paper. "What on earth's in this thing? It weighs a ton."
"I am not that heavy!" said Ilsa indignantly.
"Should I wrap in gold or red?" mused Tony.
"I like gold," said Brandt. "Oh, what am I saying?"
"Does he have to keep flipping the box over?" complained Benji, untangling a piece of his equipment from Ilsa's hair for the tenth time.
"Sh," hissed Ethan. "This isn't entirely sound-proof, you know."
When Tony had finally left, Ethan let out a relieved sigh. Only two more hours left.
"I smell pine," said Brandt.
"Because we're under the Christmas tree, idiot!" said Ilsa.
"I wonder if the IMF would get mad at us if we took a few of the expensive presents back home with us," said Brandt. "After all, he'll be dead, so what will he want with them?"
Suddenly, Ethan's com unit started beeping loudly.
"Oh no," he gasped.
"What's that noise?" said Ibrahim from somewhere to their right.
"Turn it off!" said Benji.
"I'm trying," said Ethan.
"He's going to find us," wailed Ilsa.
There was a ripping sound above them.
"He's opening the box!" shrieked Benji, clinging to Ethan. "Do something!"
"Ethan Hunt," roared the com unit.
"SHUT UP!" yelled Ethan desperately. There were more ripping paper sounds.
"That's not a way to speak to the head of the IMF," said the com. "I've been trying to reach you for days!"
"Be quiet!" begged Ethan.
"Where is my knife?" mumbled Ibrahim from somewhere above them.
"You misunderstood my directions," said the com. "Jabbar Ibrahim is a friend of the IMF. A highly influential friend. And we need him to stay that way."
Ethan Hunt turned white. "Please don't open the box, please don't open the box," he muttered.
"I meant 'take him out' as in out to dinner, not 'take him out' as in kill him!" said the com.
There was a thwick! sound, and the box popped open.
"Oh my heavens!" shouted Ibrahim, jumping back, as four tousle-haired, mussed-clothesed individuals rose up from where his million dollar TV should have been.
"Uh," said Brandt.
"Ugh," groaned Ilsa.
"Um," said Benji.
Ibrahim nervously twisted the multiple gold rings on his finger. "Zombies?" he questioned tentatively.
Ethan smiled wanly and waved his hand.
"Merry Christmas!" he said.
"I still don't understand why you showed up in a box," said Ibrahim, as the five of them left the best restaurant in the city.
"Um, it's a bit complicated," said Ethan.
("Why did you get a bigger take-out box than me?" Benji demanded of Brandt.)
"Well, it was original, if nothing else," said Ibrahim. "Tell the IMF that I will not stop supporting them, never fear."
"Thank you, Mr. Ibrahim," said Ethan, relieved.
("I shouldn't have ordered a dessert," sighed Ilsa. "I'm getting fat.")
"Thank you, Mr. Hunt," said Ibrahim. "The evening has been most enjoyable."
THE END
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed, even if you aren't familiar with the movies. Don't forget to check out Brievel's profile for tomorrow's Star Wars story!. Merry Christmas! :D