Surviving the Show Pt. 3
Pre-Cannon | Pinning | Slow Burn | Forbidden Love | Falling in Love | Fem!reader-coded | no beta | swearing
Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3
pairings: evan mccone x reader
notes: DO NOT REPOST. Press the heart button if you liked it. Read the tags. DO NOT FEED TO AI. Feedback is welcome
Day 8
Evan McCone hated modern technology.
No, scratch that.
Evan McCone hated useless technology. It was all on the semantics, he hated useless updates on objects that did not need it like fridges that required Wi-Fi to work and collect his personal data while showing ads. Yeah, something like that.
That meant he had forbidden the presence of any stupid smart appliances on Hunters’ headquarters and safe houses. He was not fighting a stupid printer to connect it to Bluetooth only because he needed documents on paper.
It also meant that the safe house he was currently in looked like something out of a post-Cold War film except for the military type laptops, tablets, computer towers and smart glasses.
The afternoon sun gave a natural light to the apartment he was currently in, something warm and tangible in the midst of cold military and tactical gear and tools provided by the Network. Evan grabbed the mug from the semi-automatic coffee maker and moved to his designated bedroom. He locked the door from the inside and shed his coat, beret and aviator glasses
Sighing he took a seat on a chair and grabbed his tablet, sipping his coffee he re-watched the events of two days ago. He had already watched the live transmission while he was riding the van, had watched it again when the Network Community Guard and the Hunters arrived at the scene of the crime to locate the bodies of the deceased couple who had wanted to try their luck hunting you down and had made a third re-watch the day after to help him process the fact that someone he had initially classified as hopeless had given two heavily armed individuals a run for their money.
At the moment Evan was trying to determine where the hell was your new hide-out. You had been clever, he had to admit. The attack had taken place in a very touristic area with dozens of hotels and motels without counting the apartments for tourists. Not only that, the fire had forced almost a hundred people to relocate so that meant more rooms to check.
A knock on the door interrupted his musings. Evan put the tablet and his mug of coffee down on the night table and put on his mask.
“Come in.” He ordered.
One of the Hunters opened the door.
“The Report & Record app sent a notification, Chief. Maxwell has been recognised at a club.” He passed his own tablet to McCone.
“A club? He must be the hedonistic type.” Evan grumbled grabbing the tablet.
Indeed, Maxwell, the only runner left besides you and close to you on age, was sitting down at a booth with scantily clad bottle girls carrying an expensive-looking bottle of champagne on an ice recipient and bottle sparklers. People were drinking and partying and there were a couple of gogodancers on the stage.
“….That man is burning away his resources for champagne.” Evan shook his head.
His phone rang, Evan picked it up, the caller ID belonged to Dan Killian.
“McCone.” Evan answered.
“I assume you are already aware of Maxwell’s circus.” The smirk on Killian’s face could be heard from the other side of the line.
“Yes, sir.” The younger man answered.
“Our viewers are growing bored. It has been almost two days since that impressive persecution but adrenaline tends to burn out quickly. You don’t need to kill Maxwell, just give the viewers a little something to keep them on their seats.” Killian ordered.
“Understood, sir. Yes, sir.” McCone responded and hung up the call.
“What time is it?” McCone grabbed his leather coat and put it on.
“1900, sir.” the Hunter said.
“We have an hour to force that man out of the club before the show starts.” McCone put his beret and aviator glasses on. “without killing him off camera. We are going hunting”
The NTG trucks swerved down the streets. Evan was on the co-pilot seat of the first truck, he grabbed his walkie-talkie and tuned in the channels.
“This is McCone speaking, Maxwell is at a club. We got orders of getting him out of there before the show starts to keep the audience entertained.” He informed his men. “Hunters, you are going in. Network Command Guard, you will wait outside with me on a nearby street; you will act as a last minute barrier in case I have to call you in. McCone out”
The vehicles pulled up at a street nearby of the club. The Hunters, except McCone, got out wearing costumes. Two of them were dressed as garbage men and the other two were dressed up as club-goers one with leather jacket, hoodie and the other one with expensive-looking sportswear.
“25 minutes until the show starts, gentlemen.” McCone informed setting the time on his watch. “Let’s get that man out.”
You were in the changing room of the club. A friend of yours, Mel, had offered you to pass the night there undercover. You would not have to wait until the night for the Hunters to go for you and once the show was over you could go back to the motel and sleep. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. The Hunters normally went to larger spaces to show off their skills, entertain the public and spot quickly a Runner; a club seemed like a tight spot for them to act while trying not to harm civilians.
There were young men and women of different complexions in front of their mirrors touching up their make-up and making sure their outfits looked tight and good. Your perfectly dolled up face was looking back at you on one of those vanity mirrors with lights on, your hair was pulled back on a wig cap.
“I knew this would come in handy one day.” Mel approached you from behind and placed a long purple party wig with bangs adjusting it well over the wig cap. “Now you look like a proper server. Get up and let me take a good look at you.”
You got up. “Doesn’t the wig make me standout more?” You asked worried.
“Nah, some customers wear wigs like that for birthdays and other celebrations and servers too, see? Look at Orlando.” Mel pointed out a young man who was wearing tight leather shorts with a tank top and a brown 80s-like afro wig and a matching mustache. “He has an 80s-themed party he has to serve for tonight.” She put a couple of hairpins to secure your wig.
Next to Orlando there were other men and women wearing party wigs of vivid colors and different styles.
Mel gave your outfit a once-over of the women's uniform of the establishment, black high-waist shorts and a black top that tightened around your middle with a small brown fanny pack around your waist, as shoes you had running heel boots. She grimaced at the latter.
“Ugh, you would look so good with the high-heel long boots but you need to be able to run fast…” She groaned in frustration.
“I can live with it.” You replied, looking good was the last of your concerns right now.
The TV on the changing room was on, your expression soured when you noticed they were passing an ad of The Running Man. The ad showed Bobby T doing a short monologue about human nature and the need for entertainment, then it switched to a montage of Chief McCone without his characteristic coat showing off his strong arms and shooting a Runner on a forest, then he turned to the camera and said ‘That’s game’, another of his stupid catchphrases.
You could not help but look at your orange bracelet which you had concealed underneath a fake golden bracelet, you had less than 5 hours to send your tape.
“Hey, change channels!” Mel called out one of the girls.
“Mel, it’s alright..” You put a hand on her arm. “It’s just a garbage add.”
Mel looked at you concerned but then put her hands on your shoulders and straightened you out.
“Time to work.” She said.
McCone entered the surveillance high-tech van. Two members of the Network Community Guard were seated in front two huge monitors which showed the live feed of the club's hacked cameras. McCone crossed his arms and watched as the computers automatically scanned the faces on the crowd processing the data.
The Hunters dressed up as club-goers entered the club using fake IDs and got in. The pulsating music vibrated throughout the establishment, servers wore tight and short clothes, both men and women and some were even wearing cheap party wigs. The dark along with the glowing beans made the crowd look like a pulsating mass of dancing bodies but thanks to the infrared program of the surveillance van McCone could see it all clearly. There was a DJ playing techno mixed with disco and the audience seemed to like her style.
McCone looked carefully and located the booths, there were two bodyguards blocking the entrance. A VIP zone, most likely.
"I want to see the VIP zone." McCone ordered.
"There don't seem to be any cameras." Said one of the agents at the keyboard. "It happens more often than not, clubs don't want affluent clients to stop going so they make sure there is no evidence of trouble."
McCone inwardly sighed. Of course a shady place like that did not follow protocol.
"We will fine the club when today's episode is over for not complying to safety regulations with a fine so big it gets it shut down." McCone commented.
With two fingers he pressed his earpiece.
"At the far end of the club there is the VIP area, there are no cameras in there but by the looks of it Maxwell is on one of those booths. Approach the zone slowly without standing out." He ordered.
He scanned the people dancing and the dimensions of the place, it was a big and wide place. There were couples dancing together shamelessly and groups of friends dancing in closed clusters.
You went behind the bar and picked up empty bottles to throw in the trash.
“Ladies and lads!” The manager of the club walked towards you. “I know your shift started a few minutes ago but let me tell you that we have Maxwell, contestant from The Running Man on a VIP booth.” He said with a huge grin. “Veronica and Lucy are not here because their shifts already ended, so I am going to need two beauties, preferably women, to be his servers until he leaves.”
You have got to be kidding me.
Sure, you remembered Maxwell from Assessment, the daredevil that had been chosen for the show.
He had acted fearlessly on the trials and had gotten out of the meeting with Killian with a drink and an attractive woman on his arm. That moment you had realized he wanted all the pleasure he could get.
If the manager knew he was here then that also meant that the Hunters had probably been tipped off. Your grip on an empty bottle tightened. They were probably waiting outside ready to pounce when Maxwell got out.
Mel leaned to whisper on your ear. "Does that mean you have to get out here?"
"I don't think so." You mused. "The Hunters don't tend to involve civilians when they act so so far the club is safe."
Mel nodded. “What should we do?
“Play it safe and do nothing. However, it would be ideal if Maxwell got out as soon as possible, that way the Hunters and the NCG would follow and forget about this place.” You reasoned.
Mel smirked at you. “Wanna seduce him and kick him out? Your jaw dropped. “Are you out of your mind?”
“What? You know Maxwell better than anyone in here, we could plan something.”
“I don’t know him that well! We were only together on the Assessment and even then most of the time we were trying to pass the trials.” Your head was spinning, why did Mel have to propose that?
“Come on, babe. Look, you have good ideas and you are smart, remember how you ended that stupid couple?”
“That was the spur of the moment! What if he recognizes me? Hmm? What then?” You inquired.
That seemed to stop her. Mel looked away in frustration and then looked back at you.
“What if you made the plan and another girl and me carried it out?”
Your hands twitched with the urge to strangle Mel.
“You are nuts.” You told her.
“No, I am confident and trust my bestie.” Mel winked.
Why was everyone so nuts lately?
“Okay, fine. But you are going to follow every single step, no unnecessary risks and no stupid moves.” You started to map out your plan.
A/N: A reunion is coming and McCone and reader will meet again. Will there be a showdown or fighting? Will everybody die? We will see, enjoy!
