Renegade (h.s.)

Mission: Charm

TW: suggestions of sexual violence and abuse

The Annual Benefit for Homeless Youths is an opportunity for the wealthy residents of New York to dress in their finest threads and pretend they give a shit about other people for one night of the year. They purchase a table at the Met for a gross amount of money, make pretty speeches, get drunk on expensive champagne, get to feel good about themselves, and then write it all off on their taxes at the end of the year.

The gala itself sees more money than those needy children ever will.

This year's event is bound to be even more disgustingly exploitative since Scott Watson is playing the role as coveted host for the evening... Child trafficker 364 days a year and child advocate one night a year.

That's hard to stomach, even for me.

I've spent most of my life on the laps of men who abuse others to gain success and then abuse that power once they get it. I've fucked ruthless mobsters for information before strangling them in their sleep. I've played the role of girlfriend to business tycoons that loved passing me around to their friends and colleagues. I've killed hundreds with little remorse and made most of those victims suffer —even enjoyed it most of the time. I've faked almost every orgasm, smile, laugh... nearly every moment of my life has been a farce.

Not even the most creative and disturbing nightmares could rival the things I have heard and seen throughout my career.

But, still, this world manages to shock and astound me.

And having to attend a benefit crawling with men that pretend to be advocates for the very demographic they exploit, having to schmooze and seduce one of them... well, it's helped me discover I may not be as numb to the monstrosities of the world as I'd like to pretend.

It's this disgust, though, this profound sense of injustice and long-repressed rage, that makes me even more determined to pursue Watson.

The night is warm and thrumming with excitement as I make it to the edge of the Met steps. Women file up the red carpet with glittering dresses and eyes and their partners trail behind them with barely-concealed boredom as photographers snap their photos. They pose and smile in front of a backdrop advertising the benefit and its poor beneficiaries, all while wearing thousands of dollars' worth of clothing and accessories.

A sinister grin slides up my painted lips as I observe the wealthy elite from the shadows, feeling oddly satisfied by their audacity and hypocrisy.

It makes me feel more secure in my purpose, steels my resolve to shatter their illusions and make them suffer.

I'm throwing myself right into the snake pit tonight, but I'm not worried.

Because I'm the most venomous creature here.

The only slight trepidation I have about tonight has to do with the fact that I am alone, no Imani to help me along the way.

Even though I know my partner would do anything for me, I couldn't ask her to do this. To go behind Rafael's back to help me —in direct violation of his orders. If this mission goes horribly wrong, I should be the only one punished for it.

The only role I'm letting her play tonight is replacing the live camera feed with the footage from last year's gala. And she even had to beg me to let her do that much.

I send Imani a quick text to let her know I'm headed in and to switch the feed just as I begin trek up the Met steps, avoiding the photographers and other attendees for now so I can take stock of the crowd.

The entire block is closed-off for tonight and dozens of security guards crawl around the edges of the barricades, standing out amongst the attendees —who are dressed in white formal wear as per the annual theme.