#mccards

McCone refines the casting tests, to make sure the contestants have the stamina it takes to make it interesting. He even has some veto power on people he think will be boring.

(and maybe some he pities. but there's very few of those, and less every season)

Helpless dude is a sacrificial lamb, dead after day or two at most, but negative dude and final dude aren't set until the game really gets going. Helpless dude is there only to get the other two moving, making it viscerally real for them. The network could sniff them out and kill them almost anytime, but it's the desperate and daring escapes that makes good freevie

McCone's got an eye for picking the two real runners, and Killian respects that, because there's always an unpredictable element when the show actually starts.

Laughlin is Killian's favourite for this season. She's got a violent history and has been on the run before. They haven't had a woman in a while, but she's got the right appeal. Richards might be built like a brick shit house, angry and motivated, but he's never been in real trouble, and the sick kid story is borderline for getting too much audience sympathy.

And you know, let's say there's another contender Killian likes. Prefers over Ben. A safer bet, like a veteran or ex-cop.

But McCone looks at Richards and sees that fire, and it stirs something in himself. He uses his pull to get Ben picked. Killian humors him, only because he's so confident in Laughlin.

Then Laughlin proves to have a bit too much of a deathwish, and Ben manages the apartment escape, leaving a lot of bodies in his wake. So the network lull Laughlin into being more brazen, though they don't plan on the kids getting her. But Killian loves that, it's that unpredictable element that the audience craves.

And McCone loves toying with Ben, enjoys pushing him to his limits, trying to get him past them. He actually has to start and really try to kill him. The game's still rigged, and it's only ever going to end one way, but the excitement infects him too. Dirty minds here, please.

AU notes: Disaster Throuple AU where the OC is an uptowner that is obsessed with the Running Man (and very much specifically McCone). Her analysis videos finds their way to the underground. After losing her job for turning down her boss violently, she ends up in the slums and links up with Molie and Ben. Ben convinces her to game the system. No Sheila and Cathy in this one. AU then mostly follows the movie with OC helping Ben survive, McCone lives, and Ben/OC convince him to help them kill Killian.

Take Me Out

The sewer safehouse is situated deep in the bowels of an old subway turned floodwater overflow turned sewer overflow turned toxic oubliette. Sam's quite proud of it. A safehouse accessible from the water close to Network head quarters had been low on the contingency list, yet here they were.

Sam is a bit foggy on the specifics of how they had made it from the escape pod to the entrance. She remembers vaguely being chased by a squadron of goons in speedboats as she guided them to the secret entrance, but that can't be right. She makes a mental note to clear it up with Ben later. She promptly forgets about it as she is forced to instead face more imminent realities.

Namely, that the safehouse isn't terribly cozy, though she maintains it is impressively cozy—given the locale. Two rooms, (extremely basic) plumbing, heat, light, a week of supplies for two, a dehumidifier. The two single beds prove a brief point of criticism, when Ben makes it extremely clear he will not let himself and Sam sleep with McCone looking on.

McCone makes a comment about a lack of virtue to spoil that precipitates a scuffle on the verge of murderous but only ends in McCone's ruined eye being blackened and Ben losing consciousness as the strain of the last days' struggles and the blood loss from his oozing side finally catches up with him.

Sam is still frozen stock still in the corner by the time it's over. She stares at McCone with wide-eyes when he turns his head to bring her into his field of view, him still crouched over Ben's unconscious, bloody body on the floor between the two beds.

But it's McCone that levers Ben into one of the beds. It's McCone that sits Sam down when she starts to sway in shock. It's McCone who examines Ben and disparagingly pronounces the stab wound he'd inflicted as embarrassingly oblique and non-fatal.

Sam giggles hysterically at that critique of his own handiwork, the manic gasps continuing even as she recollects herself enough to retrieve the medical kit.

McCone deftly cleans the wound and is readying to suture it by the time Ben stirs. The second ensuing scuffle is quelled by Sam's pained scream as Ben knocks hard into her bad shoulder, still recovering from its previous dislocation.

So Ben seethes, but is convinced to accept McCone's ministrations. Even after McCone offers him an infuriatingly mild smile, finding twisted pleasure in Ben's helplessness.

Sam tries to distract Ben from McCone via attempted guilt-trip: It's not like she can stitch him up one-handed. Ben only rolls his eyes at her but is somewhat mollified; he sees it as the redirection it is meant to be. Even if he does feel a tinge of guilt for the shoulder she'd injured saving his life.

But Ben's always been like a dog with a bone, so he's quick to shift his attention back to McCone, and offer him his sincerely malicious condolences that he can't return the generous favour and just kiss better McCone's eye.

There is a tense moment before the stitching commences without further barbs exchanged. Several cursed hisses later, a neat knot is made. Antiseptic and a bandage are applied. And then McCone disappears into the other room, medkit in hand.

Ben tries to sneer at his retreat but falls asleep instead. Sam is sitting up cross-wise near the head of the second bed, starting to doze, when McCone re-appears.

Through bleary eyes, she notices the black of the cheap discount eye patch adorning his face. A joke tries to swim to the surface of her mind, but it falls back, lulled by sheer exhaustion. Her eyes slip close again.

She doesn't stir when McCone sits down heavily at the foot her bed, mirroring her slumped posture against the wall, quickly joining her in unconsciousnous.

So ends their first night together.

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A delicate peace prevails the second day. Mostly because Ben is stuck in bed and McCone stays in the other room, excepting twice when Sam invites him in while Ben is unconscious, to check if Ben's wound has grown infected. Ben himself makes a single brief excursion for the necessaries, and Sam finds herself incredibly grateful the Hunter makes himself scarce then.

Otherwise, Sam sleeps, making a show of barricading the door in case Ben wakes while she dozes. As if her bed pressed against the door would protect them from McCone, if he decided to come for them in their dreams.

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The third day, Ben is sick of bedrest, and Sam convinces him it's time to plan their next move. With McCone.

The chairs in the other room are cheap, but there are three of them. Two at the little dinette and one at the comms desk. Ben glares daggers at the long limbed man splayed on the desk chair as if posing for another photoshoot. But Ben mostly contains his smart remarks while they eat something. He makes four pirate jokes, but only one gets a genuine laugh out of Sam. McCone disdains to react to any of them.

Then talk turns to their situation.

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"The sniffers are their trump card. They have a cost, but they can turm them on anytime they want. They hardly do, since most runners are so easy to track." McCone's voice is light, as if discussing the weather. "If we stick our heads above ground, they'll be on us like terriers hunting us like the rats we are."

Ben is quick to snarl at him. "The only rat here is you, you dirty traitor. I still can't fucking believe that—"

Sam is quick to cut in: "—Hey, I have known quite a few tame rats, and they were really great guys. In fact, we used them—"

Ben whirls back on her with a disbelieving look that silences her before she can reveal what Ben clearly regards as operational secrets and Sam just considers neat.

She shrugs at him annoyedly before returning to the actual discussion at hand. "Great, so that's what we expected. We figured we would hide out for two weeks before we could enact counter measures and—god dammit Ben, stop looking at me like that. He's here. This was always part of the plan!"

"It was always part of your plan to seduce me into some doomed revolution?" McCone says with the mild bemused contempt he seems to have settled into in their sewer hideaway.

"It was always the plan to get as much money out of the system as we could, and then get ourselves out. You were…" Ben's voice trails off in disgust.

Sam pipes back up cheerfully. "My bonus! And now we all have an opportunity."

McCone hums at her mildly. "Well, this is a pitch I suppose I have no choice but to hear."

Her eyes turn bright, and a bit of mania creeps into her voice. "We get Killian."

"Get him what, a thank you note? How much money did you manage to siphon, do you think?"

Ben cuts her off before she can specify. His reply is gruff: "Enough."

Sam waves him off irritatedly before continuing, "We get him a bullet to the head. You know the building, his habits. Working together, we can send him off in style."

McCone replies bemusedly, "That's a suicide mission. I'm starting to suspect you're crazy enough for it, whoever you are, but I don't see Richards here going for it."

Ben holds his tongue for once, the warring desire of defending his courage at odds with revealing more than he wants to. McCone regards him thoughtfully.

"Or maybe you have hidden depths, then. A personal score? I figured out that sob story you sold to the Network wasn't yours, even if it's common enough. Or… is it that you owe her something?" At the last, he turns to consider her thoughtfully. The surprise companion to the Runner that had piqued his interest.

Ben's lips twist as he replies, "You said he killed your family. That should be all you care about. You should want him dead more than either of us! You dirty sell-out."

"So sanctimonious. They've been dead a long time, you know."

"So he kills them and you just go to work for him? Did you even love them?" Ben's voice drips with undisguised disgust at McCone callousness.

"He killed them, and he killed who I use to be." McCone admits the last almost wistfully. He continues on as if musing, "I wouldn't mind killing him. He really is a two faced snake. Would love to do it up close and personal… Suppose it would be a decent last hurrah. Do you still have my knife, Richards?"

Ben is caught off guard by the question. "What? No." Then he grins cheekily and mocks, "I guess we escaped fate."

Sam cuts in thoughtlessly, "Fate is the gun, Destiny is the knife."

McCone raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh. Oh. You are a fan. That wasn't just a show on the plane, was it?

She reels from the swerve in topic, shoulders bunching, the injured one quite painfully, and her face contorts in confusion. She looks to Ben for support, but his face just looks haggardly disappointed as he asks, "What did you do? You were out of my sight for two minutes. Two."

"I don't know what he's talking about!"

"Oh, hit your head did you? I didn't notice any sign of concussion. Must've been mild. Are you sure you don't remember wheedling your way unto my lap?"

Sam stares McCone with her mouth open like a gaping fish.

"You sat on his lap?" Ben's voice is a coagulated mix of disbelief and resignation.

McCone laughs then, long and deep, the rich sound filling their small shared den with an out of place warmth. When he's done, he follows it up by bringing up his hand to rub away a non-existent tear at the corner of his good eye.

"You two certainly are a pair. I see it now. A dog and his handler. I should've seen it earlier, that apartment setup was too neat. And that ridiculous death trap house!" He looks at her with renewed interest in his eye. "You know me. You know the show. You set it all up, and then you got Richards to run for you. Did you mean for me to kill your other friend, too?"

She tries to answer, but Ben is always faster at running his mouth.

"It was my idea. Not everything is all about you. We told you, we needed the money. That money is medicine, clothes, hope."

McCone tilts his head at that, offering some disdainful side-eye. "Right, right. I was just the bonus. Her bonus." He focuses his attention back on her, having quickly learned that nothing seems to rile up Ben faster. And that is what in the past few weeks has made him feel more alive than he has in years. That gleam of righteous indignation in the other man's eyes. "Do you like what you've won? I'm afraid your prize is a bit banged up."

She surprises him as she runs a hand across her jaw tiredly, her face going from confused to wistful. "God, I wish I remembered what happened."

McCone keeps his face turned to her but his eye flicks to Ben. The other man is tense with repressed frustration, but not surprise. McCone returns his gaze to her, and a plan to entertain himself unspools quickly before him. There's little enough pleasure left in the world for him, so what's a little fun?

He practically purrs at her, "I'd be happy to jog your memory."

But she surprises him again, and just laughs, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You are absurd! Better than I imagined. But come on, there's work to do. I'm not so easily distracted. We are so off topic. Won't you help me plan a murder? Unalive our joint nemesis? Surely that's as much fun as toying with Ben?" She smirks as she sees his expression falter for a fleeting instant. "I know what you're doing."

Ben drops his head into his hands and groans at the world, "Is Killian really worth this? Can't we just stick with plan A?"

She is quick to rebuke him, "No way. You promised."

"Do I get a say in any of this?" McCone asks pleasantly, as if he hadn't just been derailed from his plan to rouse Ben's volatile emotions by seducing her.

"Of course!" She tells him, affronted.

"And if I say no?"

She replies apologetically, "Well. We go our seperate ways and you probably get hunted down and killed. Sniffers, and all that."

McCone hums a little before answering, "Or I help you kill Killian, maybe survive, and you… what? Use your countermeasures to protect me? Nothing stops them, in the end. The house always wins."

Ben raises his head and cuts her off, as he usually does. "She can't tell you. But I can tell you we don't have a death wish. Do you?"

McCone smiles at him, inappropriately fond. "You know, I think I'll sleep on it." The yawn he lets out stops being forced halfway through.

He rises from his sprawled pose with what Ben can only see as controlled grace, and leaves for the room in what he can only describe as a prowl.

It might be morning for them, but McCone has hardly slept, and what sleep he's gotten has been piss poor. At the doorway, he throws a look over his shoulder at them, lingering on Ben's face. He gives Ben a small smile, more a tug of the lips than anything, and then closes the door behind him.

The ex-Hunter falls into Ben's unmade bed, breathing in deep. He falls asleep to the sound of a vicious whirlwind of a whispered argument. He dreams of wandering through a snowstorm, following voices on the wind.

Much later, possibly a different day, possibly the same day, Ben wakes and he's alone in the room with the beds.

His heart tries to climb out of his throat as he struggles out of the sheets and stumbles into the other room. His stitches tug at his side but he ignores it.

But Sam is just sitting at the comms desk, scribbling notes while fiddling with what looks like blueprints.

McCone is sitting at the dinette, hunched over something, his back to Ben. Ben feels a visceral urge to stab him again and again and then feels a punch of disgust that McCone might welcome another tussle. Probably sat that way on purpose, even.

Instead of murder, he blurts out, "What are you doing?"

Sam jumps a little, but McCone doesn't react at all. Ben's sneaking suspicion that the man knew exactly what he was doing only grows. Sam turns to crane her neck over her shoulder and scrunches her nose at him. "He's being quiet. Can you please not ruin this for me?"

Only then does McCone speak up, "I thought you loved the sound of my voice."

She sighs as if this is a topic of long standing discussion. Just how long had Ben been asleep while they were up? "I do. It's wonderful. I also enjoy not being distracted."

Ben's mouth runs before he knows it has shoes on. "You love being distracted."

She glares at him in annoyance. "I have limits."

McCone unfolds himself from his chair and crosses the room in a single step, leaning down close to her before Ben can even react.

McCone speaks softly to ask her, "Shall I test them?"

"Get the fuck away from her!"

"Make me."

Sam reaches her limits. "For the love of …" She angrily pushes back from the desk, forcing her prize to take a half step back. She stands. She turns, stepping close to him. He doesn't retreat. They aren't quite touching. She has to tilt her head to look at him, but no more than Ben would.

"Sam. Don't do this." Ben sounds as if she's betraying him.

Sam closes her eyes, taking a deep breath, and sighs. She turns to face Ben, her good shoulder brushing against McCone.

"Ben, I am touch starved as fuck. Can't I have anything nice?"

McCone shifts a little so she is between him and Ben. He watches Ben carefully over her shoulder as he slowly raises his hand to settle it on her hip. She shudders faintly at the contact.

So does Ben, but he forces it out of his voice, letting his simmering anger fill it instead. "He's only doing this to fuck with us."

"He's only doing this to fuck with you." She leans back against the warm bulk of McCone, savouring it, before it's taken away from her. "If you turned around and went back to bed. He'd stop."

"And risk leaving you to my tender mercies? He would never. I know a good dog when I see one."

She scoffs back at him, "You're going to shove me away as soon as he clears the room."

But he just raises his other hand to run it up and down her good arm, bare except for her short sleeve. "Do I really seem so repelled?"

"Not yet, I suppose. Guess I'll enjoy what I can get."

She lets her head fall back, half turned into his neck. McCone leans his head down to touch his cheek to hers, but his eye is on Ben. The smile on his lips is darkly anticipatory, showing just a hint of teeth.

Ben's brow is furrowed deep, the vein on his forehead prominent as he glares at the sight unfolding in front him. His teeth are grit hard as he spits out, "You're sick in the head."

They reply simultaneously.

"You already knew that—"

"Are you so surprised—?"

Sam chuckles; McCone smile turns into a knowing smirk.

Sam raises her head to look at Ben again, otherwise content to stay in McCone's embrace. "Okay. Seriously. Ben. Just leave. Show him you don't care. He'll stop. And if he doesn't… I could use a win." Her expression turns a little sad then. "But really, in the end, it's not like anyone's holding me in the dark."

McCone leans so his mouth is closer to her ear. He pitches his voice so Ben can make out every word, and so that she can feel the rumble near her skin. "Is that what you're really after?"

"Sam. I would if you asked." Ben says it gruffly, the anger subsiding under the surface. He offers out his hand to her, as if leading her back from a cliff's edge.

McCone narrows his eye and tightens his grip on her hip. His thumb just barely slips under shirt to touch her bare skin. Her body arches into the touch and her throat bobs as she swallows before speaking.

"I did ask. Ages ago. And you said no."

"Ask again. Ask me again."

Her face shifts into an irritated weariness. "You just want what you can't have."

McCone feels that one in his bones. "Don't we all."

She turns around in his hold. Shivers as his thumb caresses the jut of her hip. Shifts so she is beside him, her profile to Ben. She tilts her face up in invitation. But doesn't push. Just waits patiently, to call the mens' bluffs.

McCone has turned his head to track her movement, but he looks to the side again to give Ben a smug leer. He starts to lean in toward her for an obscene kiss, but his attention is all fixed on Ben's stricken face.

Ben whirls away, pulling the door shut behind him.

McCone stops short, and lets go of her. Not ungently.

Sam takes a deep breath and lets out a slow sigh. Her voice is full of forced lightness. She would clasp her hands in front of her for the full effect, if one wasn't still stuck in a sling.

"Well that was fun, and I'll probably have to pay for it later. So it's back to work! I need those patrol schedules, sir."

She expects him to snap back to the off handedly casual professionalism he had bestowed upon her before Ben's interruption, but it's his turn to surprise her.

"Maybe I still should…" He reaches a hand slowly back up to cup her cheek.

She doesn't move away. Leans into the touch, even. But she also frowns at him.

"I mean, probably not? Either you're amazing and I become insufferable to you, or you're lack-lustre and Ben gets endless ammunition. Because baby, I kiss and tell."

"You're barely sufferable now."

"You're free to leave. Wander the sewers like a ninja turtle. Could find you another mask."

He switches tacks, "I think you might've actually hurt his feelings, you know."

"Oh for fuck's sake. Like you care. Get back to work." She jerks her head out his grasp and sits back down at her desk.

He chuckles lowly, but decides to bide his time. He'd seen how Ben had looked at the pair of them, breaths coming hard, not only in anger. That image was pleasantly engraved into his mind's eye.

The odd pair of them work companionably enough for some time. Planning Killian's death is something to do, while they hide in the bowels of the earth. No sound reaches them from the bedroom.

Later, McCone pushes back his chair, scraping it purposefully to get her attention. "As much as it pains me, you should check on his stitches. Doubt he'll be letting me near him anytime soon."

"Yeah, prolly. Later." She doesn't look up or make any motion to move.

"Although I suppose I could always try anyway. He really is quite entertaining. Killian does have an eye for it."