"I never thought I'd say this to a guy," Daken replied with raised eyebrows as he moved over and lifted Pietro by the scruff of his neck, "but you look a lot better off your knees."
The assassin made his way down, dragging Quicksilver behind him, and picked up the camera, panning past Binder's head for all of a second and then settling on a close up of Pietro. The gun Daken had just used to execute the terrorist Raiders of the Lost Ark style was now pointed square at the forehead of the Brotherhood leader, and the camera zoomed in for a second on the calm blue eyes, the arrogant face, before panning out so that Pietro could be plainly seen, half-standing on the stairs of the Memorial.
"Smile pretty for me now, Pietro. We're gonna win an Oscar for this, you and me. Just smile...smile for the folks...you wanna make history, mother######er? We can make it, right now. You and me. Let's do it together."
The gun cocked.
The door to Pietro's study swung openly silently on well oiled hinges. The little bit of maintenance that there had been time for had gone a long way, the man reflected, as he entered. The leader of the Brotherhood sat motionless in his chair, eyes closed, as if he were a hundred miles away. Which, in a way, he was.
You went too far this time, Maximoff. You were reckless. You let your own hatred blind you to what needed to be done.
Nate moved in to the throne room silently. The archer hadn't ever agreed with his "illustrious leader's" methods, but this time he'd done something real stupid. A step back when he saw Abraham there, but he nodded at him silently. In his right hand? An arrow stripped of its metal tip, replaced with a stone one for fighting magnetic mutants. The left? An old wooden practice bow. He was barefoot and had on pure cotton clothes.
Nate was taking no chances.
Shiloh was the last one to step into the throne room, and probably the least expected. Pietro had given her sanctuary, a place to be safe. But now he had seriously jeopardized that safety, which was something she would not tolerate. She was weaponless, but she didn’t really need a weapon.
She came to Abraham’s side; her eyes flashed a bright blue, indicating her powers had activated, but on what?
Abraham's eyebrows raised at first when Nate entered, almost as if he expected a fight, but he relaxed slightly when he saw what the other mutant was carrying. Nodding slightly, he glanced at the recently arrived Shiloh. Before his eyes, her eyes began to glow and the chair containing Maximoff came alive.
Almost as if it understand the need for silence, it wrapped its arms around the comatose leader, preventing him from moving. Abraham's hand slipped into his pocket, drawing a small pistol with a high grade silencer at the end. He had no conerns about metal. A wise tactician always prepared for the worst, but Pietro was unconscious, and he would remain so for long enough. He was estimated to need ten minutes to execute the president, and complete his plans. He'd been gone four. The strategist raised his weapon, and leveled the barrel at leader of the Brotherhood's heart.
The Brotherhood used to stand for something, used to have a purpose. A purpose that I was willing to fight for. You've corrupted that purpose.
Nate aimed his bow at the distracted mutants head- more specifically, his left eye. I don't care about your great plan anymore, Maximoff. The only reason I helped you was because the X-Men sheltered the Phoenix. Now you've kicked us farther behind than we've ever been...
“Hold him.” Shiloh commanded to the chair; it listened to her, wrapping it’s ‘arms’ around the Brotherhood leader. Pietro would be quite unable to move from his seat.
I never signed up to help some fanatic bent on world domination, I just wanted a home. Thanks to you Pietro I may not have one for long.
The strategist looked at Nate, and began mouthing a countdown. He wasn't taking any risks. If one shot or the other went off early, the Maximoff could wake up. 3... 2... 1...
Two hands moved simultaneously, powered by the same thought. One opened, releasing a bowstring, and sending an arrow flying through the former leader of the Brotherhood's eye, even as the other tightened, sending a bullet into his heart. Two soundless, easy movements were all it took to end the life of the world's most notorious terrorist.
Two movements, perpetrated by three of his most loyal followers.
The gun cocked.
Daken placed the camera back on the tripod so that it caught Pietro's face cleanly. The assassin walked around so that he, too, was suddenly caught in the frame. The Internet, the news media...it seemed that every screen in the world, along with those monitoring them, held its collective breath.
"Alright, mother######er," he said evenly. "See you in the textbooks."
The gun fired once, sending a bullet spiraling cleanly through the back of Pietro's head. Blood, grey matter, and deformed lead all splattered against the camera's lens at once, effectively blocking out nearly everything except a part of Daken's face. One deep blue eye shone curiously, though nobody could see why; in actuality, it was because Pietro had suddenly morphed into a young, punk-haired looking mutant who's pretty face was now obscured by a very, very nasty looking bullet wound.
"Ain't that a ######," Akihiro whistled softly, holstering the gun in his waistband, running one hand through his mohawk as he kicked the camera into the Reflecting Pool.
Meanwhile, although Daken didn't know it, thanks in part to the efforts of colleagues he had never met, Pietro Maximoff was well and truly dead.