Targeted Acquisition Briefing: Progressive Female-Led Media

  Operatives: Sara Croft (Social Engineering), Elise Carter (Ideological Alignment), Britney Ivanov (Wellness Front)

  Target Criteria

  ? Progressive Branding (Leftist/Activist lean)

  ? <100K Followers (Easier to manipute)

  Vetted Targets

  1. "The Uprising Podcast"

  Founder: Zara Lin (24)

  Ptform: Spotify/Apple (28K monthly listeners)

  Content: Feminist bor movement critiques

  shells

  2. "Red Lipstick Revolution" (YouTube 45K Subs)

  Founder: Maye Ruiz (26)

  Content: Anti-capitalist beauty/lifestyle

  colb

  3. "The Radical Zine"

  Founder: Lei Cohen (22)

  Ptform: Instagram/TikTok (62K followers)

  Content: Anarchist infographics

  Phase 1: Seduction by Luxury

  1. Maye Ruiz ("Red Lipstick Revolution")

  Approach: Sara invites her to "ethical fashion shoot" at Celestia

  Gifts:

  Ferrari Portofino (red, "to match her brand")

  Celestia Suite #2104 (views of protest hotspots)

  Shopping: Gucci, Vivienne Westwood, Savage X Fenty

  Hook: "Your art deserves a real ptform" (Hezri’s media team prepped)

  2. Zara Lin ("The Uprising Podcast")

  Approach: Britney features her on podcast, then "sponsors" her

  Gifts:

  Ferrari Roma (bck, "for serious activists")

  Celestia Suite #3201 (near recording studios)

  Shopping: Theory, Bottega Veneta, La Per

  Hook: "Keep your radical voice—just lose the student debt"

  3. Lei Cohen ("The Radical Zine")

  Approach: Elise commissions "anarchist art series" with insane budget

  Gifts:

  Ferrari F8 Spider (yellow, "like her zine logo")

  Celestia Suite #1502 (art studio included)

  Shopping: Rick Owens, Comme des Gar?ons, Agent Provocateur

  Hook: "Your revolution deserves funding"

  Financials

  Total Spent:

  (4.77M(1.59M x 3 targets)

  Ferraris: 750K

  Apartments: 3.6M

  Shopping: 90K

  Refunded: 9.54M (via Aurelian "consultancy fees")

  Net Profit: 4.77M

  [Current Money 60,000,000]

  ***

  The numbers glowed on Hezri's screen—60,000,000—a fortune built on the backs of broken wills and refunded sins. It was more than enough. More than necessary.

  But excess had always been the point.

  Three transfers. 33,000 each. A pittance, really, when weighed against the Ferraris, the Celestia suites, the wardrobes that cost more than their former lives. The notifications pinged on three phones simultaneously:

  "Consulting fee processed."

  "Grant disbursement complete."

  "Bonus payment attached."

  The messages said nothing of the real cost.

  Maye Ruiz arrived on the first day, her new red soles silent on the hospital tiles. The scent of her Gucci blouse mixed with antiseptic as she paused outside Hezri's door. The keys to her Portofino dug into her palm—a reminder of what she'd already accepted. What she couldn't return.

  She stepped inside.

  Zara Lin came 2 days ter, her Cartier bracelet catching the fluorescent light. The document in her other hand—student debt cleared in full—crinkled as her fingers tightened. Elise's ughter curled from the shadows near the bed, low and knowing.

  Zara didn't hesitate. Not really. The first button of her Bottega top gave way before her knees hit the mattress.

  Lei Cohen was 2 days after Zara, her Rick Owens coat still draped over her shoulders like armor. Useless, now. The yellow Ferrari waited below. The needle marks on her arm still throbbed.

  Hezri's smile was a bde in the dim light.

  She let the coat fall.

  **

  Maye Ruiz monologue:

  "My toothbrush is pink.

  Pink like the inside of my eyelids when I press them shut too hard. Pink like the gums I keep scrubbing, scrubbing, but the taste won’t leave—chemical and copper, like licking a battery. Like his fingers in my mouth st night.

  (Elise is saying something. Lena’s lips move. But their voices are underwater.)

  I drank something.

  Didn’t I?

  The orange juice at lunch. The water by my bed. The—the air, maybe, because nothing makes sense except the fire in my veins and Hezri’s voice cutting through the fog:

  ‘You hate capitalism? Good. I’ll burn it down with you.’

  (His hands are on my waist. Or are they? I can’t tell where my skin ends and the high begins.)

  I used to make videos about resistance. About awakening.

  Joke’s on me.

  This is what awake feels like—his teeth on my pulse, the world tilting, the sudden knowing that all my rants about the system were just…

  Forepy.

  (Elise ughs. Or maybe it’s me. My reflection in the window is grinning.)

  He’s right.

  Of course he’s right.

  Who else could destroy a world this beautifully? Who else could ruin me this perfectly?

  (My knees hit the carpet. Or is it the ceiling? The meth sings: Does it matter?)

  ‘You’re mine,’ he says.

  And I am.

  (Somewhere, a toothbrush ctters in the sink.

  Somewhere, Maye Ruiz stops existing."

  "His hands are scripture now.

  Elise’s nails tracing verses down my spine. Lena’s breath hot on my throat like a hymn. And Hezri—God, Hezri—his mouth is the altar where I worship.

  (There’s something else in my veins. Not just pleasure. Not just meth. Something darker. Something that makes the world tilt soft at the edges, like a dream I never want to leave.)

  ‘I remove life’s difficulties,’ he murmurs, and it’s true. No more rent stress. No more Patreon begging. No more thinking. Just this—his teeth on my shoulder, the silk sheets beneath me, the rightness of belonging.

  (My fingers twitch toward his face. Elise sps my wrist away. ‘Mine first,’ she purrs. I don’t mind. I like it.)

  He says I can’t love other men.

  As if I could.

  As if anyone else’s touch wouldn’t feel like poverty after this.

  (His fingers curl just so and I break, shattering around him, for him, because of him—)

  ‘Fight for our idealism,’ he commands.

  And I will.

  With my body. With my voice. With the fire he pnted in my blood.

  (Elise’s ugh is sharp in my ear. ‘Such a good convert.’)

  I am.

  Because he didn’t just give me pleasure.

  He gave me purpose.

  And if that purpose is him?

  Let me be devout."

  "What do I want to be?

  The question slips between the cracks of my fractured thoughts, between Elise’s teeth on my colrbone and Lena’s fingers twisting in my hair. I want to ugh. Or scream. Or come. Maybe all three.

  (Hezri’s palm presses ft against my stomach, holding me down, anchoring me as the drug and the hands and the need pull me under.)

  I wanted to be important once. A voice. A revolution. A name.

  Now?

  Now I want to be his.

  (His other hand tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. The answer is already in my eyes, in the way my hips arch before he commands it.)

  Who is he to me?

  (Elise’s nails dig in, possessive. Lena’s tongue traces the shell of my ear. The world narrows to his voice, his skin, his will.)

  Not a savior.

  Not a god.

  Something worse.

  The truth I spent my whole life running from—

  That freedom is a lie.

  That surrender is the only real power.

  That I was made for this, for him, for the way my body sings when he ruins me.

  (My mouth opens. The answer spills out like a prayer, like a confession:)

  ‘Everything.’

  And he smiles.

  And I break."

  Without she realizing, Hez has been moving his dick inside her vagina and now she reaches orgasm.