antebellum [t. riddle]

lxvi

march 1945
graphic depiction of violence

unlike many of the other agents who worked for macusa, sicaria had no pre-mission ritual. the term 'ritual' in and of itself was a bit dramatic for the context; most were prayers to merlin or pagan gods they worshiped, or a particular meal that they felt gave them some sort of luck. others laughed and messed around with the other agents on their teams, while some sat in corners silently, clearly trying not to lose their unstable and fragile composure. some of the more despondent agents wrote letters of goodbye to their loved ones, just on the off chance that something terrible happened. typically, these were done between the time the agents checked into their secure location, and the moment when their operations manager arrived to begin the assignment.

but that was before. the war had been going on for years, but it was undeniable that in the past two, morale was becoming steadily lower and lower, as did the number of aurors that returned after missions. carrying the bodies of friends murdered was enough to give everything prior a sinister, foreboding feeling.

everyone was wondering who'd die today. sicaria glanced around the room, doing the calculations quickly in her head.

twenty-one people. statistically, four people will die tonight.

though this mission was supposed to be what was called a 'no-contact—no-conflict' operation, there was no point in pretending there wasn't a possibility of an ambush.

no point in thinking about that.

in the past, a successful mission would start with her getting high the night before and end with her getting high the next day to celebrate.

and in the case of the opposite, or if there was a mishap—

well, she would still get high. it had managed to be any form of consolation or comfort she had ever needed, whether celebratory or conciliatory.

in missions past, she had been captured and tortured for information only a few times before, but that was long before she realized that macusa never intended to go so long as she was alive and useful. she was only ever kept for short periods of time, nothing so traumatic that she was in need of intensive treatment. standard cruciatus, having her mind rampaged, as well as various, uncreative forms of torture were all things she had experienced, and occasionally showed up in her dreams.

her method of suppressing those failures and distresses was in all likelihood, not the healthiest way of dealing with her issues, but so long as it didn't affect her capabilities, she didn't quite care.

she never used to be someone who worried themselves until they became irrational. it was easy for her to separate unnecessary and implausible fears from reality— a learned trait from her parents. her pride and confidence in her ability allowed her to think rationally and plan mentally for nearly every outcome. a life of training had given her the power to compartmentalize, and never let emotion crowd her sensibility.

but now, she was on edge.

she didn't care about her own life, no, but she couldn't shake the thought of her capture leading to the deaths of five of the few people she had ever truly cared for.

sicaria had never died before. statistically, there was zero chance she wouldn't survive.

but in the case there was a probability, no matter how small, and that something happened to go wrong, she promised herself she couldn't let herself be captured. she needed to make sure they killed her, or she'd have to kill herself before they could figure out who she was.

these thoughts are unhelpful. plan, and move forward, she reminded herself again.

the groups of officials surrounded her, but none spoke directly to her. security aurors, dressed in the brightly colored robes of the countries they were representing, and special agents or special operations aurors all in black robes with identity charms concealing every characteristic of them. the only thing giving any hint to their true identity were the crests of their countries pinned to the lapels of their robes. sicaria was currently under those same charms, twirling her wand between her fingers as she waited.