the end.
"An execution? Really? Isn't that a little medieval of you?"
He could say little else before everything went dark, a bag thrown over his head, constraints tightening around his neck. There was a lot of pushing and shoving, but Tony could do nothing with his hands tied firmly behind his back. He supposed he was being dragged upstairs. Doors opened, and eventually, he felt the rush of cool air. The roof? With some sharp kicks to the back of his knees, Tony fell hard onto the ground — although, the guard behind him had grabbed the back of his shirt, keeping him upright. How thoughtful.
Light momentarily blinded Tony, the bag ripped from his head, gaze darting around him as he gathered his bearings. Correct, as always — they were on the roof. Blinking to adjust to the sun’s light, he then noticed the camera, set directly in front of him. Public execution. Fancy. Tony smiled a little, looking into the lens. “Hi, Mom!" Then he looked over at those standing guard. They certainly weren’t there for him. It wasn't like the Rebels were going to save him.
"Look, if you're going to film me, can you at least get my good side? That's the left, if you didn't already kn —" He received a swift smack over the back of the head, and a low: "shut up." Tony shook his head a little, shrugging his eyebrows. "Well, someone didn't learn any manners," he muttered in response, planning on diving into some ‘Daddy Issues’, before the guard behind him grabbed his chin, tilting his face up. "I will cut out your tongue, and then kill you." Message received. Tony didn’t think he’d like being an Avox much. His head shoved back down, Tony stretched his back from where he was kneeling, expression relaying that he was... well, bored. And uncomfortable. What was the damn hold up?
President Coin looked ruffled. Probably flustered from the day's events, if Tony had to guess. She was having a word with one of the guards, nodding here and there, while patting down her less than pleasing suit. Then, suddenly, she turned towards Tony, giving him a nod this time.
"So glad you could join us, Anthony. I heard you turned yourself right over. Very smart of you, although, what else would you expect from a Gamemaker?"
Tony was quick to correct her. " — ex. And please, call me Tony."
"Excuse me?"
"Ex-Gamemaker. Might want to edit that bit in the eulogy before you start. Quite embarrassing if you mess up. This is live, right?" Coin blinked at him, before nodding once again, and taking her place in front of her very own camera.
Then the tape began, and televisions everywhere were broadcast with the President's official message.
"It is my duty as president of this great nation to eradicate any and all threat. I say today, with a heavy heart, that I am joined by a man who goes against all values and beliefs that we, as people of Panem, hold most dear. Anthony Stark. District Ten. Gamemaker," Tony sighed in the background, "murderer of countless children, creator of weapons used to maim and kill. He is further charged with the unauthorised hacking of servers, and distribution of classified information, of assisting criminals in their unlawful escape, and traitor to the people of Panem. It is due to these offences that I hereby sentence Anthony Stark to death by execution, effective immediately.”
The pace of her speech likely meant she was planning on escaping as soon as possible, Tony thought.
“This execution will be broadcast as a reminder to all those out there who still continue to pose a threat to the safety of Panem, and its people. We do not take these threats lightly." The President unclasped her hands, and turned towards Tony, who was staring right back, his eyebrows raised in something close to amusement. "Mr. Stark. Do you have any last words?"
Tony blinked at her once, twice, before narrowing his eyes in thought. He was well aware he only had minutes to live. So.. why the hell not? "Well," he started, purposefully being slow, if only to piss her off. "You've sort of put me on the spot here, Alma, but.. yes. I do have a few things to say. First of all, a question, if I may — is your hair real? It's frightful." The President merely stared at him, though he was certain her eye twitched a little. Satisfied, and admittedly still curious, he turned his head back to the camera. "Secondly — to all those kids watching at home — hugs. Not drugs." He nodded his head once, content with his message, before quickly adding, "Oh, yeah, and, Alma? The Rebels are coming for you."
The camera immediately cut back to the President, cutting off Tony's last word. Coin cleared her throat, grey eyes boring into the lens.
“I hope you all believe me when I say these decisions are not made lightly. I fight for you, Panem. I do these things for you, for our people.” Her voice suddenly became less pleading. “Anything that threatens that must be eradicated.” Without turning to him, she nodded. "Goodbye, Mr. Stark."
Tony gave her a mocking smile in return, before the guard who had held him upright moved in front, cutting off the camera’s view. The ex-Gamemaker squinted upwards, looking for some sort of weapon. "What, no axe? No guillotine?"
"Too messy," was the only grunt he received, before the man's large hand went out and twisted the reactor right out of his chest. Tony’s eyes widened, his head dropping down instantly, staring at the empty space next to his heart. Instantly, he felt himself weaken. The guard resumed his position behind Tony once again, making sure to keep him upright and in focus, the reactor held out of reach. The camera took in its new view, framing Tony, and only Tony. Slowly, he looked up, meeting the lens. So, they really were forcing everyone to watch. Great. This is why he never wanted to be an actor.
Minutes. Minutes were all he had now. There was no way of reaching the reactor, no way to save himself this time. Tony was waiting for the flashbacks, or the white lights, or the voices in his head that everybody always talked about. But all he felt was pain. And it wasn't sharp. It wasn't quick, either. It was slow, agonisingly slow, and it consumed his whole body. The blood drained from his extremities, limbs desperately quivering, trying to give his heart more blood. The shrapnel lodged deep in his chest inched closer, the metal no longer magnetising it away from causing damage. All the colour drained from Tony's face then, the dizziness settling in. He thought he might pass out first, but that was far too hopeful. The shrapnel beat him to it.
Seconds after the metal had pierced his heart, the blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. It was a slow line at first, only a dribble really, but as the seconds ticked on, it filled his throat and exited his nose. Tony's head dropped as he began to choke, but the man grabbed at his hair, holding him back up.
It was ironic, really. A Gamemaker, ex-Gamemaker, dying on camera? It almost made it perfect.
You're not the guy to make the sacrifice play.
The words spun through his mind. He never had been. But Tony realised he wouldn't have ever taken back his decision, even now, as he watched his own blood drip from his face and land onto the concrete. He knew what he'd had to do, and he'd done it without a second thought. He'd done it for them. The Rebels — the people who had given him the second chance that he'd never deserved. Sure, they weren't ever going to be his best friends, but they weren't supposed to be. They were more than that, and to him, they stood for more than that. He'd worked with some horrible people over the years, but there had been amazing ones, too. It seemed he'd never get the chance to tell them that now. He'd been too proud to do so. Tony had always said he'd preferred to work alone, but he wasn't sure that had ever been the case.
He remembered Shawn telling him that he cared. Tony could admit now that he cared, too. He could see Amy's eyes rolling when he'd told her to toughen up, and get over her fatherly issues; the smile he wore himself the moment he’d realised he’d be proud to call her his daughter. He saw Allison smiling at him, heard her calling him Uncle Tony, and making sure he stayed in line. If only he’d been so lucky to have her as a niece. He could picture the little frown Gwen grew when she was working hard, her smile when she teased him — the card she’d made him that had never left his desk since. Eleven, a brilliant man, dying right in front of him, the screwdriver being pushed into his own bloody hands. He'd died to save the Rebels, to save them all. And now, so was Tony. Don’t waste your life, he’d told him. Tony could only hope this was good enough.
It wasn't a setback. It was a chance, and Tony had given it to them. A thank-you gift, he'd call it. He only wished he could tell them. When I drift off, I will dream about you. Maybe JARVIS would do it for him.
He'd always had it in him. His father had always believed he'd do something amazing, something for the greater good. Anthony was his greatest creation, after all.
The guard's hands finally released him, and the man’s lifeless body slumped forward onto the roof, as his lungs were denied fresh air. His face was angled towards the camera, and though his eyes were now forever glassed over with pain, Tony finally felt at peace. Maybe that wasn't exactly what his good old father had had in mind, but it was something. It was enough.
It was proof that Tony Stark had a heart.
