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[color=92278f][b]The[/b][/color] cold muzzle of a pistol was buried deep into his black, bedraggled hair. Zebediah lay still, unmoving, knowing that the slightest reaction would probably earn him a bullet through his skull. Yet, it wasn't like he hadn't received a couple of them already.
[i]How am I not dead[/i]? Killgrave wondered, for once not in control of the situation around him. [i]Why have I not bled out[/i]? 
He inclined his eyes as far as he could to his body, but he was lying on his chest and so could not discern the situation regarding the gunshot wounds. There was indeed a gruesome puddle of blood that was undoubtedly staining his black operative clothing, though that was the least of his worries. He could not feel any pain from the wounds in his leg and elbow. Perhaps they had gone numb, or the bullets had damaged various nerves leaving them paralysed and without response. However, he knew he would be able to twitch or move either body part if he tried, so only the former possibility was likely.
Several voices were originating from different points of the warehouse, each one displaying the telltale signs of concern, stress and even fear. Killgrave wondered what had happened to prompt these emotions - these were Government officials who had apprehended or driven off all the rebel opposition in the area. Then again... [i]That queer purple hue spreading across my arm[/i]. Zebediah cursed silently. He had so many questions, yet the barrel of the pistol prevented him from answering them. He instead thought and planned to himself for what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only a couple dozen of minutes. He daydreamed of the murders of each of the Shadow Conqueror officials, the Government, frankly anyone he thought of in the godforsaken country. [i]I have no allies now[/i]. [i]I am a dead man walking[/i].

A new set of footsteps then approached Killgrave's vicinity. The frantic hubbub of the warehouse was extinguished instantly, was replaced by a dutiful silence. A clear conclusion reached the betrayed Sokovian. He could almost see them all saluting despite his restricted view of the hard ground. 

"I cannot believe your incompetence!" Shrieked an assertive and deep voice. Killgrave instantly picked out that something was... wrong. There was something strange about the man. He had adopted a vast array of accents, performed them with unrivalled talent, yet for every man - the accent from their homeland never quite faded away. Only another vocal master would have known, but the President of Sokovia was not Sokovian. 


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She had already sent her bishops on their way to the airport. Doom had, admittedly, surprised her by acting so suddenly, and his effective seizing of Sokovia's central airport was ostentatious to say the least. Wanda now knew she was dealing with a strong character, a self-righteous king bordering on utter narcissism. The mere fact that his mechanical minions were modelled after he himself, with their billowing green capes and glinting armour, proved the monarch's ostensible self-obsession. Then again, with Doom's identical design to his underlings, he would almost always be able to lead astray enemies and accosters and allow himself to survive. He was, obviously, a genius mechanical engineer - or had one working for him. 
Wanda had employed a similar sort of strategy in this situation - one of her 'bishops' was a young female named Arissa, and she was a low level mutant from northern Africa. She held no credit apart from her ability to allow one to see through her eyes and speak through her mouth. Arissa never talked about where her own consciousness and spirit went when Wanda was inhabiting her, and the Witch was not about to ask. Arissa herself was meek and reserved, having no value aside from her ability. As long as she could stay alive, Wanda was content to utilise her as a duplicitous envoy. 

It was better that she did not appear in person - for she might at any moment have lost control and ruthlessly set herself upon the President or whomever he sent to represent him, or worse - Doom himself. Wanda did not like to be on equal terms with anyone she did not choose to be, so the forcing of her hand had brought her to look on Doom in a somewhat negative light even before the two's first meeting. Inhabiting Arissa was ideal, as she could draw herself back if aggressive urges started to take control, and if she failed to retreat then there was not much harm that Arissa could inflict.
[i]It is time[/i].
She cast a sort of spiritual form of herself out from where she sat on a plush and opulent chair in a secure building, travelling some distance in the space of nanoseconds. Suddenly, she found herself amongst a small crowd of people - the Conqueror's envoys and their heavily armed guard. She was walking through a side entrance to the airport, under a dirty stretch of cheap glass with it's moderate but unattractive infrastructure. Her 'possession' had caused Arissa to stop for a moment, and the other 'bishop' - a laconic and heavy-set man with the nickname 'Baron' - was looking upon her with a severe impatience. Only he from the group knew of Arissa's ability, so he knew that Wanda's emergence into Arissa's body had just occurred. The guards around them waited, obviously puzzled, but they knew better to speak out against two important members of the syndicate. 
Wanda caught Baron's eye and nodded indistinctly, and the two resumed their movements towards the open airfield where Doom awaited.
It was part of the Witch's plan now to throw the blame for the border attack and the stolen equipment onto the Government, setting her up with a chance at further negotiations with the Latverian monarch later. Doom's equipment - at least what they had seen from it - was powerful and impressive, and Wanda knew that arming her forces with such weaponry would render the Government helpless against the Conquerors. Finally, after years of hers and her father's life, they would take revenge upon the Government's decades of subjugation. 
Arissa's eyes flashed with a scarlet fury as she and Baron pushed through throngs of Sokovian airport security and the first signs of the Sokovian army, ever so surely striding towards Doom.