She stared directly into a camera's cold eye as the men either side of her angrily addressed it. Blinking was the least painful thing to do, but it still hurt, she felt like an empty shell of her former self. The barrel of a gun was pressed to her temple and instead of reacting like her old self might have done; she simply sat there, staring at the camera. Perhaps her lack of enthusiasm – lack of life – would provoke those at home to help.
From early on she'd learnt that the supplier of her captors was Stark Industries but by now, she didn't care. At first, when she believed in a chance of escaping all of this, she thought of scenarios where she'd beat the shit out of Tony Stark for providing her captors in Afghanistan with such weapons. But as the days became weeks without relief, the plans became smaller until she only spat in his face. A light on the camera indicated it was still on, except now her captors were arguing rather than addressing the media. The gun was lifted away from her temples and she struggled to bite back a sigh of relief.
However, it was almost immediately placed at the nape of her neck. Cold and ominous, the barrel of the gun pressed at her neck and pointed up towards her brain. Tony Stark had only recently been in this very situation, Simone realised, her mind finally coming to life and realising her situation once more. She stared at the camera with new energy and hoped – as her captor made a final statement – that she was close enough to the camera for it to pick up on her fear.
Apparently a news reporter wasn't important enough to try and save as the terrorist pulled the trigger
The world fell away . . .
the ground suddenly close . . .
then nothing